Kushiel's Mercy

jeweled pieces of onyx and ivory. That, I decided, was meant for the princess. It was an excellent opening gambit.
    Once the opportunity to present it was established, I could offer to match wits with her and enjoy a game together.
    Sidonie.
    My thoughts kept returning to her. I couldn’t help but wonder what she was like. Weak-minded, I thought. Surely, to fall so thoroughly under the influence of her ladyship’s son—and then to abandon him for Astegal—she must be weak-minded.
    Well and good.
    Weakness could be plied, most especially when it failed to know itself. In Astegal’s absence, I would ply her. I would woo her. I would find her fault-lines and break her wide open, gently turning her against herself—or at least against Bodeshmun’s spell.
    After all, it was for her own good, more or less.
    Gods, that was an intoxicating thought.
    And Imriel deserved it.
    That was another thought I’d never dare voice in his presence—nor her ladyship’s. It was true, though. What manner of son sought his own mother’s life? Oh, I knew what she’d done, or at least what the world claimed she had done. They didn’t grasp the scope of her vision. And Melisande Shahrizai had kept her word, at least to the Maignard clan. The rest of the world couldn’t claim as much. When her ladyship gave her word, she meant it.
    Always.
    “I will make you proud, my lady,” I vowed aloud.
    And to myself, I vowed silently that I would succeed on my own terms. I liked, very much, the idea of being the lynch-pin of this mad scheme. The thought of bringing down Carthage single-handedly made me shiver to the marrow of my bones. But too, I relished the thought of cuckolding Imriel de la Courcel. Of exposing him as a hypocrite, mayhap even excising her ladyship’s single weakness. Him.
    Once I had ensconced myself betwixt the Dauphine’s thighs, that would do it. I’d strip her bare of Astegal’s token. I’d claim her, albeit temporarily, for my own. I’d plunder her to the core and make her mine. I’d been taught the arts of the bedchamber. I was of Kushiel’s bloodline, albeit not so pure a strain. I would make her crave me, bend her pliable will. I’d leave my own mark on her.
    Of that, at least, I was sure.
    The only thing I couldn’t fathom was why the thought made my heart ache.
    That made no sense at all.

Twenty-Five

    “Carthage!”
    The cry came from the crow’s nest, was taken up aboard the ship. Captain Deimos flung out one lean-muscled arm, pointing the way.
    “Carthage,” he echoed.
    It was an elaborate harbor; and well it ought to be, since Carthage sought to dominate the western world. We showed our papers, and after they’d been examined for a long, hard time, we were granted passage and glided into the wide canal that led to the harbor proper, going to oars.
    I craned my neck.
    Carthage.
    I’d heard the gossip. Carthage was a walled city, her earliest walls built to withstand a Tiberian invasion centuries ago, added to many times. I hadn’t credited the size of those walls. I had to own, I nearly goggled at the sight. They were at least fifty feet tall, and there were entire garrisons built into them. There were stables that housed elephants , by the Goddess. Astegal may have taken Carthage’s fleet and the bulk of its army overseas, but he’d hardly left her ill defended. I couldn’t imagine anyone assailing those walls.
    “Big place,” Captain Deimos remarked.
    “That it is,” I agreed. “I’ll need to take lodgings in the finest inn Carthage offers, at least until I can arrange for a proper household.”
    He nodded. “I’ll speak to the harbor-master.”
    What a pleasure it was to have so many of Cythera’s resources at my disposal! I leaned on the ship’s rail, gazing at the city, which spilled down a steep hill toward the sea. There were temples, an immense bath-house, an amphitheater. No great palace, merely villas that grew finer and finer the farther up the hill they were. Of course, Carthage was an oligarchy, lacking a single ruler; although as I understood it, Astegal’s appointment as General gave him a tremendous amount of power.
    But Astegal wasn’t here.
    I wondered which of the villas belonged to the House of Sarkal. I was eager to pay tribute to Astegal’s young wife, left to languish while her martial husband went off to conquer Aragonia. And I wondered how that venture was going.
    Well, there was one way to find out. While Deimos spoke with the harbor-master, I