Kushiel's Mercy

god?”
    It was an interesting question; oddly, it made me think of the shrine of Blessed Elua in our garden when I was a boy. There had been a field of . . . no, not poppies. I’d no idea what had made me think of poppies. Elua’s effigy had stood beneath a trellis laced with climbing sweet-pea vines. My mother used to send me out there to pray and contemplate when I’d done something bad, like poked Darielle with a pin to make her scream. I’d usually fall asleep, basking in the scent of sweet-peas, feeling safe and content beneath Elua’s enigmatic smile.
    I supposed Blessed Elua was a gentle god.
    “I’ll think on it,” I said to the porter, who merely grunted.
    They took me to an inn on the slopes of the hill, which was indeed quite acceptable. The proprietor as an unctuous fellow, dressed in loose robes of good quality, jewels flashing on his fingers.
    “Maharbal is here to serve you, young lord,” he said with a bow, then paused. “My lord is from Terre d’Ange?”
    “By birth, yes.” I smiled at him. “But no, my lord is from the Governor of Cythera, and it is there that my loyalties lie.” It was true enough in its own way, so long as his purpose accorded with her ladyship’s. “Leander Maignard. I come bearing gifts of goodwill for General Astegal’s bride.” I gestured loosely toward the harbor. “They’ll be transported once I’ve arranged for a proper household, naturally.”
    “Naturally.” Maharbal touched his fingertips together. “I would be pleased to assist your lordship. As it happens, I have a cousin . . .”
    “There’s always a cousin,” I observed.
    “Indeed.” His smile faded somewhat. “I think you would find her accommodations most suitable for a D’Angeline lord of style.” He cocked his head. “How passing odd that you find yourself in the service of Cythera.”
    “’Tis a long, long story.” I spread my hands. “His eminence thought the young princess might take kindly to seeing a fellow countryman. One without loyalties to Terre d’Ange.”
    Another broad smile. “Although of course the princess need not know this. It is understood that there is some delicacy to the situation.”
    “I see,” Maharbal said dubiously.
    I laughed and patted one of the nearest trunks. “Don’t worry, good Maharbal. My papers were inspected in the harbor. I have letters of introduction from Ptolemy Solon to a dozen of Carthage’s luminaries. You or your cousin won’t find yourself harboring a D’Angeline spy, if that’s what you fear.”
    “Of course not!” he protested. “Come, come, let me show you to your chambers.” He snapped his fingers for a servant. “Have his lordship’s things brought.”
    Well, of course he feared I was a spy. I’d watched the suspicion emerge when I’d blunted the edge of his greed with the comment about his cousin. It was bound to emerge sooner or later, so best to get it out of the way. And people were predictable. Confronted with the very suspicion in the forefront of their thoughts, they’ll deny it almost every time, even though it’s written on their faces.
    And the ironic thing was that I hadn’t exactly lied. I was in Ptolemy Solon’s service for this mission. But even among those members of the Unseen Guild in Carthage who knew of her ladyship’s existence, I doubted anyone would suspect that the Wise Ape of Cythera was sufficiently besotted to risk such a dangerous venture as I was undertaking; and moreover, that her ladyship would implore him to risk it on behalf of the son who’d recently sought to have her slain.
    I couldn’t fathom it myself.
    A gentle god, indeed. Mayhap not.
    I followed Maharbal to a pleasant suite of rooms, complete with a pert little serving maid to attend me. She eyed me with interest, not particularly caring if I was a spy. I winked at her and wondered how close-knit the web of intrigue that bound Carthage’s servants and slaves was. To wit, if I bedded the chambermaid in Carthage’s most fashionable inn, would this bit of gossip find its way to the princess’ household staff? And did they gossip with their young D’Angeline mistress?
    Mayhap, mayhap not.
    Best to be circumspect. As her ladyship had said, just be safe.
    It was growing late in the day. I had the chambermaid show me to the inn’s modest bath, declining with regret her offer of assistance. The evening air held just a touch of coolness.
    I luxuriated in the warm waters, washing the salt grime from the long sea