Kushiel's Mercy

them for the evening,” Justina said, reading my face. She reached up to toy with my braids. “The table’s already laid. As far as they’re concerned, this is likely a dalliance I don’t want known. So come dine, and tell me.”
    I did.
    Justina listened in fascination, her eyes widening. “Dire magic,” she said when I had finished. “That explains a great deal.”
    I stabbed my fork into a piece of overcooked fish. “Can you help?”
    “I could have.” She eyed me wryly. “Gods, Leander! I wish you’d come here first. Until her demure highness arrived, I’d managed to position myself nicely as Astegal’s mistress.”
    “Oh?” I savaged my fish. “Then why did you spit at me on the docks?”
    Justina blinked. “I told you, I’m treading a narrow path. As far as Astegal and Carthage are concerned, I’m a young Aragonian widow, an eager opportunist playing at being a double agent. As far as loyal Aragonia is concerned, I’m a spy in Serafin’s service.” She shrugged. “Before this I was eyes and ears, nothing more. Now I’m merely awaiting word on whom, if anyone, to betray. I haven’t been able to get word out to her ladyship since the war began.”
    “It’s Astegal,” I said curtly.
    “You won’t mind if I confirm that with Sunjata, will you?” Justina rested her chin on one hand, studying me. “Because I’ll be honest, Leander. You seem . . . odd.”
    I set down my fork. “Odd how?”
    “I don’t know.” Justina blinked again. “Just . . . odd.”
    I sighed. “Oh, hells! Justina, I feel odd. And her highness . . . I assure you, Sidonie de la Courcel is not demure.”
    “Well, she’s barely said a word in public,” she observed. “I assumed she felt too guilty over Terre d’Ange’s betrayal of its alliances. Aragonians despise her more than Astegal.
    Naked ambition, at least, they understand. But when Terre d’Ange was invaded, Aragonia was the only country to send troops to its defense. When our turn came, Terre d’Ange turned its back on us and the D’Angeline heir married our conqueror.”
    I shook my head. “It’s not their fault, any of it. Justina, can you still get access to Astegal?”
    “Mayhap,” she said warily. “Why?”
    “Sunjata made a copy of his ring.” I picked up my fork and pointed it at her. “And you are perfectly positioned to make the exchange.”
    Justina was silent a moment. “I want to talk to Sunjata.”
    “Fine,” I said. “Do.”
    The interminable days wore onward. Astegal amused himself, Bodeshmun brooded, the Aragonians quietly seethed. Sidonie continued to be withdrawn. Sunjata was close-mouthed about his discussion with Justina, and there was no word from her.
    If it hadn’t been for Kratos, I think I truly might have lost my wits in those days. Like old Carthage, the city had a public bath-house with a palaestra, although it was much smaller.
    Sunjata refused to take exercise there, as it had been overtaken by bored Carthaginian soldiers given to shouting crudities at him. But Kratos, sensing my rising frustration, decided to teach me to wrestle there.
    It was a good release, although it left me bruised and scraped. At first the soldiers who used the palaestra as a training field were amused. They shouted crudities at me, too, but I didn’t care. And Kratos allowed I was a much better pupil than he’d expected me to be.
    After a few days’ worth of training bouts, the soldiers weren’t laughing.
    “You’re quick,” Kratos said after the first time I nearly managed to pin him. “Stronger than I would have thought for a wiry fellow. Someone taught you before, eh? It’s coming back to you.”
    “No.” I grinned. “Quick, and a quick study, that’s all.”
    It didn’t take long for word to spread that Kratos had been a professional wrestler in Hellas in his youth. Once it did, a handful of soldiers challenged him to bouts. Kratos permitted himself to accept one a day, and although he must have been well into his fifties, he won with skill and cunning. I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d been like in his prime and how he’d come to lose enough matches to fall into penury. When I asked him, he shrugged.
    “I got careless after I’d worn a champion’s crown a few years running. Squandered my winnings on women and wine. Let myself get soft.” Kratos dusted his hands. “By the time I realized it, there was a new generation rising, younger and more fit.”
    “I’m sorry,” I said honestly.
    “Not