Kushiel's Mercy

your fault.” He clapped my shoulder. “Take it as a lesson.”
    It was after Kratos had won five or six bouts that Astegal strolled into the palaestra, accompanied by a retinue of Amazigh guards. We watched him spar with his soldiers, laughing and jesting as their blades flashed in the wintry sun. Whatever else was true, the bastard was a gifted swordsman.
    “He’s good,” Kratos muttered. “Careless, though.”
    “How’s that?” I asked. I might not have been handy with a blade, but I knew enough to know Astegal was very good.
    Kratos jerked his chin. “Letting victory go to his head. He’s won a battle, not a war. He ought to be drilling his troops in the field, not playing cock of the walk in the bath-house.”
    “Don’t give him any ideas,” I said, and Kratos laughed.
    Someone did give Astegal an idea, though, albeit of a different nature. After sparring for a time, he strolled over to the corner where Kratos and I trained.
    “Leander Maignard,” Astegal said pleasantly. “You’ve been an absent courtier. I brought you under my roof to entertain my wife, not roll in the dust with an aging Hellene slave.”
    I gritted my teeth and bowed. “Kratos is a freedman, and I do but await a summons from your lady wife, my lord. It seems for the moment you’ve kept her well entertained.”
    “Yes.” Astegal smiled, heavy-lidded. “It does.” He changed the subject. “I wrestled in my youth, freedman,” he said to Kratos. “And I hear you’re undefeated among my soldiers.
    Care to give me a bout?”
    “Do you jest, my lord?” Kratos asked in surprise.
    “Not at all.” Astegal stripped off his tunic. “Not at all.”
    Astegal wasn’t boasting; he had considerable skill at the game. And he had twenty years on Kratos and the advantage of reach and leverage. It was a hard-fought bout, but in the end, Astegal won. And he won ugly, wrenching Kratos’ arm behind his back with such force that Kratos cried out in pain. Astegal leaned one forearm on the back of Kratos’
    neck, grinding his face into the dust. It was an unnecessary humiliation.
    “Do you concede, freedman?” he asked.
    Kratos made a muffled sound of agreement. Astegal released him to the cheers of his men.
    He gave them a brief bow of acknowledgment.
    “Carthage’s supremacy is restored,” he said lightly.
    Kratos didn’t say anything then, only got to his feet with an obvious effort, rubbing his wrenched shoulder in pain. Later we had a good, long soak in the caldarium, which Kratos claimed would help the injury heal. We could see Astegal in a private room beyond the caldarium, the doorway guarded by a pair of ever-present and vigilant Amazigh. He was taking a massage, his muscles loose and languid, his eyes closed, his olive skin glistening with oil.
    There was no one else in the pool at the moment. I entertained thoughts of killing him then and there. If I could have devised a plan that didn’t involve me getting spitted on an Amazigh blade, I might have tried it.
    “My lord,” Kratos said thoughtfully. “Please tell me it’s your life’s work to destroy that man.”
    “Why?” I asked.
    The expression on Kratos’ homely face was calm, but there was hatred in his voice.
    “Because I would very much like to assist you.”
    I nodded. “Excellent.”

Thirty-Nine

    It was some days before the Longest Night when Justina finally sent for me.
    “What in the seven hells took you so long?” I hissed at her when we were alone in her villa. I expected a flare of the temper I remembered in reply, but Justina surprised me.
    “I needed to think,” she said quietly. “It’s a grave danger.”
    “Did Sunjata not confirm the truth of all I told you?” I inquired.
    Justina looked at me for a long time. “Yes,” she said at length. “Yes, he did. But he’s worried that you’re being hasty and careless.” She smiled wryly. “I didn’t realize you were . . . enamored . . . of her.”
    “Strong feelings cloud the wits,” I said, quoting her ladyship. “Yes, I know. But a task is a task. And hasty . . . Name of Elua, Justina! The Longest Night is nearly on us. We don’t have forever. Come spring, Astegal will move against Serafin’s rebels, and the opportunity will be lost.”
    “I know.” Justina sighed. “Astegal plans a fête to honor D’Angeline tradition. I’ve managed to get invited. I’ll approach him then and tell him I’ve been missing him.
    Beyond that, I can make no promises.”
    “My thanks,”