Kushiel's Mercy

with gossip.
    “What passes?” I asked one of the guards I knew by sight.
    His face was grim. “We’ve had ships lying off the harbor at Amílcar. One of them intercepted an Aragonian ship bound for Terre d’Ange. Serafin’s pleading for aid from the D’Angeline fleet.” He lowered his voice. “Trying to trade on their old alliance.”
    “I thought the D’Angeline fleet was incapacitated,” I said.
    “Not the bulk of it,” he said glumly. “Looks as though we’ll be fighting a winter war after all.”
    “Hard luck,” I said.
    The guard shrugged. “It’s a soldier’s lot.”
    Better than a bath-house attendant’s lot, I thought, but I kept my mouth shut. This particular guard seemed a decent enough fellow. Inwardly, I was pleased. If Astegal pulled his army out of New Carthage, the task of gaining access to Sidonie seemed marginally less insurmountable.
    Things were finally beginning to move.

Fourty-Three

    Once things began to move, they moved quickly indeed. By the time Sunjata returned from old Carthage, he was astonished at all that had transpired in his absence. Astegal might have enjoyed playing cock of the walk and being pampered, but when he moved, he moved swiftly and decisively.
    Everywhere, plans were afoot. A small standing army would be left under Lord Gillimas’
    command to guard New Carthage. Bodeshmun would be in charge of administering the city and the surrounding areas, and after his display in the great hall, I doubted there would be much in the way of an insurrection.
    Most of the Carthaginian fleet would be moved to blockade the harbor of Amílcar, leaving a handful behind to secure the harbor here. After studying the city’s defenses, Astegal had determined that it would be best assailed by land. He himself would command the siege.
    Well and good, I thought. Go. Go far, far away, Astegal.
    Of all the events that had transpired, the one that astonished Sunjata the most was that Esme had succeeded in procuring Astegal’s ring.
    “You’re sure?” he said. “Did it have an effect?”
    I nodded. “Oh, yes.”
    Sidonie had sent for me the day after Bodeshmun had killed the young Aragonian with a single breath, although of course the knowledge of that event had been kept from her. I’d found her pale and guarded. I’d brought the book of love letters with me and presented it to her as a gift. She’d gazed at it for a long time, her brows furrowed.
    “I know this correspondence,” she murmured at length. “Somehow. Thank you; it will be a pleasure to read the Aragonian translation.”
    I bowed. “I hope it may provide solace in your husband’s absence.”
    “My husband’s absence.” She raised her gaze to meet mine. The fear and uncertainty in her eyes had doubled. Underneath it was a terrified determination that nearly broke my heart. “Yes.”
    We had played our usual game. At first, I’d thought that Sidonie was playing badly, walking into a rather obvious trap I’d set. Then I felt the pressure of her foot against mine beneath the table as she studied the board.
    “I’m in a very precarious situation here, aren’t I, Messire Maignard?” she inquired.
    I moved a piece, returning the unseen pressure. “Indeed, my lady.”
    Her hand hovered over her queen. “I confess, I don’t fully understand what it is that you’ve done. Will you be gallant enough to advise me?”
    I shook my head. “I cannot divulge my secrets.”
    Sidonie’s head moved imperceptibly in the direction of the Amazigh guard. I gave the briefest possible nod. The guard stared past us, bored half out of his wits. I’d wager they drew straws to avoid this posting.
    “Well,” she said lightly. “Mayhap I’ll find a way to make you talk.”
    “Mayhap you will,” I said. “But not today.”
    That was all, but it was enough. She knew. She knew something was very, very wrong.
    Bodeshmun’s spell had been weakened. And Sidonie de la Courcel, terrified and uncertain, was nonetheless playing a cautious and meticulous game of her own.
    It was hard, so damnably hard , not to be able to tell her.
    Elua, she had courage! I broke into a cold sweat conversing under the Amazigh’s bored gaze. How much worse must it be for Sidonie? She knew, but she didn’t know . Missing memories, false memories. At least I had the surety of my own wits and a loyal ally or two.
    Sidonie was all alone.
    I didn’t see her again until after the majority of the Carthaginian fleet had set sail and Astegal