Kushiel's Mercy

my lady.”
    “You never spoke that nicely to Leander Maignard,” I observed to Sidonie. “In fact, you teased him rather mercilessly.”
    She gave me a sidelong glance. “Well, not at the end. But you must admit, that pomade made a rather absurd first impression.”
    I laughed. “Oh, I know. I’ve not forgotten the stench of it.”
    Mostly, during those first days, Sidonie and I spent long hours talking—or at least I did.
    She wanted to know everything, wanted all the gaps in her knowledge filled. And she wanted to know about Cythera and my mother and Ptolemy Solon. I talked myself dry, exploring feelings I hadn’t had time to consider. I told her what it had been like believing myself Leander, and about the way he’d changed. About the things that had affected him: her, the Aragonian boy in the slave-market. Sidonie listened gravely, although she didn’t try to hide her amusement when I told her about Sunjata.
    “Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked, eyes dancing.
    “Leander did,” I said wryly. “Which is a passing odd memory to hold.”
    At that, Sidonie looked away. “Yes, I know.”
    “Love.” I took her hand lightly. “You can speak of it. Believe me, there’s nothing you could say that I couldn’t bear to hear.”
    “I know.” Her fingers stirred in mine. “One day I will. Not yet.”
    “Let it take as long as it takes.” I stroked her fingers. “I didn’t speak of what the Mahrkagir did to me for months, and then only to Phèdre. After that, it was years before I spoke of it again. Just don’t close me out.”
    Sidonie squeezed my hand. “I won’t. But it’s not the same.”
    “No,” I said. “I know. It’s awful in a different way. I was there, I saw. And I have the misfortune of having escorted Astegal to Jasmine House, where his performance appeared to be received with considerable satisfaction by not one, but two adepts. So if you think you’re going to shock and horrify me, don’t.”
    Her mouth quirked. “There’s a question most men would have asked by now.”
    “Ah.” I took her chin in my hand, turning her reluctant face toward mine. “Do you want me to ask it?”
    “No.” Tears stood in her eyes. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t believe me.”
    “When you said what?” I asked gently. “That you never felt the very gods themselves were attendant on your love-making with Astegal? That you never experienced his feelings as surely as your own, as though you were one person in separate skins? That it wasn’t intimate and glorious and terrifying all at once?”
    She smiled through her tears. “Well, yes.”
    I shook my head. “Sidonie, if I didn’t know that without having to ask, I might as well go back to Carthage and take up with Sunjata.”
    That made her laugh and the moment passed. It was all right, I thought. Sidonie had borne the first blow of knowledge with amazing resilience, but she’d warned me it might not last. It was good that we’d begun to speak of it.
    In time, she would heal.
    And I knew a thing or two about dealing with the burden of unwarranted guilt. As long as we were together, we could survive anything.
    Thus was my positive state of mind on the fourth day of our journey, when our luck changed.
    It was Captain Deimos who summoned us to the aft deck of the ship and pointed toward the south. I shaded my eyes and squinted, making out the distant form of a war-ship riding the choppy grey waters behind us.
    “We’re being pursued,” he said grimly. “And they’re fast.”

Fifty-One

    “You’re sure?” Sidonie asked, her voice strained.
    Deimos gave a curt nod. “Fairly. The captain Astegal left in charge of the harbor reserve is no fool. I doubt it took him long to realize he granted us passage on the very day the princess and Leander Maignard vanished.”
    “What can we do?” I asked.
    He took a deep breath. “You’ve three choices. We can try to outrace them long enough to put ashore at the next port, but I reckon we’re only a couple of leagues south of Amílcar, and it’s blockaded. We can take to open water and pray they’re not foolhardy enough to follow. Or we can surrender.”
    “No,” Sidonie said.
    We glanced at one another. “Open water?” I asked.
    She nodded. “Please, my lord captain. It’s very, very important.”
    Deimos’ lips moved in a silent prayer. “I’ll try.”
    He strode along the deck, shouting orders. His sailors scrambled to obey. The ship’s prow swung toward the east, nosing