Kushiel's Mercy

“The Bella Donna?”
    Ti-Philippe pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Not exactly. But the isle of Cythera was once sacred to the Hellenes as the home of their goddess of love and desire. It is rumored that her likeness has returned in mortal flesh.”
    “That would be your mother,” Phèdre said calmly.
    I groaned. “Isn’t she a bit old for it?”
    Phèdre raised her brows at me.
    “I’ll not say much in Melisande’s favor,” Joscelin intervened with rare diplomacy. “But I will say one thing. Among a folk renowned for beauty and aging with grace, she does stand out.”
    “What do you reckon is our best course?” I asked, steering the conversation onto safer shoals.
    We talked for a while about plausible tales we could concoct to send a fleet of ships to Cythera to apprehend my mother without alerting her in advance, while at the same time maintaining the goodwill of Khebbel-im-Akkad. By the time I departed for the Palace, afternoon was finally wearing on toward evening.
    There was a small formal meal that night with the Carthaginians, which I attended as a member of House Courcel. I was in no mood for small talk, and it seemed to drag on forever. All I wanted was for this night to be over, so I could lay aside my fears and at last address head-on the shadow that had been hanging over Sidonie and me for the past year.
    It wasn’t until we were lingering over glasses of cordial that the Court horologist came, quivering with excitement, to report that the hour was nigh. Even at that, Astegal assured us that we had well over an hour’s time before the moon would be completely obscured.
    Not until that moment would the effects be visible.
    “How long will it last?” Drustan inquired.
    “At least an hour.” Astegal smiled. “The heavens move slowly in their stately dance.
    There will be ample time for you to bask.”
    “Or ample time for many to glimpse the marvels you promise,” noted Ysandre, who had dispatched a contingent of the Royal Army to ensure that matters proceeded in an orderly fashion, and as many folk as possible were able to share the spectacle.
    Astegal accorded her a brief bow. “Her majesty is a generous ruler.”
    We left the Palace in open carriages, escorted by the Queen’s Guard. In the courtyard, one could already see that it had begun. The full moon stood high overhead, a faint shadow beginning to blur one edge. The sight made me profoundly uneasy.
    The streets of the City were packed with folk gazing at the night sky, talking in excited tones. It was a good thing that Ysandre had sent the Royal Army to secure Elua’s Square, because a solid wall of people surrounded it. If Ghislain’s soldiers hadn’t held a corridor open, we’d have had a difficult time getting through. By the time we did, the encroaching shadow had eaten a good chunk of the moon.
    It was an unnerving sight. The outer rim and the missing piece were still faintly visible, dull and red, the color of drying blood. Near the oak tree, the vast silver mirror gleamed.
    The angle of the moon was such that it was reflected perfectly in the mirror.
    We were given places of honor around the perimeter of the mirror, as were a select number of other folk. I was pleased to see that Phèdre and Joscelin were among them.
    There, we waited.
    And waited.
    And waited.
    It was indeed a slow and stately dance. We peered into the mirror, gazed at the sky. We ceded our places briefly to others, letting them catch a glimpse. We strained our eyes gazing toward the distant walls of the City, trying to spot the other twelve mirrors. The bloody stain spread slowly over the moon, creeping gradually toward total obscurity.
    There was only a thin sliver of silver-white moon yet visible when a voice at my ear whispered, “A word, your highness. Behind the oak. Believe me, it is more important than this so-called marvel.”
    The damned eunuch.
    I turned, but he was already gone, a lithe, dark figure slipping through the throng. I glanced at Sidonie beside me. She was absorbed in watching the mirror, but she looked up and met my eyes.
    “Sunjata,” I murmured, too low for anyone else to hear.
    “Now?” she asked in disbelief.
    I nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
    “Be careful,” she said.
    I grabbed the nearest person behind me, a surprised Siovalese engineer. “Have a quick look,” I said, squeezing past him. “It’s nearly time.”
    I left him stammering thanks and worked my way through the throng to the far side of the