Kushiel's Mercy

wife.”
    My mother stroked my hair. “Not for always.”
    “No.” I straightened my shoulders. “Her always is mine .”
    Melisande withdrew her touch and regarded me with deep, abiding sorrow. “Will you do me one kindness? I know you’re impatient. And I will send word to Solon seeking his aid immediately. But I would like it very much if you would pass this day with me. I would like, very much, to hear about your life.”
    As much as I wanted to hate her, I couldn’t.
    Not in the flesh.
    I could feel the bond between us, blood-deep. I was her son. I had fought against it in more ways than I could count, and there was a great deal of me that owed nothing to her.
    I was as much Phèdre’s son, as much Joscelin’s, as I was hers and my father’s. But deep in my marrow, I knew her touch. I knew she had carried me in her womb. I had read her letters. I knew she had nursed me at her breast, counted my infant fingers and toes, sung me crib-songs, suffering no one else to usurp those duties.
    “I will,” I said.
    My beautiful, damnable mother settled her glorious gaze on me. “Thank you,” Melisande said simply.

Twenty
    It was a pleasant day.
    I would be lying if I said it wasn’t. I’d never understood how my mother had gotten so many folk willingly involved in her intrigues, but the truth was she was a charming and brilliant woman, unexpectedly candid and self-aware. One found oneself wishing to please her out of unthinking instinct.
    To be sure, her household doted on her. It wasn’t just the members of the Maignard clan, of whom there were half a dozen. It was everyone. The Cytheran servants. The freed slaves, many of whom were her pupils.
    I learned that my mother was a master in the Unseen Guild, and aspired to go no higher.
    Once, she had. She had learned of the Guild’s existence from Anafiel Delaunay many years ago, when he was distraught over the death of Prince Rolande de la Courcel and careless enough to confide in her. She had sought out the Guild on her own and risen quickly within its ranks. If her gambit with Skaldia hadn’t failed, or the attempt to assassinate Ysandre, she would have risen much, much higher.
    Now she contented herself with dabbling. She bought slaves who struck her fancy and gave them their freedom, offering them positions within her household with generous pay.
    A few took their freedom and fled, but most stayed. In time, she made an offer of Guild training and far greater wealth to those she deemed quick-witted and loyal enough to be useful to her. Then she sent them forth to spy on her behalf.
    Over the course of the day, I learned a few things about the Guild. I learned that there were indeed factions within it. Alliances were formed. Ephesium, looking over its shoulder at powerful Khebbel-im-Akkad, favored the rise of Carthage. Most of Caerdicca Unitas, remembering the lessons of history, opposed it and sought ties to nascent Skaldic states. I learned that the Guild’s origins lay in the east, and that their influence was weak in the western realms.
    Mostly, though, I talked.
    I talked for hours.
    Many of the details of my life she knew. Her spies in Terre d’Ange—and their identities was one thing she wouldn’t divulge to me—had kept her well informed. But Melisande wanted to hear about my life from me.
    And I found myself talking about things that surprised me. How the difficulty of being her son was compounded by measuring myself against the extraordinary heroism of my foster-parents. How I’d learned to let go of that for good when I’d accepted failure in Vralia. How I’d felt in Clunderry after Dorelei and I had learned to love one another on our own terms, watching her belly swell with our child. How I’d grieved for their deaths.
    How I’d gone from sheer hatred and a cold desire for vengeance to feel a measure of compassion for Berlik at the end.
    When I’d talked myself dry, my mother was very quiet for a time. We were seated in her salon, drinking a cool white wine made on the villa’s grounds. Blue twilight was beginning to fall outside.
    “You’re a good man,” Melisande murmured. “Elua knows, if I did one good thing in my life, it was binding myself to a promise to allow you to be raised by Phèdre nó Delaunay and that damned Cassiline of hers.”
    “The only gift I would accept from you,” I said, remembering what Phèdre had told me.
    “I thank you for it.”
    She glanced out the window. “It’s growing late. Will you