Kushiel's Mercy

aroma.”
    “The cypresses of Cythera are legendary,” he agreed. “Have you been there?”
    “To Cythera?” I shook my head. “No.”
    Gillimas favored me with a careless smile. “Mayhap you should go.”
    I closed the lid. “My thanks. I’ll think on it.”
    His smile deepened. “Do.”
    The evening wore on and on, into the small hours. I did my part, conversing pleasantly in several tongues with myriad people, trying to collect my reeling thoughts. Out of the corner of my eye, I kept a lookout for the eunuch Sunjata, but it seemed he had been present only to attend his merchant-patron. All along the edges of the great hall, Carthaginian treasure sparkled. Ysandre had pledged to divide it among the members of Parliament.
    Everyone was happy.
    My skin crawled.
    I wanted . . . what? I didn’t know. I wanted a moment alone with Gillimas, with Sunjata, a chance to shake the truth from them. I got neither. I wanted to talk to Phèdre. Cythera.
    It made sense. A small isle, but it had been ruled in its time by many different folk.
    Hellas. Ephesium. I’d never been able to place Canis’ accent, his history. It had held somewhat of both.
    Gillimas made sense as a member of the Guild.
    So who the hell was Sunjata?
    “So?” In her chambers, in the bed we shared, Sidonie propped herself on one elbow and regarded me, her unbound hair falling over her shoulders. “Did you learn aught this evening?”
    “Sun Princess,” I murmured, running a lock through my fingers. “Yes and no. I’m confused.”
    “Don’t worry.” She bowed her head, her hair trailing over my skin, her lips tracing a line of kisses along the pink scars that furrowed my torso. “Sleep. We’ll sort it out in the morning, you and I.”
    Love.
    Loss.
    My fingers tightened on her. “Gods, I hope so.”
    Sidonie yawned, settling her head on my shoulder, fitting her body to mine, where it belonged. “We will.”
    “Please,” I whispered, wrapping her in my arms. “Ah, Elua. Please. ”

Eleven
    “Cythera,” Phèdre said. “Interesting.”
    “Is it?” Joscelin asked.
    “Ptolemy Dikaios’ wife was Cytheran,” she reminded him. “And we know Melisande was in league with him.”
    Joscelin eyed her. “You do keep an ungodly amount of information stored in that beautiful head, love.”
    “Precious little else regarding Cythera, I’m afraid,” she said. “Except that it’s an Akkadian holding. Mayhap the Khalif will prove willing to assist us.”
    “Assuming my mother actually is there,” I said. “Elua! I wish these damned people would speak plainly.”
    After talking with Sidonie, I’d sent a polite message to Gillimas asking if he could tell me aught more about the coffer’s history. I’d received a prompt, polite message in reply saying no, he was unable to tell me more, but if I wished, he would be honored to speak with me regarding any other matter. And I’d sent a message to Sunjata asking if I could meet with him regarding a commission of gem-stones, and received a polite reply saying that he and his employer were busy assisting the horologists with their preparations, but that he would be honored to meet with me after the spectacle, which was to take place three days hence.
    It was enough to drive me mad.
    “I’ll see what I can learn about Cythera,” Phèdre promised.
    “Be discreet,” I said.
    She laughed. “Aren’t I always?”
    “Send Ti-Philippe down to the wharf taverns to sound out Rousse’s sailor-lads,” Joscelin suggested. “He’s always glad of a chance to drink and dice with sailors, and they trade gossip from ports all over the world. Since all of Terre d’Ange knows we’re trying to find Melisande, no one will find it suspicious, although he might want to get them good and drunk before he steers the conversation toward Cythera.”
    Phèdre blinked at him. “That’s an excellent idea.”
    He grinned. “Credit a lifetime of listening to your intrigues.”
    Ti-Philippe agreed readily. He’d been a sailor himself once, long ago, under Rousse’s command.
    Beyond that, there wasn’t much to be done at the moment. Sidonie reported the latest developments to her mother, who replied that the matter would have to wait for discussion until the Carthaginian delegation had departed. For my part, if I found I had no choice but to strike out for Cythera on the dubious message implied in Gillimas’ gift, I damned well wasn’t going to do it until the Carthaginians were gone.
    They made me