Kushiel's Mercy

Justina’s villa with the copy of Astegal’s ring. And then, alas, it was back to the agony of waiting. I didn’t know how long it would be before Astegal chose to call on her. Not long, I hoped. He was capable of patience, but he didn’t strike me as a man fond of waiting to take his pleasures in life.
    Gods, I couldn’t think about that.
    A day passed, then two. On the third, there was no word from Justina, but one of Sidonie’s attendants, a Carthaginian girl with a sullen face, brought an invitation to a game of chess. I accepted with alacrity.
    We met in the study of the chambers she shared with Astegal. It made me uncomfortable to see evidence of his presence there—a half-written letter in Punic script, a map depicting the harbor of Amílcar. And a looming Amazigh guard, of course. That at least I’d expected.
    And Sidonie. She was wearing a gown of deep burgundy red today. The color suited her better than I would have thought.
    “Messire Maignard,” she said in a measured tone. “Thank you for coming on short notice.”
    “Of course,” I said in surprise. “My lady, as your husband noted, I have no purpose here but to entertain. Truth be told, I’d rather serve at your whim than his.” I rubbed the back of my bandaged hand. “Chess is a bloodless sport.”
    She winced. “Were you badly hurt?”
    “No, no.” I glanced at the Amazigh on guard and smiled. He didn’t smile back, at least not that I could tell. “Shall we play?”
    The board was set. As before, we sat opposite one another and began a game. For a time, we played in silence. Sidonie played badly from the beginning, and I could tell her thoughts were elsewhere. Ah, gods! I would have given anything for ten minutes alone with her. But no. Justina had the ring; she would have her liaison with Astegal sooner or later, and if she succeeded, the situation would be greatly changed. Now was not the time to take any unnecessary risks.
    So instead I took them on the chess board, playing recklessly and foolishly. She was sufficiently distracted that she missed several opportunities I left her and presented me with unwontedly careless openings.
    “Ah, Elua!” Sidonie said in disgust as I took advantage of one such, capturing her second rook. It was the first genuine display of emotion she’d shown that day; one of few since coming to New Carthage. “Why did I do that?”
    I made as though to tip her king. “Shall I or will you?”
    “Wait.” She studied the board a moment. “Oh, fine. Do it. But I want a rematch.”
    “Will you actually play this time, my lady?” I inquired.
    Sidonie made a face, wrinkling her nose at me. It made her look as young as she was, and it was so uncharacteristic that it made me laugh aloud in delight.
    We played another game, this one more evenly matched. “I’m sorry about the guards turning you away the other night in the courtyard,” she said some way into it. “They didn’t understand.”
    “That’s quite all right.” I advanced a pawn. “Did you have a pleasant vigil?”
    “No,” she said frankly. “Did you?”
    “I fell asleep,” I admitted.
    She laughed and moved her knight. “You’re honest.”
    “I’m trying,” I said.
    Her quick gaze flicked up at me. There was a question written there. “Yes, well, I’m waiting,” she said lightly. “It’s your move, Messire Maignard.”
    I nodded. “I know, my lady. I know.”
    That was all we said of the matter. We both concentrated on our games. It took long enough that I saw the Amazigh’s veil sucked inward in a yawn. In the end, the game was a draw.
    “Well.” Sidonie raised her brows. “That doesn’t happen often.”
    “No,” I said. “No, it doesn’t.”
    There was a sound in the outer chamber, Astegal returning from wherever he’d been. I heard him exchange a few words in Punic with one of the other Amazigh. Shortly afterward, he entered the study, looking sleek and very pleased with himself.
    I rose and bowed. “Well met, my lord.”
    “Ah, young Leander!” Astegal clapped a careless hand on my shoulder. “Fulfilling your duties at last, eh?” He moved past me, caressing Sidonie’s cheek. His ring glinted. “I trust he was the perfect courtier?”
    “Of course.” She glanced up at him. “Always.”
    Always and always.
    Astegal gave a less-than-subtle glance at the Amazigh. The swathed face nodded imperceptibly. “Good man, good man!” Astegal smiled at me and made a shooing gesture.
    “Run along,