Kushiel's Mercy (35 page)

“Leander Maignard.” Her gaze flashed up at me.

I nearly greeted her by name. I swallowed it and bowed. “Your highness.”

“Are you thoroughly scoured and ready to match wits?” she asked.

“Both, my lady.”

“Well, then.” She smiled and gestured at the table. The chess board was positioned so that I would be playing white. “The opening move is yours.”

I sat opposite her and moved an ivory pawn. “So it begins.”

The princess mirrored my move with an ebony pawn. A heavy signet ring glinted on her right hand. I marked it, remembering she’d worn it yesterday, too. “Tell me, Leander Maignard, how do you spend your days when you’re not entertaining bored royalty? What business is it that his eminence of Cythera wishes you to conduct?”

I slid a second pawn onto the board in a deliberate gambit. “Lord Solon merely wishes me to obtain assurances of Carthage’s goodwill.”

She gave me a sharp glance. “Does he fear he has cause for concern?”

“Your husband is an ambitious man,” I said ambivalently. “His eminence is merely being cautious.”

“I see.” She declined my gambit, advancing a second pawn of her own in a countering move. “Believe me, Astegal has no ambition beyond securing the peaceable future of both our nations, and Carthage did not seek this quarrel with Aragonia. Once it is settled, he will look no farther.”

I said nothing.

“You doubt me,” the princess observed.

I glanced past her at the Amazigh guard. Between swathes of blue cloth, his eyelids flickered. This one, I thought, spoke more than Punic. “Of course not,” I lied. “Indeed, I have received similar assurances from one member of the Council already. I’m simply seeking to concentrate on our game.”

She sighed. “A courtier’s reply. Very well then, let us play.”

We played for a time in silence.

I found myself thinking about Sunjata’s advice. I watched the princess contemplate the board. The contrasts in her face elevated what might have been mere prettiness to beauty. Her features were fine-cut and delicate, but her eyebrows were drawn in a firm line. Not heavy, not by any means. Only strong enough to offset the delicacy, to create a suggestion of determination and vulnerability combined. A captivating contrast, like the one between her gilded fairness and those night-dark eyes.

“Messire Maignard,” she said. “You’re staring at me.”

Hot blood scalded my face. “Oh, gods! I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Again?” she asked in amusement.

“I’m a chef’s son,” I said helplessly. “I’ve spent almost all my life on Cythera, and yes, I’m staring at you like a provincial rube. Please.”

“All right, I forgive you.” There it was again, that brief, wicked smile. Honey and gall. “Only because you blush so prettily. It’s your move.”

I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer for forbearance, then bent my attention to the chessboard.

On the boat, when I’d found the chess set listed in the manifest, I’d entertained some idea of flattering her by losing a-purpose. Playfully demanding a rematch, mayhap. I’d envisioned myself very much in control, smoothly cajoling while the hapless young princess giggled and blushed. Instead,
I
was blushing like a maiden, while the princess uttered barbed witticisms. And I very much suspected if I didn’t best her in this game of wits, I’d seal her impression of me forever as a tame lap-dog.

She played well, but she played a cautious and meticulous game. I’d been doing the same, trying to draw out my time with her as long as possible. Now I went on the offensive and played boldly, giving the impression of being rash and distracted. Several moves later, I made a ploy that appeared careless. This time, the princess took my gambit and walked into a trap.

“Ah.” Realization dawned on her face before the endgame was played out. She studied the board for a moment, seeking an avenue of escape, then reached out and tipped over her king. “You’ve won.”

My brow was sweating. “You underestimated me.”

“So I did.” She continued to study the board, retracing her steps and committing her misstep to memory. “Will you give me the courtesy of a rematch?”

“Of course.” I began gathering pieces to reset the board.

“It grows late.” She touched my hand. “Tomorrow, perhaps.”

A spark leapt between us.

I felt it, and I knew, I
knew
she felt it. Her eyes widened, their darkness blurring. I wanted to close my hand on hers, pull her to me. Scatter the chess pieces, drag her to the floor. Pull the pins from her hair until it fell in glorious disarray, tear every scrap of fabric from her body. Rip the necklace from her throat, the earrings from her earlobes. Lay her bare, break the spell. Kiss her until I bruised her lips, take her there amid the scattered chess pieces.

Under the watching eyes of her Amazigh guard.

I drew my hand back as though her touch had burned me. “Tomorrow would be lovely.”

The pulse beat visibly in the hollow of her throat, but there was no other sign she was unnerved. Her voice was cool and calm. “The same time, then?”

I rose and bowed. “I would be honored.”

I made myself meet the gaze of the Amazigh as I left. Clear and transparent, I told myself, clear and transparent. I gave him a nod, a careless smile. He didn’t return the smile, but he accorded me a brief nod. There was no suspicion I could see in his eyes or the narrow strip of his face visible. Whatever had passed between the Princess Sidonie and me, it had gone unnoticed.

One touch.

A single glance
. . .

Blessed Elua was not a gentle god.

Thirty-Two

W
ell played, your highness.” I tipped over my king, acknowledging defeat.

Princess Sidonie inclined her head graciously. “My thanks. It was a hard-earned victory. Who taught you to play so well?”

It was the fourth game we’d played over the course of as many days, and the first that she’d won. Since that first time, under the watching eyes of her guard, we had been careful not to inadvertently touch; and she’d been as careful as I had.

She
had
felt it, I was sure.

“My . . . mother,” I said.

Her eyes danced. “Are you sure? You sound uncertain.”

It had been her ladyship who’d taught me, of course; or at least taught me to play
well
. Chess was a useful game to learn, although it had its limits. In a true game of intrigue, every piece on the board would be a live player, filled with weaknesses and flaws. Still, it had its merits.

“Yes, of course,” I said. “She’s a great knack for the game.”

“Does your mother also serve in Cythera?” the princess inquired.

“She’s Ptolemy Solon’s mistress,” I said, conflating one lie with another. Her brows rose. I smiled ruefully. “In truth, I suspect her wit and beauty held as much appeal for my lord Solon as my father’s cuisine. They have always been discreet, but my father, may Elua bless and keep him, died two years ago. Since then, the liaison has been openly acknowledged.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “Which is why his eminence holds you in such high esteem.”

“Not the entire reason, I hope,” I said.

Her smile was genuine. “I’m sure it’s not.”

My heart gave one of those involuntary leaps. I almost wished she wouldn’t smile at me like that. It actually
hurt.
I busied myself setting up the chess board for another game, watching her out of the corner of my eye. “Your victory was swift, my lady. Do you wish to play again?”

“No.” The princess rested her chin on one hand. Sunlight glinted on her signet ring. “I’m growing weary of chess, Leander Maignard.”

“Just Leander,” I said.

She gave me an amused look. “I’m considering it.”

One audience a day, four games of chess. Five days, five gowns. Today she wore a pale lavender, which I didn’t think was her best hue. A choker of pearls and amethyst, earrings to match. Over the course of five days, there had been only one constant. I knew; I’d been keeping track. If she was growing bored with chess, it was time for me to make a move of a different sort. I took a deep breath and did it.

“That’s an interesting ring, my lady,” I said. “Is that the seal of the House of Sarkal?”

“This?” She twisted it on her finger. “Yes. Rather crude work, isn’t it?”

“May I see it?” I asked.

Her expression turned quizzical. “If you like.”

It slid easily from her finger. I held out my hand. Our fingers didn’t quite touch as she dropped it into my palm. I examined the stone, a ruby cabochon engraved with the Sarkal hawk insignia. I peered under my lashes at her. Her expression was unchanged, still puzzled. “A family heirloom, I imagine. It’s very old. Do you wear it in honor of your husband?”

“At Astegal’s request, yes.” Her mouth quirked. “Only in public, to tell the truth. I appreciate its value and history, but it’s a bit heavy.”

“Ah.” A stab of disappointment went through me. I handed the ring back to her. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Oh, he knows.” The princess laughed. “He doesn’t mind as long as I wear it publicly.”

It definitely wasn’t the ring, then. The bastard just liked the world to see he’d set his seal on her. The thought filled me with fury and disgust, so much so I lowered my face to hide it, not trusting myself. “I heard he might be sending for you soon,” I murmured. “To winter in New Carthage.”

“Yes, mayhap within the next fortnight.” She slid the ring back on her finger. “Name of Elua, I hope so.”

“You miss him.” I said it without looking at her.

“Very much so.” Her voice softened briefly, then resumed its light tone. “And I’m perishing of tedium. I’m grateful to you for alleviating it.”

I did look at her then, looked her hard in the eyes. For the first time, it was the princess who flushed slightly. “I’ve a fancy to see New Carthage.” I forced my tone to match her lightness. “Perhaps you’ll invite me as your faithful courtier.”

She looked away. “Why don’t we venture out, Messire Maignard? As you note, ’tis early yet. I feel I’ve scarce had a chance to see old Carthage before trading it for the new.”

I offered a seated bow. “Your wish is my command.”

Within a short time, we were seated in her ornate double palanquin, venturing into the streets of Carthage on the shoulders of her bearers. It was the closest I’d been to her. There was a gap of a mere six inches between us, and I could swear it felt charged with heat.

“What do you wish to see?” I asked her.

“Mayhap we could make an offering at the Temple of Tanit,” she said. “It’s always wise to honor the gods of a place, don’t you think?”

“To be sure,” I agreed.

Her bearers were smooth and swift, far more skilled than my lads. The four Amazigh guards flanked the palanquin, silent and menacing in their dark robes and veils. Folk on the street called out good wishes for the princess’ health and bowed toward the palanquin, but no one dared approach. Sidonie de la Courcel acknowledged them with the gracious politeness of someone who’d spent a lifetime receiving similar tribute.

The goddess Tanit was akin to Asherat-of-the-Sea, an ancient goddess who had taken many forms and many names. Her ladyship had spent many, many years claiming sanctuary in the Temple of Asherat in La Serenissima. I thought about that when we arrived at our destination, awed once more by her capacity for patience.

The priests scurried and bowed, eyeing the Amazigh warily, offering the princess solicitous advice. One priest was sent running, his sandals slapping against the marble floor. He returned carrying a white rooster by its legs. It was alive, its wings flapping awkwardly. I saw the princess’ mask of politeness slip as she recoiled.

“Name of Elua, man!” I said to the priest. “They don’t offer blood sacrifice in Terre d’Ange.” I fished in my purse for a gold coin. “Surely the goddess finds the scent of incense pleasing?”

He bowed. “Yes, yes, of course.”

“Thank you, Leander.” The princess was slightly pale. “I’d forgotten they made live offerings in Carthage. That was careless of me.”

“I doubt
that
happens often,” I said. “You hardly seem the careless type.”

“No.” My words seemed to strike some chord within her, her puzzled look returning. “Not often.”

We made our offerings of incense, gazing at the face of the massive effigy. The goddess Tanit’s features were calm and unreadable, her eyes fixed on the unknowable distance. She didn’t look like a goddess who craved blood and suffering.
Divine Tanit,
I prayed silently,
if you have compassion and mercy in you, do not suffer your children to do ill in your name. Help me to undo what has been done.

What prayer the princess offered, I couldn’t say. I only knew her face looked very solemn.

And she had called me by name.

I longed to hear her say it again.

Afterward, she seemed oddly melancholy. I directed the bearers to take us to the flower market, where I purchased another absurdly large bunch of roses and laid them at her feet on the floor of the palanquin.

It made her laugh. “Now you’re just being foolish.”

I bowed elaborately. “If you will not accept it as a tribute to your beauty, accept it as a tribute to your victory today.”

“You’re magnanimous in defeat. Nonetheless, I cannot accept this gift.” Princess Sidonie picked up one of the roses. There were children loitering at a distance, wide-eyed and curious. She tossed the rose to a pretty little girl who caught it with a shriek of delight. The others began to beg. Smiling, the princess tossed the rest of the roses, one by one until they were gone.

It was a nice piece of subtle diplomacy. It was also so damned charming, I caught a couple of the Amazigh guards with eyes crinkled in the suggestion of hidden smiles. “Well played, my lady,” I said to her.

She gave me a sidelong glance. “Tell me, Leander Maignard, what game is it you think we’re playing?”

“One that I hope will while away the hours and alleviate your tedium.” I placed my hand on my chest. “Have no fear, I know how it ends. With you in the arms of your husband and me broken-hearted.”

I’d spoken in a light, jesting tone—or at least I’d meant to. But she heard somewhat more in it. Whether I succeeded or failed, there was a bitter truth to my words, somewhat I’d not yet begun to consider. She studied me for a moment, then looked away. “It grows late. I should return home.”