Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [236]
Kazan's face was unreadable, his bow precise. "Thank you, Lord Archon," he said, taking care with his words, "but I have business with my ship. With your permission, I will return on the morrow."
"As you wish." Demetrios Asterius waved one hand, thencocked his head at me. "But you, I hope, will not disappoint me. We see few enough D'Angelines; it would be a pity to miss your company."
"My lord," I said, "It will be my honor."
SIXTY-THREE
After the audience, I was shown back to my guest-quarters and thence to the bathhouse, where I was drawn a sumptuous bath that would not have been out of place in the Night Court. They have servants in the Palace of Phaistos whose sole purpose is to attend the bathhouses, seeing to the temperature of the water, laying out fresh linens and such. While I luxuriated, a plain-faced young woman entered bearing a tray with a jar of sweet oil and knelt beside the tub, murmuring that the Lady Althaia had sent her personal attendant to minister to me, as she was skilled in the arts of massage.
Although I have certainly lived without it, I have never turned away luxury. So it was that I rose dripping from my bath to lie upon one of the alabaster benches, spread with a clean linen sheet. The girl kept her eyes averted as I did, but when she went to spread the oil upon my back, I heard her indrawn gasp. I had forgotten Naamah's marque, vivid black and red against my fair skin.
"Do not be alarmed," I said to her in Hellene. "It is only the marque of Naamah, whose servant I am. You would name her a goddess, I suppose."
She shook her head, whispering something in a dialect I did not recognize, and smoothed on the oil. Whether or not her concerns had been allayed, she set about her work without further delay, and in short order, a feeling of well-being suffused my limbs. I closed my eyes, head pillowed on my arms, and let her skilled hands work the deep knots of tension from my muscles.
In this drowsing and pleasant state, I paid scant heed tothe comings and goings in the bathhouse until I heard an unfamiliar voice say, "I am pleased, Lady Phaedra, that you seem to be enjoying the services of my slave Chloris."
I opened my eyes to see a Kritian noblewoman standing before me, a faint, measuring smile curving her lips. By her elaborately-coifed bronze hair and grey eyes—and her familiarity—I guessed her to be Timanthes' sister. It gave me a start, to hear her refer to my masseuse as her slave; nonetheless, I answered politely. "You are the Lady Althaia, I think. I am in your debt, my lady."
"Yes, indeed." She prowled around the bench, eyeing me. "I should have gone to the wrestling, it seems, and not the marketplace; I have missed being first informed. Timanthes didn't tell me you bore the mark of a hetaera."
"Timanthes," I said, "did not know. I am here as a servant of her majesty Ysandre de la Courcel, Queen of Terre d'Ange, and not Naamah, my lady. It is a D'Angeline matter."
"Is it?" Pausing in front of me, Lady Althaia looked down her nose and raised her gracefully arched brows. "Demetrios Asterius is steadfast in his regard for my brother, but he is known to have a fickle eye for women. We have an understanding, yes, but I am not yet pledged to the son of Minos. What better way to bait a trap for the Archon of Phaistos than with a D'Angeline noblewoman who practices the hetaerae trade?" Her mouth turned down sourly. "I know something of your people, Lady Phaedra. You are known for the art of spell-casting in the bedchamber."
I propped my chin on one fist. "It is not my intention, my lady, to seduce the Archon."
"No?" She looked uncertain.
"No," I said firmly. "It is a matter of state. No more, and no less."
"And if he were to offer?" Althaia challenged me. "Kriti's aid, for the pleasure of your company in the bedchamber. Would you refuse?"
I considered it. The slave, Chloris, realized she was eavesdropping, lowered her head and continued to rub oil intomy skin, smoothing away the myriad aches of my long ordeal. "You know the Archon, my lady Althaia," I