Kushiel's Mercy

rumor.” He gave me one of his shrewd looks. “Your mother?”
    “Hard to credit,” I said. “But so it seems.”
    We rounded the tip of Caerdicca Unitas and turned eastward. Carthage lay somewhere behind us. Carthage and Sidonie. I could feel it like a tug on my heart. The farther I sailed from her, the more it ached. Memories haunted me. We’d made love in the bathtub the day Astegal had arrived in the City of Elua. I don’t dislike him, Sidonie had said, sliding atop me. Just don’t agree to wed him, I’d said in reply.
    Gods.
    She’d laughed and kissed me, promised me that she wouldn’t. And then the world had changed beneath a bloody moon, and Sidonie had sailed merrily away with Astegal while the entire City cheered and I lay tied to a bed, chafing my wrists and ankles raw, screaming about Cythera.
    I wanted Astegal dead.
    I’d wanted men dead before. Berlik. He had killed Dorelei, killed our unborn son. I’d sworn vengeance on him. But in the end, I’d understood what he had done, and why. In the end, he sought his own death as penance, and I’d wept after I’d slain him. I hadn’t told many people that.
    There were others.
    There was the Mahrkagir. His death had seemed unthinkable—his very name meant
    “Conqueror of Death.” I’d prayed for it, though. We all did in the zenana. I’d prayed, too, for the death of Jagun, the Tatar warlord who had made me his plaything, put his brand on me. I’d felt awe at the Mahrkagir’s death, but I’d gloated over Jagun’s.
    And there was another man who had stolen a woman and forced her into marriage, the Duke of Valpetra. Gods. I’d played a role in his death. I’d not even known the man, but I’d hated him for what he’d done. After he’d taken her, he’d stood before the Prince of Lucca, the girl’s wrist clamped in his hand, and threatened to kill her. I’d ridden them down and cut off his hand at the wrist, freeing her. Helena. That was her name. I hadn’t known her, either. But I remembered the searing look of despair and pride on her face.
    In an awful way, this was worse.
    Astegal hadn’t taken Sidonie against her will—he’d taken her will away. Her mind, her very heart. All of her. He had violated her in the deepest, most profound sense. It terrified me to think what it would do to her. All of that fearless lack of inhibition, that frank, fierce passion that startled and delighted me to this day . . . Blessed Elua have mercy, if Astegal destroyed that, if he made Sidonie despise herself for it, I would kill him slowly.
    Days passed, one by one.
    Cythera drew nigh.
    The sight of the isle’s rocky coastline struck me like a fist to the gut. My mother was there. I hadn’t seen her since I was eleven years old. When I had, I’d thrown her crimes in her face, and then I’d left. And in all the thinking I’d done on this long voyage, I hadn’t let myself think about actually seeing her in the flesh. Now I did. It made me feel sick and uncertain.
    “You all right?” Oppius laid a hand on my shoulder as the harbor of Paphos hove into view on a fair morning.
    My nails bit into the ship’s railing. “We’ll see.”
    It was a small place, Paphos, smaller than I’d expected. A pretty little harbor city nestled in the lee of a mountain range. It looked peaceful. There were a few trade-ships, many fishing vessels. A small fortress guarded the outer entrance to the harbor, and beyond it was a modest palace. A palisade running the length of the harbor, a lively marketplace.
    Pleasant-looking villas, apartments of pale golden brick. Temples. The sunken bowl of an open-air theatre.
    I tried to imagine my mother strolling the palisade with a man ugly enough to be nicknamed the Wise Ape, flanked by attendants with parasols. I shook my head. I couldn’t do it.
    We sailed into the harbor unchallenged. Oppius ordered the sails struck and we went to oars, gliding toward the docks. A handful of mounted men emerged from the fortress, riding along the palisade. By the time Oppius’ men had secured the Aeolia, they were waiting for us.
    “State your business!” the leader called in Hellene.
    “Gods, this feels familiar, doesn’t it?” Oppius murmured to me. “Delivering a passenger,” he called back to the Cytheran harbor-master. “But I’m eager for trade if there are contracts to be had.”
    The harbor-master laughed. “Oh, always. Come ashore, then!”
    My legs trembled as I disembarked. Now that I was here, I wished I had