Kushiel's Mercy (Imriel's Trilogy #3)

Kushiel's Mercy (Imriel's Trilogy #3) Page 22

“Ah, yes.” Oppius steepled his fingers over his belly. “The Paphian goddess come back to earth to unite with her divine husband. Venus and Vulcan, the goddess of love and the twisted smith. I’ve heard that rumor.” He gave me one of his shrewd looks. “Your mother?”

“Hard to credit,” I said. “But so it seems.”

We rounded the tip of Caerdicca Unitas and turned eastward. Carthage lay somewhere behind us. Carthage and Sidonie. I could feel it like a tug on my heart. The farther I sailed from her, the more it ached. Memories haunted me. We’d made love in the bathtub the day Astegal had arrived in the City of Elua. I don’t dislike him, Sidonie had said, sliding atop me. Just don’t agree to wed him, I’d said in reply.

Gods.

She’d laughed and kissed me, promised me that she wouldn’t. And then the world had changed beneath a bloody moon, and Sidonie had sailed merrily away with Astegal while the entire City cheered and I lay tied to a bed, chafing my wrists and ankles raw, screaming about Cythera.

I wanted Astegal dead.

I’d wanted men dead before. Berlik. He had killed Dorelei, killed our unborn son. I’d sworn vengeance on him. But in the end, I’d understood what he had done, and why. In the end, he sought his own death as penance, and I’d wept after I’d slain him. I hadn’t told many people that.

There were others.

There was the Mahrkagir. His death had seemed unthinkable—his very name meant “Conqueror of Death.” I’d prayed for it, though. We all did in the zenana. I’d prayed, too, for the death of Jagun, the Tatar warlord who had made me his plaything, put his brand on me. I’d felt awe at the Mahrkagir’s death, but I’d gloated over Jagun’s.

And there was another man who had stolen a woman and forced her into marriage, the Duke of Valpetra. Gods. I’d played a role in his death. I’d not even known the man, but I’d hated him for what he’d done. After he’d taken her, he’d stood before the Prince of Lucca, the girl’s wrist clamped in his hand, and threatened to kill her. I’d ridden them down and cut off his hand at the wrist, freeing her. Helena. That was her name. I hadn’t known her, either. But I remembered the searing look of despair and pride on her face.

In an awful way, this was worse.

Astegal hadn’t taken Sidonie against her will—he’d taken her will away. Her mind, her very heart. All of her. He had violated her in the deepest, most profound sense. It terrified me to think what it would do to her. All of that fearless lack of inhibition, that frank, fierce passion that startled and delighted me to this day . . . Blessed Elua have mercy, if Astegal destroyed that, if he made Sidonie despise herself for it, I would kill him slowly.

Days passed, one by one.

Cythera drew nigh.

The sight of the isle’s rocky coastline struck me like a fist to the gut. My mother was there. I hadn’t seen her since I was eleven years old. When I had, I’d thrown her crimes in her face, and then I’d left. And in all the thinking I’d done on this long voyage, I hadn’t let myself think about actually seeing her in the flesh. Now I did. It made me feel sick and uncertain.

“You all right?” Oppius laid a hand on my shoulder as the harbor of Paphos hove into view on a fair morning.

My nails bit into the ship’s railing. “We’ll see.”

It was a small place, Paphos, smaller than I’d expected. A pretty little harbor city nestled in the lee of a mountain range. It looked peaceful. There were a few trade-ships, many fishing vessels. A small fortress guarded the outer entrance to the harbor, and beyond it was a modest palace. A palisade running the length of the harbor, a lively marketplace. Pleasant-looking villas, apartments of pale golden brick. Temples. The sunken bowl of an open-air theatre.

I tried to imagine my mother strolling the palisade with a man ugly enough to be nicknamed the Wise Ape, flanked by attendants with parasols. I shook my head. I couldn’t do it.

We sailed into the harbor unchallenged. Oppius ordered the sails struck and we went to oars, gliding toward the docks. A handful of mounted men emerged from the fortress, riding along the palisade. By the time Oppius’ men had secured the Aeolia, they were waiting for us.

“State your business!” the leader called in Hellene.

“Gods, this feels familiar, doesn’t it?” Oppius murmured to me. “Delivering a passenger,” he called back to the Cytheran harbor-master. “But I’m eager for trade if there are contracts to be had.”

The harbor-master laughed. “Oh, always. Come ashore, then!”

My legs trembled as I disembarked. Now that I was here, I wished I had another day to think and prepare. I braced myself for the harbor-master’s reaction when he saw Melisande Shahrizai’s face reflected in mine.

It wasn’t quite what I expected.

He whistled through his teeth. “Ah, I see! One of hers, eh?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer. “I’ve come to petition the Governor.”

“Solon, eh?” The harbor-master blinked. He was a slight fellow with pock-marked olive skin and an accent that reminded me of Canis’. “All right, then. No doubt he’ll see you. He’s always interested in curiosities. You’re that, no doubt.” He watched the Bastard being led ashore. “Nice horse. What’s your name?”

“Cadmar,” I said. “Cadmar of Landras.”

Eighteen

The harbor-master, whose name was Mehmed, had one of his men direct me to a suitable lodging-house; it was not an inn, but a gracious villa overlooking the western edge of the harbor, surrounded by bougainvillea and tall, swaying date palms.

It was owned by a widow named Nuray. Her eyes widened at the sight of me, but she said nothing, only bowed and escorted me to my quarters, which were airy and pleasant and well-appointed.

I was in the city of Paphos, breathing the same air as my mother.

It felt very, very strange.

Mehmed had promised to bear word of my request to Ptolemy Solon. Oppius had promised not to set sail without my blessing.

I tended to the Bastard myself, refusing the aid of Nuray’s stable-lad. The Bastard suffered my attentions, eyeing me with a look of deep reproach.

“I’m sorry,” I said to him. “Truly.”

What had I been thinking? I shouldn’t have subjected him to a lengthy sea voyage. It hadn’t been necessary. I hadn’t wanted to be alone, that’s all. Weeks without exercise, without sunlight. The Bastard was in worse shape than I was now.

And why had I given Mehmed a false name? I wasn’t entirely sure. One of hers, he’d said. One. What did that mean?

I didn’t know and it made me uneasy. I didn’t trust myself. Driven by the memories of my madness, the urgency of my cause, I’d been careless. I thought about Bodeshmun the horologist, aligning his mirrors in the City of Elua with exacting care. Thought about him smiling into his beard when Sidonie and I reviewed his preparations, sure in his knowledge of what was to come.

I couldn’t afford to be careless.

I couldn’t afford to make mistakes.

So I waited. I availed myself of the villa’s baths. Nuray sent a laundress for my clothing, all of it salt-stained and foul. While it dried in the sunlight of a hidden courtyard, I sat on a terrace above the harbor, wrapped in a thick linen robe, and ate a luncheon of grilled octopus, potatoes cooked in olive oil, and sausage seasoned with coriander. I watched waves breaking over a rock formation westward, foam jetting skyward. There was a place, only a few leagues away, where it was said the Hellene goddess of love had first touched mortal soil.

I inhaled the sea air, the same air my mother breathed. A moist, salty tang, sweetened by blooming flowers and ripening fruit. Salt and sweet. My mind wandered. I remembered kneeling for Sidonie, wearing her discarded blindfold. The tap of the tawse between my shoulder blades. Her fingers, loosing the fabric of the blindfold, forgiving me. Her scent, salt and honey. The smile in her voice as she bade me do penance. Ah, Elua! The love in it. I’d done my penance with pleasure.

The taste of her.

Gods, it hurt.

“My lord?” A Cytheran voice speaking Hellene, the same soft accent that blended different cultures. It belonged to a young woman, one of Nuray’s servants. “There is a message for you.”

The sun sparkled on the sea. I straightened. “Yes?”

She bowed. “The Governor wishes you to dine with him this evening. He will see you at sunset.”

When it came time, I went.

I was apprehensive. I didn’t know what to expect. I rode the Bastard along the palisade, pacing him slowly. The sun was hovering low over the harbor, drenching everything in liquid gold. Somewhere, my mother was here. I wondered if I would see her tonight. The thought made my skin prickle.

The palace was a charming structure built for pleasure, not defensibility. Its high, arched doors and windows took advantage of the cool sea breezes. I was received courteously and escorted into a salon overlooking the harbor, the setting sun framed in its windows.

Ptolemy Solon was there.

Alone.

The Governor of Cythera was a small man with brown skin and a wizened face, coarse silver hair. One could see at once where the nickname had come from. His brown eyes were round and luminous, ringed by wrinkles. Wrinkles bracketed his wide mouth. Ugly, yes. Also very difficult to read. He regarded me without speaking.

I bowed to him. “Well met, my lord. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Cadmar of Landras,” Ptolemy Solon said mildly. “Do you know, that had me stumped for the better part of an hour.” He tapped his skull. “And I never forget anything. Landras. It’s where you grew up, yes?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well.” The round eyes blinked. “Well met, Prince Imriel de la Courcel.”

I fought the urge to glance around. “Thank you, my lord.”

“You may call me Solon.” He gave a quick smile. “She’s not here, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

I relaxed a little. “It is.”

“She’s here, of course. On Cythera.” Solon poured wine from a ewer into two cups. “But she maintains her own villa. I thought it best if we spoke first in private. You did say you’d come to petition me, and I’m quite interested in taking the measure of a young man callous enough to betray his mother unto her death, yet with the incredible temerity to beg her aid when his plans went awry.” He beckoned. “Come, sit and take a glass of wine with me.”

I accepted, taking a seat at the table beneath the window. He sat opposite me. “Are you aware of her crimes?”

“Oh, yes.” He took a sip of wine. “Still.”

I gazed out the window. Ships bobbed in the harbor, the sun-drenched water making it seem as though they floated on a lake of fire. “What would you have me say?” I asked. “Yes. I accepted a charge to bring my mother to justice. Thousands of people died because Melisande Shahrizai committed high treason. She was condemned to death before I was even born. I can’t go anywhere in the realm without someone calling me traitor-spawn, without someone telling me how a loved one died for my mother’s sins. I can’t wed the woman I love.” I looked back at Solon. “And yes, my plans went awry. And now, quite frankly, I’m desperate.”

He sipped his wine. “At least you’re honest.”

“Did you send Sunjata?” I asked.

“Not exactly.” The light of the setting sun glimmered in his round eyes. “He’s your mother’s doing.”

“Did you forge a silver needle and lave it in the sweat of a madman’s brow and the slime of a toad?” I asked wryly.

The sunlight in his eyes flared. “Did it work?”

I showed him the healed scars around my wrists. “I had to be tied to my bed.”

Solon examined the scars. “Interesting,” he mused. He patted my hand. “I’m sorry about that. It was the only way I could think of. And to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure it would work. The needle or the madness,” he added. “You’ll have to tell me what it was like.”

“Horrible,” I said briefly. “Will you aid me if I do?”

The sun’s bottom rim dipped below the horizon, its light shifting from gold to orange. “I haven’t decided,” Solon said in a candid tone. “It depends on you and what you offer. It depends on your mother and what she wishes. It depends on the axes of power and knowledge involved in the situation.”

“The Unseen Guild?” I asked.

He pursed his lips. “No, no, no. I’ve naught to do with them.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I know all about it, of course. My kinsman Ptolemy Dikaios made me the offer long ago. I accepted the training, but I refused to swear allegiance when it was over. Much like yourself, yes?”

“Not exactly,” I said.

Solon shrugged. “Knowledge is power. And yet power corrupts. Not all who wield it, but most. Still, I had a hunger for knowledge. And so I decided long ago that I would seek it out. That I would gather and amass it, and assign myself the greatest challenge of all: to wield it seldom or never in the service of my own desires.”

I raised my brows. “That, my lord, is passing odd.”

“Do you think so?” He blinked. “And yet consider your mother. She amassed great knowledge. She used it as a tool to further her own goals. She plunged a nation into war. She tore her own family apart. In the end she lost everything.”

Those weren’t exactly the words of a man besotted. I frowned, unsure what to make of Ptolemy Solon. The sun sank lower beneath the horizon. A young woman in loose, flowing robes came with a taper to kindle the lamps.