Kushiel's Mercy

then.”
    Vowing silently to kill him myself, I returned his smile politely and withdrew.
    When I returned to my own quarters, there was a message from Justina asking me to call on her. Sunjata was there, sorting through new acquisitions and scribbling out a manifest.
    He glanced up as I read the message. “Good news?”
    I frowned. “No news, just a summons. Did her messenger say anything?”
    Sunjata shook his head. “No.”
    Well, I thought, mayhap Justina was being discreet, which was wise. Still, I had a sinking feeling. I’d been with Sidonie all afternoon. If Justina had been with Astegal, if she’d succeeded in exchanging the rings, there should have been some change, some shift.
    There’d been a small one, I supposed. Sidonie had bestirred herself after losing that first game. That lively spark of intelligence that had been burning dangerously low since Astegal had taken her arm on the docks of New Carthage and steered her away had reasserted itself.
    Was it enough?
    It didn’t feel like it.
    So I summoned Kratos to escort me and made my way to Justina’s villa. She was there, awaiting me. As before, she had dismissed her servants. This time, there was no kiss of greeting. Justina was restless and pacing, seeming at odds with herself.
    “Here.” She thrust the suede pouch that contained the ring into my hand.
    “Is it . . . ?” I hesitated.
    “No.” Justina’s eyes were bright with tears and anger. “No. I’m sorry , Leander. I couldn’t do it.”
    I closed my hand on the pouch, feeling the hard knot of gold within it bite into my palm. I forced my voice to gentleness. “Why?”
    “Because I was scared!” She rubbed impatiently at her eyes. “Oh, gods! You don’t know; you have no idea. You’ve been . . . well, no. No, never mind. I have a life and a role here in Aragonia, and I’ve built it very carefully.”
    “And you said you were poised to tip the balance,” I reminded her. Gently, gently. “What for, if not for this moment?”
    “Not like this!” Her dark eyes blazed. “I’m not some marketplace trickster, skilled at sleight of hand. If you want me to send a covert message to Serafin, yes, I can do that. If you want me to engage Astegal in leading pillow-talk, yes, I can do that, too. There’s a lot I can do. But I tell you, it’s not as easy as you might think to tug a ring from the finger of a man bent on love-making without his noticing! I hoped he’d fall asleep, but he wouldn’t stay. He’s a glutton for pleasure, but I don’t think he’s lacking in satisfaction where his D’Angeline bride is concerned. And if I’d tried it and he did notice . . . gods, Leander, do you have any idea how many loyal Aragonians would suffer for it if Astegal suspected me?”
    “No,” I murmured. “I’m sorry, Justina.”
    She shuddered. “Don’t be. Just . . .” She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them.
    “What if this is all for the best? Do you ever think on it?”
    “Carthage ascendant?” I asked.
    Justina nodded. “Does it really matter to us ?”
    There was so much in the question. We were both protégés of her ladyship, awed, admiring, and grateful. And yet we knew her one weakness. Her son, Imriel. I was here because Melisande Shahrizai loved her son. I was here because Ptolemy Solon loved her ladyship. I had assurances from the Council of Thirty that Solon’s goodwill was accepted.
    Two months ago, this question would have been easy to answer.
    Not now.
    I sat uninvited, bowing my head. “Yes. It does to me.”
    She came to stand beside me, stroking my braids. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
    I looked up at Justina. “You’re sure?”
    “Yes.” She swallowed. “I am sorry. I know . . .” Justina paused. “No, I don’t. Not really.
    But I can’t do this. Not for you, not even for her ladyship. Can you forgive me?”
    I smiled bitterly. “I’ll try.”
    On that note, I took my leave of Justina, the false copy of Astegal’s ring heavy in my pocket. Kratos walked beside me. They didn’t use palanquins in New Carthage, or not yet, at least. I was glad of it. I took a grim satisfaction in feeling the muscles of my calves laboring as we climbed the hill toward the palace.
    “So.” Kratos pursed his lips. “There’s a ring, eh?”
    I shot a sidelong glance at him. “I don’t know what you overheard, but the less you know, the better for you, my friend.”
    He snorted. “Friend, is it? Well, if you care to trust me, I’ve an