Kushiel's Mercy (21 page)

I slept poorly that night, my dreams troubled, and woke in the dark hour before dawn. A yawning chambermaid fetched me bread and honey to break my fast, and then I fetched the Bastard from the inn’s stable and made my way to the harbor.

The sky was beginning to lighten by the time I arrived, and I found the
Aeolia
without any trouble. There was a familiar rotund figure giving orders on her decks.

“Greetings, Captain Oppius!” I called from the dock.

He leaned over the rails, plump chin quivering. “You!”

“Cadmar of Landras,” I agreed.

Oppius da Lippi’s shrewd eyes narrowed. “Well, if you’re her ladyship’s mysteriously urgent passenger, we’d best get you aboard before someone recognizes that spotted hellion you ride, man!”

Elua, I was an idiot. To be sure, there were other spotted horses in the realm, but the Bastard was fairly distinctive looking—enough so that if there was any kind of search afoot for poor Prince Imriel who’d lost his wits and gone missing from the City, a man wearing a hood and cloak astride a spotted horse in this heat would be an easy target for suspicion. It was sheer dumb luck that I hadn’t been noticed earlier.

It made me realize that despite my protestations, I wasn’t thinking at the height of clarity these days. I dismounted and unslung my saddlebags, making myself breathe slowly while Oppius’ men hurried to lower the plank. Of course the Bastard balked at being led aboard, and I had to use my cloak to bind his eyes. Step by trembling step, bare-headed and exposed, I managed to coax him up the plank and into the hold, all the while conscious that the sun was rising and sailors were beginning to stir around the harbor. I didn’t permit myself to heave a sigh of relief until we were both safely aboard, the Bastard was hidden from view, and I was able to don my cloak.

“So.” Captain Oppius strolled toward me with his rolling waddle as I emerged from the hold, pale and shaking. He extended his hand. “Cadmar of Landras, is it?”

I clasped his hand. “Until we’re at sea, yes.”

“Heard some odd things about you.” Oppius tilted his head. “In fact, there’s precious little news out of Terre d’Ange these days that isn’t odd as all hell.”

I nodded. “I know, my lord captain. All too well.”

Oppius studied me long enough that I began to grow anxious, then his plump face broke into a grin. “Well, you don’t seem like you’re raving, and the gods above know if there’s anyone in this city with a sane head left on her shoulders, it’s the Lady’s daughter.” He clapped my shoulder. “Let’s go to Cythera.”

I’d ridden out one of the worst storms of my life in a ship under Oppius da Lippi’s command. He was an able captain, one of the best, and though his men mocked him gently behind his back, they respected him and worked with cheerful efficiency. We were underway in short order.

Once we cleared the harbor where the last of Quintilius Rousse’s ships was anchored, I shed my cloak. I stood in the stern of the ship, getting accustomed once more to the roll of the deck beneath my feet, the snap and rustle of the sails, watching the golden Dome of the Lady dwindle behind us.

Another departure.

Another leavetaking.

It was to have been the last voyage I ever undertook in my life, this journey to Cythera. The one that paid at long last for all my mother’s sins. One way or another, I’d meant to return with Melisande in chains, leading her to her execution. I hadn’t looked forward to it. Sidonie was right; it
was
a lot to ask. But I would have done it. For our sake, yes; and for the sake of all those who had fallen during the Skaldi invasion, for the sake of those who survived and endured. Claude de Monluc, who had lost his father. Grainne, Lady of the Dalriada, who had lost her twin brother. Poor, pitiful Jean Le Blanc, whose wife had taken her own life after the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of the Skaldi.

All of them.

And now, instead, I was setting out to beg my mother’s aid to save Terre d’Ange and everyone I loved. It wasn’t a piece of irony. It was somewhat so far beyond irony, so vast, that I couldn’t even comprehend it. All I could do was pray, helplessly, that Melisande Shahrizai did indeed love her son that much.

It was a long journey, but at least the weather held as summer wore on toward early autumn. We followed the warmth, heading southward along the coast of Caerdicca Unitas. I kept my promise to Jeanne and didn’t press myself as hard. I kept up the Cassiline disciplines, but I didn’t practice obsessively.

Bit by bit, my strength and endurance returned. The ship’s cook was decent, and Oppius urged me to dine in the captain’s quarters with him. I ate well, putting on weight and muscle, until I began to look like myself and not a victim of famine. When I went shirtless in the sun’s warmth, my ribs no longer protruded. My skin grew brown, contrasting with the shiny pink scars.

You needn’t look so tempting.

This scarred thing?

The first time he saw me bare-chested, Oppius let out a low whistle. “Jupiter Optimus! What happened to you?”

“It’s a long story,” I said.

He shrugged. “We’ve time.”

I spent long hours dicing and talking with Oppius. I learned that the
Aeolia
had been in port to pick up a shipment of Namarrese wine that had never arrived, mysteriously diverted to Carthage. Jeanne de Mereliot had found him at loose ends, willing to take a commission to carry a single passenger to Cythera. She’d paid him a great deal of money to do it. I hoped I’d be able to make good on it someday.

Over the course of our journey, we spent a good deal of time speculating about Carthage. I told Oppius what I knew, leaving out the Unseen Guild. I’d not told anyone but L’Envers about the Guild. If there was a danger, I reckoned at least he could take his chances.

To my surprise, Oppius wasn’t inclined to disbelieve me. “Bad magic,” he said, making a sign against ill luck. “Sailors are a superstitious lot, but we’ve seen a lot of odd things in our time. I don’t like the sound of this. If Carthage conquers the west, they’re going to turn their eyes eastward.”

“What do you know about Ptolemy Solon?” I asked him.

Oppius pursed his lips. “A bit. In Cythera, they call him the Wise Ape.”

“The what?” I said, startled.

He grinned. “The Wise Ape. He’s got a name for being a deep scholar, dabbling in all manner of arcane study. Got a name for being ugly as sin, too. But fair,” he added. “Cythera’s been plagued by troubles in the past. It’s been occupied so many times, you’d have Hellenes and Ephesians at each other’s throats, Akkadians trying to quash them all. It’s been peaceful since Solon was appointed Governor.”

“What about a mistress?” I asked.

“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

T
he 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.