Kushiel's Mercy

the rest of it. I nudged the Bastard’s flanks with my heels and gave him his head, all thoughts of flutes and stones and honey forgotten, pedestrians scattering before our onslaught.
    Ptolemy Solon had found the key.
    That was all I needed.

Twenty-Two

    There is good news and bad news.” Solon spoke in a hushed voice. We were meeting in the room where I’d first met with him, overlooking the sea. “The good news is that there is a very simple way to break Carthage’s spell.” He pointed out the window at the bright harbor. “The spell is bound to Terre d’Ange. Its effects cannot cross the sea.”
    My heart leapt. “So Sidonie—”
    He shook his head. “That’s part of the bad news. I fear she has been bound with a different spell, a simpler spell.”
    “My ring,” I said grimly.
    Solon nodded. “That is doubtless one part of it. Astegal bears your love-token. He will have placed some token of his own on her to seal the bond.”
    My mother stirred. “But in Terre d’Ange, all that is needful to break the spell is to ferry everyone affected across the sea? Mayhap to Alba?”
    “Yes and no.” He looked apologetic. “Forgive me. I do believe I overstated the good news. The problem is twofold. Unless the spell is undone, it will reclaim anyone who returns to D’Angeline soil. Of greater concern, there is malevolence at its core. Any attempt to struggle against it will cause the spell to tighten like a snare, and those caught within it will grow angry and violent.”
    I thought about Ysandre shouting at Barquiel L’Envers. “So logic and reason will prove little use.”
    “I fear you would have a very difficult time convincing anyone caught in Carthage’s coils to sail away in pursuit of their sanity,” Solon said.
    I frowned. “Quintilius Rousse had put to sea. It didn’t restore his wits.”
    “Did he cross to a foreign shore?” Solon asked.
    “No,” I said. “He was anchored in the harbor.”
    “Not far enough,” he replied. “One would have to cross the sea itself.” Solon opened a large book on the table, its pages dark with age, and pointed to an engraving. “ This is what lies at the heart of the spell.”
    Melisande and I gazed at the image. An infant lay on a slab of rock in a desert, a gaping slit in its belly. Beside it was what appeared to be a whirlwind sprouting horns, fiery eyes, and four reaching arms with clawed hands. A robed man hid behind a boulder, watching.
    “This tells how to make a ghafrid-gebla .” Solon ran one finger from right to left along a line of unfamiliar script. “It requires a flawless gem, emerald or ruby, cut into twelve facets, with the symbols of the twelve Houses of the Cosmos etched onto its facets. The jewel is placed in the belly of an infant. When the ghafrid ”—he tapped the image of the whirlwind—“devours the infant, the magus utters a word of binding, trapping the ghafrid in the very stone it has swallowed.”
    I stared in sick fascination. “What exactly is a ghafrid ?”
    “It is what we call an elemental,” Solon said. “A desert spirit. Very powerful, capricious, and cruel. Once it is trapped within the stone, it must do its master’s bidding.” He looked thoughtful. “Understand, this is very difficult to do. The infant must be alive when it is devoured. And given that one must slit its belly to insert the jewel, this is a tricky proposition.”
    I swallowed. “I begin to perceive the wisdom in your restraint of exercising knowledge, my lord.”
    “Indeed,” my mother murmured. “So the business with the moon and the mirrors mattered naught?”
    “No, no.” Solon shook his head. “It’s all part and parcel. This is a puzzle with many pieces. The placement of the mirrors established the compass of the spell, setting the framework for binding the entire City and all in it. The occlusion of the moon increased its power a thousandfold. And the painting you described defined the essence of the spell.
    Each piece is important. But this”—he tapped the engraving again—“this is the key.”
    “How so?” I asked.
    Solon smiled. “To undo the spell, all you must do is free the ghafrid . And to do this, all you must do is take possession of the gem-stone and speak the word of binding, which is also the word of unbinding.”
    My mother eyed him wryly. “Somehow I suspect you’ve overstated the good news once more.”
    He spread his hands. “I have no way of knowing the word. Bodeshmun—I’m sure this is