Kushiel's Mercy (23 page)

One of hers.

“Telling the hours,” I said stupidly. “It’s a Cassiline practice.”

“Cassilines!” He snapped his fingers. “I’d forgotten about them.” He came over to greet me, extending a hand. “I’m Leander, by the way.”

“Imriel.” I clasped his hand, frowning in perplexity. “Are we . . . kin?”

“Distantly, by way of the wrong side of the blanket.” Leander laughed. “It’s a long story.” He studied my face. “By the Goddess! You
are
her son. You look just like her.”

“She’s no goddess,” I said wryly.

“Touchy, touchy.” He arched one brow. “It’s just a saying, my lovely. Very common in these parts. I wasn’t speaking of her ladyship.”

I bit my tongue on a sharp retort and sheathed my blade. “Have you come to take me to her?”

“I have.” Leander inclined his head. He had the blue-black Shahrizai hair, too. It was plaited in a handful of braids, caught up at the crown of his head. “Come with me.”

My mother’s villa lay in the foothills of the mountains, a short ride from the city proper. As we rode, Leander told me somewhat of his history, or rather, his family’s history. Many years ago, Melisande’s father, Casimar Shahrizai, had embarked on an illicit affair with the wife of another Kusheline lord, the Baron de Maignard. During their affair, Victoire de Maignard had gotten with child and delivered a boy. Casimar had demanded she acknowledge the boy as his. Being of Azzallese descent and proud, Victoire had refused. They had quarrelled bitterly.

“So.” Leander’s generous mouth twisted. “Casimar ruined my family.”

“How so?” I asked.

“With money.” He shrugged. “He got my great-grandmother’s husband to invest in a scheme that left him penniless. House Maignard was destroyed. The Baron killed himself in shame. My great-grandmother’s family shunned her for her folly. House Shahrizai turned their backs on her. She became a laundress.”

He went on to tell me how my mother had heard the story as a child. When she came of age and into estates of her own, she sought out the fallen Maignard clan and offered to buy them out of penury. The price for her generosity was their loyalty to her and her alone.

“Great-grandmother Victoire accepted it,” Leander said cynically. “Even Azza’s pride would bend under the weight of a thousand vats of laundry. Our family’s been in your mother’s service ever since.”

“You don’t mind?” I asked.

“Why should I?” Leander gestured expansively. “Oh, I know, I’m meant to think exile from Terre d’Ange is a hell unto itself. But look around you, man! It’s a little paradise here. I’ve lived here since I was a boy. All of that other business happened long before I was born. And I’ll tell you . . .” He fingered a ruby stud in his earlobe and smirked. “Your mother’s a generous patron.”

“I’m sure she is,” I muttered.

Leander drew rein. “All right. You want to hear a piece of Maignard family lore?” His expression hardened. “By all accounts, Casimar Shahrizai was a nasty piece of work. He was charming, but vindictive as all hell. He spent an ungodly amount of money to ruin the old baron. When you mother made her offer, she swore in Kushiel’s name that she would never act out of mere spite. Insofar as I know, she never has.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“So.” Leander shrugged again. “Now you know.”

It was a strange feeling. I’d never thought of my mother as a child, as someone’s daughter. I’d never thought about the forces that had shaped her, like a charming and vicious father. I couldn’t help but feel a creeping sense of admiration for the young woman she had been. Laying the groundwork for plans that would eventually shake the realm to its core. Adhering to her own twisted principles of integrity.

And a sense of loss, too—for the person my mother might have been if she hadn’t been so goddamned ambitious.

All of us had monsters hidden within us.

I’d seen the face of mine in my madness, turning me against everyone I loved, relishing their pain. I’d seen a future in which my son, Dorelei’s and my son, had become a tyrant, cruel and ruthless.

We reached the villa. It was a sprawling place, sunlit and gracious. The foothills were terraced, grapes ripening on the vine. The scent of cypress wafted down from the mountains. Leander and I dismounted in the courtyard. A cheerful Cytheran stable-lad came to take our mounts. Leander ruffled his hair, gave him a kiss on the cheek. The stable-lad ducked his head and smiled.

“All is permitted in her ladyship’s household,” Leander commented.

He led me through the villa. It had mosaic tile floors that were exquisite, depicting the Hellene goddess of love in various adventures. I heard the sound of laughter. A young woman darted from a hallway, her eyes blindfolded, and blundered into Leander. He laughed and caught her shoulders.

“Leander,” she said decisively, raising her blind face and sniffing. “I know your pomade.”

“Well done.” He kissed her brow. “Hurry!”

A dark-skinned young man emerged from the hallway, his eyes bound, stumbling after her. Leander stepped deftly out of his way. “Ah,” he said with a trace of melancholy. “He puts me in mind of Sunjata.”

“You know him?” I asked.

“Very well.” His mouth quirked. “We trained together, Sunjata and I. ’Tis a barbaric custom, gelding. It happened at Carthage’s hands. Now her ladyship seeks to acquire them earlier, before it can be done. And his apish lordship has banned it at her urging, at least on Cythera.”

The sound of laughter receded.

I heard a fountain instead.

“Here.” Leander halted at the entrance to an inner courtyard. His light-blue eyes met mine. “I will go no farther with you. Her ladyship awaits.”

I entered the courtyard.

I saw her.

Phèdre was right. My mother’s beauty hadn’t dimmed. It had only changed again. Melisande lifted her head and gazed at me, tears brightening her glorious eyes, the deep blue hue of a twilit sea. There were faint lines etched at the corners, a few threads of bright silver strewn in her black hair. There was somewhat else, too. A well of sorrow and regret, a humanity that had been lacking. A goddess rendered mortal by time and compassion, all the more poignant for it.

My mother breathed my name.
“Imriel.”

I walked toward her. “Mother,” I said, my voice sounding strange to my ears. I had never called her that. I’d never called anyone that.

She touched my cheek, her fingers hesitant. “You look older than I expected.”

“Twenty-two,” I said, my throat tight. “But on most days it feels like more.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

I took a deep breath, trying to loosen the tightness. “I don’t . . .” I spread my hands. “I don’t know what to say. You know why I’m here.” She nodded without speaking. “Solon accused me of callousness and temerity. I told him it was desperation. But you sent for me, too. Sunjata did your bidding. Knowing that I’d sworn to bring you to justice, you sent for me. So . . . here I am. Begging for your help.” I licked my dry lips. “And I will tell you what I told Solon. Terre d’Ange is willing to commute your sentence to exile. I can’t offer more than that on behalf of the realm. But anything else in my power, anything you wish of me, I will do.”

Curiosity raised my mother’s winged brows. It made her look younger. “What do you imagine I might ask for?”

“I don’t know.” I glanced around the courtyard. Flowering shrubs blossomed in profusion. The fountain splashed merrily, water sparkling in the sunlight. “Me,” I said. “You might ask me to join you in exile.”

Melisande’s curious expression didn’t change. “Would you?”

An invisible band around my chest tightened. I thought about Astegal and his heavy-lidded smile. Sidonie. Phèdre and Joscelin gazing at me in perplexity, their memories stolen. The rising tide of unease on the streets of Marsilikos, Quintilius Rousse’s ships in the harbor. “Yes,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. “If it meant undoing Carthage’s spell.”

Unexpectedly, she laughed, a mixture of humor and sadness in it. “Ah, Elua! Imriel, I’ve given you enough reasons to hate me already. Why would I choose one more?” My mother shook her head. “Come. Sit and listen a moment.”

There was a curved marble bench near the fountain. We sat on opposite ends of it. Melisande gazed at the falling water.

“I mean to persuade Solon to aid you,” she said without preamble. “And I believe he will. I wish you to know that I expect no gratitude for it. Not from you, not from Terre d’Ange. I do not imagine this will buy me forgiveness.”

“Are you making atonement?” I asked her.

Her gaze shifted to me. Gods, she really was beautiful. “Perhaps, in a way. Although you may not believe it, I do love Terre d’Ange. I could have controlled Waldemar Selig if he had proved victorious. I would have built somewhat glorious in the aftermath and turned his victory into my own.”

“Dreams of empire,” I murmured. “You’d like Astegal of Carthage.”

She gave a faint, wry smile. “Probably. But I don’t care to watch him usurp the country I once dreamed of ruling.”

“A true patriot,” I observed.

“No.” Melisande shook her head. “I don’t pretend to that. Still, there are ways in which I have changed. When you were taken . . .” She fell silent a moment. “I learned what it was to suffer. To hate. To be filled with fury and helplessness. To regret. And afterward . . .” She looked away. “Phèdre nó Delaunay told me I did not wish to know what befell you in that place. And yet I was torn between a fear of knowing and a need to know. In the end, I couldn’t bear it. I found a Caerdicci woman who had been there and had her sent to the Temple of Asherat. She told me.” She looked back at me. “And then it was worse.”

“You wrote to me,” I said. “You wrote that if you could undo what was done to me, you would do anything in the world.”

The shadow behind her eyes lightened. “You read my letters?”

“Yes.” I propped my elbows on my knees, clasping my hands between them. “Not for a long time, not until years after you disappeared. But I did. At first I tried to burn them,” I added. “After that, Phèdre kept them for me.”

“Phèdre.” My mother’s rich voice held too many things to decipher. She gazed into the distance. “The gods must laugh. And yet I begin to think mayhap they hold a shred of mercy for me. I cannot take back my deeds. I cannot undo your hurt. But this at least I can do, and pray that it leavens the burden of regret. So you see, I do not pretend to selflessness.”

“That’s good,” I said. “Since it has the added benefit of removing the sentence of death hanging over your head.”

“True.” Her brows rose again. “But if I had not acted to protect you, it wouldn’t have mattered. You would have forgotten all about your vow.”

I studied my clasped hands, thinking about a world in which I had forgotten my promise to bring my mother to justice. Forgotten
Sidonie.
“Will you answer a question truthfully?” I asked. “Could you have prevented it? Carthage’s spell?”

My mother didn’t answer for a long time.

I lifted my head and gazed at her.

“No,” she said finally. “Not without Solon’s help. I only knew the rumors Sunjata passed to me. It was Solon who pieced them together. He’s studied a great many arcane arts.” She gave another wry smile. “But he kept the full truth of it from me, knowing it would mean you wouldn’t come seeking my life. All I asked was that whatever it was, he find a way to protect you.”

“Solon,” I muttered. “I could kill him for that.”

“I suggest you don’t,” Melisande said. “Since he’s your best hope.”

I eyed her. “What would you have done if you
had
known? Would you have let it happen?”

“I don’t know,” she said with surprising candor. “What if I hadn’t? What would you have done if I had persuaded Solon to tell me how to avert it? Sent a warning? Would you have believed me?”

“Yes,” I said slowly. “I believe I would.”

“And would you have still sought to drag me back to Terre d’Ange to be executed?” Melisande inquired.

It was my turn to fall silent. “I don’t know,” I said at length.

“So.” Her shoulders moved in a graceful shrug. “Life is filled with things we may never know. And although you have not asked it of me, I grant you forgiveness for seeking my death.”

“I didn’t relish the prospect,” I said.

“That’s nice to know.” My mother sounded more amused than not. Whatever else was true of her, Leander was right. She wasn’t vindictive. She cocked her head. “Ysandre’s
daughter
?”

“Did you laugh?” I asked.

Her generous lips twitched. “What do you think?”

I smiled despite myself. “It’s not a ploy, if that’s what you’re wondering. I love her. I’ve loved her for a long time. For years we kept it a secret, hoping it would pass. It didn’t. And I truly will do whatever is needful to get her back.”

The early-autumn sun poured down on us, warm and golden. My mother reached out and touched my hair, running a lock of it between her fingers.

I let her.

“What’s she like?” Melisande asked.

“Sidonie?” I smiled again. “Dorelei said once that she was like a house without a door. It’s not true, though. Not really. She’s very . . . contained. But there’s a fierceness in her. Once it’s tapped, it’s . . .” I shook my head. “I don’t know. She’s determined. Passionate. Loyal. Funny, too. Most people don’t know that about her. I didn’t, not for a long time.” My smile faded. “And she’s Astegal’s wife.”

My mother stroked my hair. “Not for always.”

“No.” I straightened my shoulders. “Her always is
mine
.”

Melisande withdrew her touch and regarded me with deep, abiding sorrow. “Will you do me one kindness? I know you’re impatient. And I will send word to Solon seeking his aid immediately. But I would like it very much if you would pass this day with me. I would like, very much, to hear about your life.”

As much as I wanted to hate her, I couldn’t.

Not in the flesh.

I could feel the bond between us, blood-deep. I was her son. I had fought against it in more ways than I could count, and there was a great deal of me that owed nothing to her. I was as much Phèdre’s son, as much Joscelin’s, as I was hers and my father’s. But deep in my marrow, I knew her touch. I knew she had carried me in her womb. I had read her letters. I knew she had nursed me at her breast, counted my infant fingers and toes, sung me crib-songs, suffering no one else to usurp those duties.