Kushiel's Mercy

shoulders.
    “Leander,” she said decisively, raising her blind face and sniffing. “I know your pomade.”
    “Well done.” He kissed her brow. “Hurry!”
    A dark-skinned young man emerged from the hallway, his eyes bound, stumbling after her. Leander stepped deftly out of his way. “Ah,” he said with a trace of melancholy. “He puts me in mind of Sunjata.”
    “You know him?” I asked.
    “Very well.” His mouth quirked. “We trained together, Sunjata and I. ’Tis a barbaric custom, gelding. It happened at Carthage’s hands. Now her ladyship seeks to acquire them earlier, before it can be done. And his apish lordship has banned it at her urging, at least on Cythera.”
    The sound of laughter receded.
    I heard a fountain instead.
    “Here.” Leander halted at the entrance to an inner courtyard. His light-blue eyes met mine. “I will go no farther with you. Her ladyship awaits.”
    I entered the courtyard.
    I saw her.
    Phèdre was right. My mother’s beauty hadn’t dimmed. It had only changed again.
    Melisande lifted her head and gazed at me, tears brightening her glorious eyes, the deep blue hue of a twilit sea. There were faint lines etched at the corners, a few threads of bright silver strewn in her black hair. There was somewhat else, too. A well of sorrow and regret, a humanity that had been lacking. A goddess rendered mortal by time and compassion, all the more poignant for it.
    My mother breathed my name. “Imriel.”
    I walked toward her. “Mother,” I said, my voice sounding strange to my ears. I had never called her that. I’d never called anyone that.
    She touched my cheek, her fingers hesitant. “You look older than I expected.”
    “Twenty-two,” I said, my throat tight. “But on most days it feels like more.”
    “I know,” she said quietly.
    I took a deep breath, trying to loosen the tightness. “I don’t . . .” I spread my hands. “I don’t know what to say. You know why I’m here.” She nodded without speaking. “Solon accused me of callousness and temerity. I told him it was desperation. But you sent for me, too. Sunjata did your bidding. Knowing that I’d sworn to bring you to justice, you sent for me. So . . . here I am. Begging for your help.” I licked my dry lips. “And I will tell you what I told Solon. Terre d’Ange is willing to commute your sentence to exile. I can’t offer more than that on behalf of the realm. But anything else in my power, anything you wish of me, I will do.”
    Curiosity raised my mother’s winged brows. It made her look younger. “What do you imagine I might ask for?”
    “I don’t know.” I glanced around the courtyard. Flowering shrubs blossomed in profusion.
    The fountain splashed merrily, water sparkling in the sunlight. “Me,” I said. “You might ask me to join you in exile.”
    Melisande’s curious expression didn’t change. “Would you?”
    An invisible band around my chest tightened. I thought about Astegal and his heavy-lidded smile. Sidonie. Phèdre and Joscelin gazing at me in perplexity, their memories stolen. The rising tide of unease on the streets of Marsilikos, Quintilius Rousse’s ships in the harbor. “Yes,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. “If it meant undoing Carthage’s spell.”
    Unexpectedly, she laughed, a mixture of humor and sadness in it. “Ah, Elua! Imriel, I’ve given you enough reasons to hate me already. Why would I choose one more?” My mother shook her head. “Come. Sit and listen a moment.”
    There was a curved marble bench near the fountain. We sat on opposite ends of it.
    Melisande gazed at the falling water.
    “I mean to persuade Solon to aid you,” she said without preamble. “And I believe he will.
    I wish you to know that I expect no gratitude for it. Not from you, not from Terre d’Ange.
    I do not imagine this will buy me forgiveness.”
    “Are you making atonement?” I asked her.
    Her gaze shifted to me. Gods, she really was beautiful. “Perhaps, in a way. Although you may not believe it, I do love Terre d’Ange. I could have controlled Waldemar Selig if he had proved victorious. I would have built somewhat glorious in the aftermath and turned his victory into my own.”
    “Dreams of empire,” I murmured. “You’d like Astegal of Carthage.”
    She gave a faint, wry smile. “Probably. But I don’t care to watch him usurp the country I once dreamed of ruling.”
    “A true patriot,” I observed.
    “No.” Melisande shook her head. “I don’t