Kushiel's Mercy

letter to Diokles Agallon. Once again, I didn’t have anything to lose. There wasn’t much about the Guild my mother didn’t know, and I reckoned what she knew, Solon knew. I told them about Agallon’s reply, Carthage’s request. The discussions that had followed, Parliament’s vote. Carthage’s arrival, the exaggerated gift of tribute.
    “Wait.” Solon halted me. “Describe the tribute-gifts in detail.”
    I did to the best of my ability. I hadn’t been paying overmuch attention, being more concerned with Carthage, but Phèdre had taught me to train my memory well. I recalled Quintilius Rousse’s deep voice reading the manifest: gold, ivory, and salt, spices, and seedlings, Tyrian purple cloth, furniture.
    “And there was the chalice he sent in advance,” I said, remembering. “And the painting presented at the banquet.”
    Solon’s round eyes blinked. “Describe them.”
    I described the carnelian chalice with its joined hands in which Astegal and Ysandre had drunk to one another’s health; the painting made of ground jewels depicting the two of them with their hands clasped in friendship. Solon pursed his lips, his pen scratching on parchment.
    “Continue,” he said when I had finished. “From the point of their arrival.”
    I told him about the banquet where the painting had been unveiled, Sunjata’s overture, the gilded coffer, and Gillimas’ veiled words about Cythera. I related Sidonie’s account of Astegal’s offer for her hand, his veiled threats regarding Aragonia, and Ysandre’s diplomatic refusal. My evening in the Night Court with Astegal and the other Carthaginian lords, and my near-smothering of Gillimas to force plain words of truth from him, watching my mother’s lips twitch.
    “You needn’t look amused,” I said to her.
    “He brought it on himself,” she said complacently. “A skilled Guildsman ought to know better than to mince words with a desperate D’Angeline in love.”
    “Is he?” Solon asked her.
    Melisande gazed at me. “So it seems.”
    “A mother knows her child.” Solon gestured at me. “Continue.”
    I told him everything I could remember about observing Bodeshmun’s preparations the day of the occluded moon. Solon halted me numerous times, pressing me for details. He brought out a book with symbols of the Houses of the Cosmos. I racked my memory, struggling to place them exactly as they’d been aligned on the great mirror in proximity to the mirrors on the City’s walls. His pen scratched furiously, sketching a diagram.
    “Again,” he said when I had finished.
    I told him again, this time dredging up the exact words he’d said to Sidonie. The brief bow he had accorded her. A green gem on a chain swinging into view.
    Solon’s nostrils flared. “Describe it.”
    I tried, but I’d seen it only briefly. All I could tell him was that it was the size of a child’s fist and multifaceted.
    “Were there symbols incised on the facets?” he asked.
    I shook my head. “I couldn’t tell. But I did see a flash of emerald green the next night, when it happened.”
    He held up one hand. “Don’t rush. Continue.”
    “After we visited Elua’s Square . . .” My voice faltered. “Truly, there wasn’t aught of significance until the following evening.”
    “How can you be sure?” Solon asked.
    My mouth was parched. I took a long drink of water. “Sidonie and I quarrelled. I was uneasy. I wanted her to beg Ysandre to call off the spectacle. She didn’t think it was possible without cause. We made up our quarrel that night.” I traced a water-ring on the table with one finger, remembering the feel of her moon-silvered skin against my bare flesh. I hadn’t thought about the fact that our argument might have played some role in this. “It was the first time we’d argued since we’d become lovers. Do you think it’s significant?”
    “No,” Solon said gently. “I don’t. Continue.”
    I relived the night of the spectacle for him. The endless dinner that had preceded it. The details of every dish I could recall. The carriage-ride to Elua’s Square, the throngs that packed the City. The moon’s slow, steady occlusion, and its eerie red hue.
    The long wait, the crowds jostling around the mirror.
    Sunjata’s whisper in my ear, following him.
    In a dispassionate voice, I told him all I could recall. Standing pressed together beneath Elua’s Oak. The searing pain of the needle driven deep into my vitals, the rush of icy fire in my veins.