Kushiel's Mercy

lamps.
    “There is a fruit that grows south of Carthage,” Solon said when the girl had departed.
    “When it is green, it is poisonous. Only when it has fully ripened may it be safely eaten. I sampled it once in my younger days. There was a heady sense of danger in it. Once I’d eaten it, I craved more. Your mother is like that fruit.”
    “I see,” I said.
    “Not entirely.” He tilted his head. “I grow old. I thought myself beyond the point of succumbing to such temptations. The fruit, I withstood. My vow to myself, I have kept.
    But to my chagrin, I find I am unable to resist the delicious, sinful pleasure of groveling at your mother’s feet.” He laughed at my expression. “Ah, Imriel! The world is full of unexpected delights.”
    “Elua knows that’s true,” I muttered.
    The upper rim of the sun vanished beneath the sea, leaving a ruddy glow behind it.
    Servants came with covered dishes, lifting the domes to reveal grape leaves stuffed with rice and lamb, fillets of mullet in wine, crusty bread, and a creamy pink sauce made with fish roe. Solon sniffed appreciatively, his broad nostrils widening.
    “Happiness,” he said.
    I took a long drink of my wine. “Happiness, my lord?”
    “It is the highest form of wisdom.” Solon tore off a piece of bread, dipping it in the roe sauce. He chewed slowly, savoring it. “That is the totality of what I have learned in my pursuit of knowledge, Imriel de la Courcel.”
    I tried the roe sauce, emulating him. It was salty and delicious, velvet on the tongue.
    “Oh?”
    Solon popped a grape leaf–wrapped delicacy into his mouth. “Oh, yes. I have applied this learning here in Cythera since I was given the governorship.” His jaw worked, and he swallowed with obvious pleasure. His brown eyes glowed. “I’ve sought to make my people happy. I’ve listened to the concerns of all and brokered peace among them. I’ve implemented just laws. Do you know, any man, woman, or child sold into slavery in Cythera must be paid a fair wage? Fair enough that they might buy their freedom in seven years’ time.”
    “Sunjata,” I said.
    He nodded with glee. “Even so!”
    “Solon.” I pushed my plate away. “I am interested in your thoughts. Indeed, I spent some months in Tiberium studying philosophy with Master Piero di Bonci, and I would have gladly spent longer. Another time, I would like nothing better than to discuss the virtues of happiness with you. But my country has been torn apart by Carthage’s magics. Terre d’Ange hovers on the brink of instability. And Sidonie de la Courcel, whom I love beyond all reason, has been ensorceled into believing she is meant to wed an ambitious Carthaginian general—”
    Solon speared a piece of poached mullet with his fork. “She did.”
    My voice rose. “When?”
    He chewed and swallowed. “Some two weeks ago. I imagine Carthage will have launched their invasion by now. We ought to get word any day.”
    Sidonie had married Astegal.
    I felt sick.
    “Eat.” Solon pushed my plate back toward me. There was sympathy in his wise ape’s face. “I’ve a feeling you’re going to need your strength. Undoing Carthage’s spell won’t be an easy task.”
    I stabbed at my fish. “Then you’ll help?”
    “I might.” He braced his elbows on the table. “What are you offering?”
    I forced a bite of mullet down my throat. “My mother’s sentence commuted to exile.”
    “No pardon?” Solon asked.
    “No,” I said shortly. I thought about riding into the City upon returning from my excursion to Vralia. The black armbands, the down-turned thumbs. The hard, anguished stares on the faces of the bereaved. “No pardon.”
    He nodded. “I’ll think on it. Will you see her willingly?”
    “Does she have the final say?” I asked grimly.
    “No.” Solon blinked at me. “She has the first say, but the final say is mine. I freely confess myself a man besotted, but it has not bereaved me of my wits.” He gave a slow smile. “I believe I am the first man to say no to your mother from time to time. And oddly enough, I do believe she respects me for it.”
    I took another bite of mullet. “I’ll see her.”
    “Good.” He swabbed another piece of bread with roe sauce. “Because I would have surely refused my aid if you hadn’t. One of her people will come to fetch you in the morning. I hope that you will not be unkind. This will be a long and anxious night of waiting for her.”
    I fought down a surge of impatience.