Kushiel's Mercy

Falling, the world whirling. Sunjata’s voice, telling me to seek Ptolemy Solon’s aid. An emerald glow, a flash of brightness. A gasp from the crowd. Sunjata’s hand tugging the ring from my fingers. Roots writhing like serpents. Sunjata’s voice apologizing for serving two masters. Telling me I was lucky my mother loved me.
    Telling me to go to Cythera.
    And then the tide of madness swallowing me.
    “Again,” Solon said.
    I closed my eyes and told him again, shutting out the sound of his pen scratching, shutting out everything. This time, there was nothing new. When I had finished, I was drained. I opened my eyes. “Do you wish to hear about the madness now?”
    Solon began to reply, then caught my mother’s warning glance. “No,” he said in a circumspect tone. “Later, perhaps. Tell me about the ring. Is it significant?”
    Tired as I was, I almost laughed. Sidonie had given it to me before I’d wed Dorelei.
    When I’d struck out from Skaldia into the unknown in search of Berlik, I’d sent the ring back to Sidonie with a message that I would return to claim it. And when I’d been stuck waist-deep in a Vralian snowbank, bone-weary and frozen and ready to die, it was the thought of that promise that had kept me moving.
    I’d reclaimed it in Alba. At long last, Berlik’s skull was interred, letting Dorelei’s spirit rest peacefully. Sidonie had taken the ring from its resting place on a chain around her neck. She’d undone the clasp and let the chain fall, slid the ring onto my finger. And we had made love like gods, filled with wonder and awe.
    “Yes,” I said. “Oh, yes.”
    “A love token?” Solon pressed. “From the Queen’s daughter?”
    I stared at him. “What do you suppose? Yes.”
    He shrugged. “I needed to be sure.”
    “Be sure.” I turned to my mother. “What did Sunjata mean about serving two masters?”
    A frown knit her graceful brows. “’Tis a long story. To shorten it, Sunjata is a journeyman in my service. But as far as the Guild in Carthage knows, he is a gem-merchant’s assistant who has been secretly recruited by a Guildsman named Hannon.”
    “A horologist,” Solon added.
    “Why did he take my ring?” I asked.
    Melisande shook her head. “At a guess, I’d hazard it was an order he feared to disobey without exposing himself. As to why the order was given, I can’t say.”
    “I can.” Solon tapped the pages of the book before him, no longer blank, but filled with scribbled notations and charts. “But it will take some doing. This was not a simple spell.
    It was not one spell. I suspect there are a multitude of magics combined here. Horology, symbology, and something else rare and powerful. There is a wide array of lore I must consult to be certain.”
    “How long will it take?” I asked him.
    “It will take as long as it takes,” he replied.
    I gave a brief nod of acknowledgment. “Can you undo it?”
    “ Undo it?” Solon pursed his lips. “No. It does not lie within my power, and even if it did . . .” His voice trailed off. “Well. It doesn’t. But I do believe I can provide you with the keys to unlock each link of this chain.”
    I stood and bowed. “That will suffice.”
    “Suffice!” He laughed dryly. “I told you, even in this I take a risk. No one else could unknot this puzzle. Carthage will know.”
    “You could have prevented it,” I said softly. “And that, I know.”
    Solon’s gaze darted to my mother’s face. Her expression was neutral. “Yes,” he admitted.
    “And I aid you now for the same reason I withheld the whole truth from Melisande.
    Because I have become a fool in my dotage, and I do not wish to lose her.” He flapped one hand at me. “Now go, and let me work.”
    I went.

Twenty-One

    While Ptolemy Solon consulted his library and collected toad-slime and fever-sweat, or whatever it was he did to plumb the mysteries of Carthage’s magic, I passed more time in my mother’s company.
    “Tell me,” I said to her the first day. “Did you actually threaten to leave Solon if he didn’t aid me?”
    “Yes,” Melisande said in a calm voice.
    “Why?” I asked.
    We were dining in another inner courtyard of her villa beneath the cool green shade of a grapevine-laced lattice. There were marks on the tile where Hellene-style couches had been removed, replaced by an oval table with two chairs. I knew without being told that my mother had ordered the couches removed because I wouldn’t be at ease reclining in