Kushiel's Mercy

I said. “It’s a great deal to ask, I know.”
    She gave me another long look. “’Tis an unlikely task. I’d no idea her ladyship had such . . . strong feelings . . . for her estranged son.”
    “Nor does anyone else,” I observed. “Her ladyship is clever enough to use her own reputation and advice against her adversaries. By the Goddess, even Astegal and Bodeshmun think me an ally! Which makes it a perfect gambit, do you not think?”
    “I don’t know,” Justina mused. “I truly don’t.”
    “But you’ll help?” I pressed her.
    She sighed again. “I’ll try.”
    I didn’t know what to expect of the Longest Night. In her ladyship’s household on Cythera, we simply celebrated with a masqued ball. I had vague memories of celebrating it in Terre d’Ange as a child. Pine boughs and beeswax candles, snatched sips of joie . I’d been permitted to stay awake long enough to witness the pageant of Winter’s Queen and the Sun Prince the year before we had departed to prepare a household for her ladyship on Cythera. I remembered music and adults glittering in masks. I couldn’t imagine Astegal would seek to re-create it for Sidonie’s sake. Surely there were too many dangerous memories of Terre d’Ange attached to it. He would not take the risk.
    In that, I was right.
    In some ways, it might have been any other night in New Carthage under the rule of Astegal the First. No masks, no pageant. No Sun Prince entering by chariot with his gilded spear to restore light to the world. There was much of what there had been every night at the palace: wine and feasting. All the guests had been carefully selected, so that there were none who would dare strain the fragile veil of illusions that bound Sidonie.
    But there was music.
    And dancing.
    As the Chief Horologist, Bodeshmun himself declared the hour in a deep voice. The balance of the world had tipped, darkness giving way to light. The musicians struck up a measured tune. At the head table, Astegal arose and bowed to Sidonie, extending his hand to her. She rose and took his hand, and they danced together.
    I swallowed bile.
    They looked well together, loath though I was to admit it. Him so dark, and her so fair.
    She looked smaller in his arms. His hands, possessing her. Resting on her waist, caressing.
    Her face lifted to his, his head bent over her, solicitous.
    “Sidonie,” I whispered, miserable.
    But then there was another tune and another. Others danced. I saw Justina approach Astegal and curtsy, voicing a request. I saw him accept, laughing. White teeth, wagging jaw. A narrow strip of crimson beard. The musicians picked up their pace. Justina glanced at me over Astegal’s shoulder, her eyes flashing.
    I approached her, ignoring the ever-present Amazigh.
    Sidonie.
    “Will you dance?” I asked simply.
    Her hand slid into mine. “All right.”
    Oh, gods.
    We fit ; we fit so well together, I felt dizzy. Every step she took, I knew before she took it.
    Her body fit itself to mine. I led her and she followed. Effortless. I wanted to crush her against me. I was fairly trembling with the effort of not doing so.
    “Why?” I whispered hoarsely in her ear. “You asked me to come here. Why do you disdain me, Sidonie?”
    She shivered. “I don’t.”
    “You do!” I said in anguish.
    Her head had been bowed, but she lifted it now. Her black eyes met mine. “When first we met, I spoke of temptation and its lack. At the time, I spoke honestly. But this . . . ”
    Another shiver ran through her. “I thought it would go away, and it hasn’t. Why ?”
    “I told you why in Carthage,” I murmured.
    Sidonie shook her head. “Even if that were true, it doesn’t explain this.”
    I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t very well tell her that I reminded her of the love she had forgotten. It would only add another layer of unbelievable madness to my tale, and it wouldn’t advance my cause with her. If I succeeded, she’d remember soon enough. I shifted her hand from my shoulder, laying it on my chest so she could feel my heart beating fast and hard. “Mayhap the gods have their reasons.”
    She pulled her hand away. “Please don’t make this more difficult.”
    “Just don’t shut me out altogether,” I whispered. “Please.”
    The song ended too soon. There was another of Astegal’s hand-picked lords there, Gillimas of Hiram, waiting to claim a dance of her. He was a Guildsman, Sunjata had told me. I’d not had occasion to deal with him. My