Kushiel's Mercy

are her son. You look just like her.”
    “She’s no goddess,” I said wryly.
    “Touchy, touchy.” He arched one brow. “It’s just a saying, my lovely. Very common in these parts. I wasn’t speaking of her ladyship.”
    I bit my tongue on a sharp retort and sheathed my blade. “Have you come to take me to her?”
    “I have.” Leander inclined his head. He had the blue-black Shahrizai hair, too. It was plaited in a handful of braids, caught up at the crown of his head. “Come with me.”
    My mother’s villa lay in the foothills of the mountains, a short ride from the city proper.
    As we rode, Leander told me somewhat of his history, or rather, his family’s history.
    Many years ago, Melisande’s father, Casimar Shahrizai, had embarked on an illicit affair with the wife of another Kusheline lord, the Baron de Maignard. During their affair, Victoire de Maignard had gotten with child and delivered a boy. Casimar had demanded she acknowledge the boy as his. Being of Azzallese descent and proud, Victoire had refused. They had quarrelled bitterly.
    “So.” Leander’s generous mouth twisted. “Casimar ruined my family.”
    “How so?” I asked.
    “With money.” He shrugged. “He got my great-grandmother’s husband to invest in a scheme that left him penniless. House Maignard was destroyed. The Baron killed himself in shame. My great-grandmother’s family shunned her for her folly. House Shahrizai turned their backs on her. She became a laundress.”
    He went on to tell me how my mother had heard the story as a child. When she came of age and into estates of her own, she sought out the fallen Maignard clan and offered to buy them out of penury. The price for her generosity was their loyalty to her and her alone.
    “Great-grandmother Victoire accepted it,” Leander said cynically. “Even Azza’s pride would bend under the weight of a thousand vats of laundry. Our family’s been in your mother’s service ever since.”
    “You don’t mind?” I asked.
    “Why should I?” Leander gestured expansively. “Oh, I know, I’m meant to think exile from Terre d’Ange is a hell unto itself. But look around you, man! It’s a little paradise here. I’ve lived here since I was a boy. All of that other business happened long before I was born. And I’ll tell you . . .” He fingered a ruby stud in his earlobe and smirked.
    “Your mother’s a generous patron.”
    “I’m sure she is,” I muttered.
    Leander drew rein. “All right. You want to hear a piece of Maignard family lore?” His expression hardened. “By all accounts, Casimar Shahrizai was a nasty piece of work. He was charming, but vindictive as all hell. He spent an ungodly amount of money to ruin the old baron. When you mother made her offer, she swore in Kushiel’s name that she would never act out of mere spite. Insofar as I know, she never has.”
    I didn’t know what to say.
    “So.” Leander shrugged again. “Now you know.”
    It was a strange feeling. I’d never thought of my mother as a child, as someone’s daughter. I’d never thought about the forces that had shaped her, like a charming and vicious father. I couldn’t help but feel a creeping sense of admiration for the young woman she had been. Laying the groundwork for plans that would eventually shake the realm to its core. Adhering to her own twisted principles of integrity.
    And a sense of loss, too—for the person my mother might have been if she hadn’t been so goddamned ambitious.
    All of us had monsters hidden within us.
    I’d seen the face of mine in my madness, turning me against everyone I loved, relishing their pain. I’d seen a future in which my son, Dorelei’s and my son, had become a tyrant, cruel and ruthless.
    We reached the villa. It was a sprawling place, sunlit and gracious. The foothills were terraced, grapes ripening on the vine. The scent of cypress wafted down from the mountains. Leander and I dismounted in the courtyard. A cheerful Cytheran stable-lad came to take our mounts. Leander ruffled his hair, gave him a kiss on the cheek. The stable-lad ducked his head and smiled.
    “All is permitted in her ladyship’s household,” Leander commented.
    He led me through the villa. It had mosaic tile floors that were exquisite, depicting the Hellene goddess of love in various adventures. I heard the sound of laughter. A young woman darted from a hallway, her eyes blindfolded, and blundered into Leander. He laughed and caught her