Kushiel's Mercy

like wildfire. By the time we emerged from the Temple of Elua, it was already racing ahead of us. Men and women thronged the streets, worrying their fingertips bloody as they pried at paving-stones, clamoring to search the premises of merchants and wineshops and threatening violence to any who might forbid them entry.
    “Good,” Joscelin said briefly.
    Phèdre glanced at him. “Surely there must be a more logical way to approach this.”
    He shrugged. “You’re good at figuring out that sort of thing.”
    “Well, we know Bodeshmun had the gem the night of the fête when the delegation first arrived,” Phèdre said pragmatically. “That’s when I noticed it.”
    “He had it the day of the marvel,” I added. I was just as glad to have her mind working on this puzzle and not picking out inconsistencies in our story. “Sid—” I caught myself. Elua, this was hard. “I went to watch the preparations in Elua’s Square earlier in the day and I saw it then.”
    “So if Bodeshmun hid it himself, all we need to do is retrace his steps between the last sighting and the day he departed to limit the possibilities,” Phèdre mused. “Unless of course he handed it off to someone else.”
    “He had runners going back and forth to adjust the mirrors on the walls.” I pictured Bodeshmun pacing in his study, absentmindedly touching his chest where the painted leather talisman that held the key to unlocking the demon-stone was hidden. “But I don’t think he was the sort to hand off so powerful a charm.”
    “No?” She regarded me. “Well, that would surely make the task easier. I’ll have to ask Sidonie’s opinion. Doubtless she came to know Bodeshmun quite well during her time in Carthage.”
    “Doubtless,” I agreed.
    “What about the Royal Treasury?” Joscelin suggested. “After all, where better to hide a single gem than amid a thousand others?”
    Phèdre smiled at him. “That’s an excellent thought.”
    I stifled a groan. That was one of the few places L’Envers had managed to search thoroughly; but I couldn’t very well say it, and I couldn’t think of a valid reason to discount the notion. I gazed out the window at the folk pelting through the city, spreading the word, searching haphazardly. A gem the size of a child’s fist. It could be hidden anywhere. I remembered the icy-hot pain of a needle piercing my kidneys, Sunjata’s voice hissing in my ear.
    Go to Cythera .
    An emerald flash.
    “Do you recall what Bodeshmun did after showing you the marvel?” I asked. “After the shadow had passed from the moon?”
    “Everyone went . . .” Phèdre’s face went blank. “There was a fête, wasn’t there?” she asked Joscelin, who nodded uncertainly. “Elua! Between the wonder and the horror, I swear, the night’s a blur.” She stroked my hair. “I don’t remember much beyond hearing you’d been found unconscious and raving, I fear.”
    “That was a bad night,” Joscelin murmured. “I’m sure others will recall it better.”
    I wasn’t. I already knew Sidonie didn’t; we’d discussed it. But I held my tongue on the thought.
    The reception took place in the Hall of Audience. The first thing I saw upon entering was the painting rendered in ground gems that had been the centerpiece of Carthage’s largesse.
    It was on prominent display, the frame draped in black crepe. I stood and gazed at it for a long time. Ptolemy Solon had said that the image had defined the essence of the spell. A tall man with black hair and a crimson beard, a blonde woman. Standing before an oak tree, their hands clasped in friendship.
    Or love.
    I’d assumed the woman was meant to be Ysandre; we all had. It could as easily have been Sidonie. Mayhap it represented both of them. I searched the image for clues, hoping to find an image of the emerald gem buried in the leaves of the oak tree or mayhap a word hidden in the glimmering whorls of its bark, but there was nothing. Like as not it was a futile hope. L’Envers had said he’d searched Elua’s Square and the great oak tree itself. It had been barren in winter with no crown of green leaves to hide a gem. If the demon-stone was in Elua’s Square, it could only be buried beneath the flagstones.
    But a word . . . if there was a word hidden in the design, it was like to be written in Punic.
    I wouldn’t even recognize the alphabet. I resolved to tell Sidonie to examine it herself at the earliest opportunity.
    “Cousin.” A familiar voice behind me