I laughed. “Now?”
He nodded. “I want to see you mother-naked.”
Giving him a quizzical look, I complied.
Sunjata gazed at me for a long, long time, lips parted as though to drink in the sight of me. I let him, wondering what in the name of the gods was going through his mind. But then, I often did. “You can put them back,” he said at last. “It was a mistake.”
I did. “Better?”
He didn’t answer, only closed his eyes and reached for me again.
Twenty-Eight
In the days that followed, I spent a pleasant afternoon drinking palm wine and listening to the old scholar Hamilcar reminisce about his youth and the intellectual shooting star that had been Ptolemy Solon when he had tarried in Carthage and studied in her academies. I received more invitations in response and attended a dinner party hosted by Gemelquart, a prince of the House of Zinnrid and a member of the Council of Thirty.
He was a shrewd, well-informed fellow who wasn’t taking part in Astegal’s campaign due to a childhood illness that had left him with weak lungs. According to Sunjata, he was a Guildsman, though I liked to think I would have discovered it quickly for myself. There is a certain tenor one learns to listen for when someone asks a question to which the answer is already known.
“So tell me,” Gemelquart said with deceptive ease. “How does a D’Angeline come to be in the bidding of the Wise Ape of Cythera?”
“Oh, ’tis a long tale of treason and exile, hardly fit for dinner conversation.” I glanced at a nearby lamp and offered one of the Guild’s coded phrases. “That burns with a passing clear flame, my lord. Is the oil pressed locally?”
His eyelids flickered. “Yes, indeed.”
I smiled at him. “I thought so.”
Gemelquart chuckled, then coughed. “I see. And what does Cythera hope to accomplish by your presence here?”
“I merely bring assurances of Cythera’s goodwill.” I spread my hands. “Inadvertent or no, Carthage’s actions have served to resolve a certain . . . dilemma. For that, we are grateful. If I may be indiscreet, let me say that whatever the future may bring, we hope this goodwill is reciprocated.”
“Of course.” Gemelquart steepled his fingers. “The Governor of Cythera enjoys a happy situation.”
“He does,” I agreed. “And he would be loath to see it change.”
“Doubtless.” The Carthaginian lord looked amused. “Well, you may surely tell Ptolemy Solon that Carthage has no designs on his happiness. Perhaps someday in the future he may return our inadvertent favor, given his intimate knowledge of the workings of Khebbel-im-Akkad.”
I hoisted my winecup to him. “Doubtless he would be pleased to do so, were his happiness assured.”
Gemelquart gave a wheezing laugh. “Yes, yes!” He lowered his voice. “Tell me, is she as beautiful as the rumors claim?”
“Yes,” I said simply, picturing her ladyship. “She is.”
“Ah.” He sighed. “I’d hoped so.”
It was an exhilarating feeling, like walking balanced atop a very high ledge. I’d seldom felt more alive than I did intriguing in Carthage. And the feeling only intensified when I got my first look at Sidonie de la Courcel.
The idea was Sunjata’s. I’d not yet received a reply from her or Bodeshmun or any representative of the House of Sarkal. But through his own sources, Sunjata learned that the princess was dining at the house of certain Carthaginian lady on a particular evening. He came to the villa to inform me.
“There’s a fashion among some of the young men left in Carthage to pay tribute to her,” Sunjata told me, lying propped on one elbow. “Loitering in the streets outside the Sarkal villa to catch a glimpse of her.”
“That’s unexpectedly charming,” I observed.
He shrugged a shoulder. “Don’t put too much stock into it. It’s some scheme Astegal dreamed up to reinforce the notion that this is a love-match that has all of Carthage charmed. He wants her kept happy and ignorant.”
“Thoughtful fellow,” I said. “He didn’t manage to get her with child before he left, did he?”
“Apparently not.” Sunjata smiled wryly. “Though not for lack of trying, I understand. You do realize that she thinks herself in love with him, Leander? She’s not about to fall into your embrace, lovely creature though you may be.”
“Oh, I know.” I folded my arms behind my head. “But she’s not in love with him. That truth is in there somewhere. And I’m hoping that I bear just enough resemblance to her beloved Imriel to unlock it. We’re kin, you know, albeit distantly.”
“Yes.” Sunjata gazed at me. “I scarce had a chance to speak with him in Terre d’Ange. You spent time with him. What’s he like?”
“Prince Imriel?” I thought about it. “Intense. But I suppose he was rather desperate when I met him.”
“Do you think he actually loves her?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “Gods above, it would be unlikely as all hell. But if he doesn’t, he’s as skilled a player as her ladyship, which is entirely possible.” I freed one arm and reached out to run my fingers through the soft cloud of Sunjata’s hair. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, does it? What matters is whether or not she loves him, and given that she defied her royal mother and half the nation, I’d say she does. Or at least thinks she does,” I added. “It may be nothing more than a girlish infatuation.”
“No.” Sunjata rolled onto his belly, propping his chin on cupped hands. “I don’t think it is. And I think he does love her.”
I smiled at him. “I didn’t know you had such a romantic streak.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know,” he replied. “So, do you want to have a look at the lady in question?”
“Why not?” I said. “It can’t hurt.”
At the appropriate hour, I summoned my bearers. We went to the flower market, I in my palanquin and Sunjata walking alongside it. There, I bought a great armload of roses and a basket. I put Kratos and the lads to work plucking the roses and filling the basket with petals while Sunjata and I visited a wineshop. Kratos thought I was mad—and I daresay the others did, too—but he did it willingly enough.
The sun was low in the sky when we made our way up the hill to Astegal’s villa, drenching Carthage in golden light. The villa was easily three times the size of mine, although most of it was hidden behind high walls. There was an imposing gate with a marble arch above it set with a seal depicting the House of Sarkal’s insignia, a stylized hawk. A handful of young men were gathered there. They gave us curious looks, but asked no questions as we took places among them.
I tucked the basket of petals beneath my arm. “Let them see how a D’Angeline pays tribute to a woman,” I said to Sunjata.
We didn’t have long to wait. The gilded light was just beginning to deepen to amber when the princess’ palanquin appeared. It was an ornate affair, large and heavy with gold leaf, the sides worked with the same hawk insignia. The bearers were all of a height, strapping fellows in scarlet tunics. Four additional men flanked the palanquin. They were an odd sight, clad in flowing indigo robes, their heads and faces wrapped in burnooses, swords hanging from their belts.
“Amazigh,” Sunjata murmured. “Very fierce, and when they give their loyalty, they mean it.”
“So I noticed,” I said. “These are loyal to Astegal?”
“Very.”
The young Carthaginian admirers began to cheer as the palanquin came through the gates. I caught my first glimpse of its inhabitant. Her profile held a young, delicate beauty. Honey-gold hair coiled atop her head, a few curling locks hanging loose.
“She’s fair,” I mused. “Fairer than I expected. One wouldn’t suspect she was half-Cruithne.”
“Gods, D’Angelines can be insufferable,” Sunjata muttered.
“Jealous, my dusky plum?” I shot him a quick smile. “I spoke of her coloring. My father took me to see the Cruarch’s entourage pass once when I was a boy. They’re not as dark as you, but believe me, there wasn’t a fair-haired head among the Cruithne.”
“Perhaps there’s been a cuckoo in the Queen’s nest,” he said.
“Perhaps,” I agreed.
At that moment, the palanquin paused to allow the princess to acknowledge the cheers. She turned her head, smiling graciously at her admirers.
“Or perhaps not,” Sunjata commented.
Her eyes were black. For no earthly reason I could conceive, that fact hit me like a punch to the gut. Her gaze shifted, meeting mine as though I’d called her name. Her smile turned puzzled. If I’d felt before as though I walked atop a high ledge, now it seemed to me that the drop below had suddenly become infinitely deeper.
I stepped forward and bowed, then reached into the basket and grasped a handful of rose petals, tossing them high into the air. Petals rained down between us. We gazed at one another through the shower.
“Ho!” One of the Amazigh came over and grabbed my basket. He rummaged briefly in it, searching for a hidden dagger or somewhat. I stood stock-still, staring at the princess. She returned my gaze, frowning with bemusement. And then the Amazigh thrust the basket back at me and gave an order, and the palanquin moved on.
I stared after it, long after the other seeming admirers had drifted away.
“Well.” Sunjata’s light voice interrupted my reverie. “If you sought to give the impression of a man besotted at first sight, I’d say you did a fair job of it.”
I shook myself. “Do you think so?”
“I do.” There was an inexplicable edge of sorrow to his tone. “And I’ll venture to say her young highness took notice of it.”
“So it seemed.” I cleared my throat. “Well. We’ll see what this brings. Will you come back to the villa with me?”
Sunjata shook his head. “I think not. I’m meeting early on the morrow with Hannon, my purported master in the Guild.” He smiled crookedly. “I’m to report on you, as a matter of fact. The pompous dolt thinks I’ve been very clever to get myself into a position to spy on you.”
“Oh, excellent,” I said absently. “I revealed myself as a Guildsman to Gemelquart of Zinnrid the other night. He thinks I’m here to assure the Council that Ptolemy Solon merely wishes to be left in peace with her ladyship and will happily cooperate with Carthage to that end.”
“Good.” Sunjata nodded. “I’ll confirm it. The gods know, it’s a good deal more believable than the truth.”
“True.” I felt strange and thoughtful, unaccountably stirred by my first sight of the woman I meant to seduce. Excitement and anticipation, I reckoned; but there was an odd tinge of melancholy, too. Like as not, I was overtired from all my intrigues. “Could you have ever imagined the old ape would take such a risk for love?”
“You wouldn’t?” Sunjata asked.
I shuddered. “Gods, no!”
He reached out and touched my cheek. “Don’t be so sure,” Sunjata murmured. “I suspect we’re all capable of things we couldn’t have imagined.”
I caught his hand and kissed his fingers, ignoring a sidelong glance from a passing palanquin. After our first tryst, it had occurred to me that there was a considerable benefit in having Carthage—or at least Bodeshmun—believe I was enamoured of Jabnit the gem-merchant’s assistant. Harmless. I’d worry later about convincing the princess otherwise.
“Tell me what you learn,” I whispered.
“Don’t I always?” Sunjata asked.
“Always,” I echoed. The word seemed lodged in my chest, heavy as a stone. “Always and always. Actually, no. You don’t.”
“Ah.” His fingers slid from mine. “Well, we all have our secrets.”
With that, Sunjata took his leave of me. It was growing late, twilight falling. In another half an hour, one would need a torch to navigate the city. I stood outside the gates of Astegal’s villa, watching Sunjata walk away from me. My bearers waited patiently beside my palanquin.
“Home,” I said to them, seating myself.
They bent their backs to the poles and lifted, hoisting me. Clever Kratos with his squashed nose, offering no comment. The Carthaginian brothers, growing stronger by the day. Ghanim. I’d have to ask him about the Amazigh who guarded the princess.
Sidonie.
I said her name aloud, tasting it. “Sidonie.”
It felt good on my tongue.
I said it again. “Sidonie.”
My bearers trotted. Blue dusk was settling over Carthage, stars emerging as pinpricks in the veil of night. I closed my eyes. Behind my closed lids, I saw her face. Perplexed. A shower of petals falling between us.
Black eyes.
Why did it make my heart ache?
“Sidonie,” I whispered for a third time, my head lolling. Petals fell. Her dark gaze met mine and held it, hard and intense. I searched for a word and found it. “Always.”
Twenty-Nine
Bodeshmun’s response was swift.
He’d had my letter requesting an audience with the princess. Sidonie. He’d doubtless had spies watching me, Sunjata ostensibly among them. I was certain he’d received a full report from Gemelquart. Whether or not Bodeshmun was a Guildsman, I didn’t know. Even Sunjata was unsure. It didn’t matter. Like Ptolemy Solon, Bodeshmun was filled with knowledge beyond the Guild’s scope. The Chief Horologist made his own rules, and it seemed my appearance among Sidonie’s admirers had goaded him into action. He summoned me to a private audience the following afternoon.