Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [114]
Bit by bit, the feeling eased.
“Name of Elua!” I said aloud. “I’m not even sure I like her.”
The following morning, I’d arranged to meet Sunjata at the baths. They were massive, laid out in the grand Tiberian style, although the architecture itself was Carthaginian. I found Sunjata in the palaestra, stretching his limbs. Ordinarily, I thought, it would likely be a crowded place, filled with young men wrestling and boxing with one another, practicing for foot-races, but it was quite empty today. I reckoned a good many of Carthage’s athletes were serving in Astegal’s army.
“Run with me?” Sunjata asked in greeting, nodding at the footpath circling the exercise arena.
“A lap or two,” I said. “You know I can’t keep up with you for long.”
He merely shrugged. For as long as I’d known him, Sunjata had had a fondness for running. It gave him a sense of freedom; and too, eunuchs had a propensity to gain weight as they grew older, their figures growing more womanish. Sunjata would never let that happen. He wasn’t vain, but he was proud.
After I’d limbered, we set out on the footpath together. Sunjata paced himself slowly so I could match him stride for stride.
“So,” he said when we’d reached the far end. “How was your audience?”
“Aside from the fact that I reeked of attar of roses?” I asked, and he laughed. “Gods, I don’t even know what to say. I found myself acting an idiot, and she spent most of the time laughing at me.”
“Did you gain a second audience?” Sunjata asked.
“I did that much,” I said glumly. “But I’ll have to summon considerable more charm if I want to be reckoned aught but a performing lap-dog.”
“Lap-dogs don’t give Bodeshmun cause for concern,” he observed. “Which is to the good.” We fell silent on reaching the central stretch of the arena, waiting until we were out of earshot of the few folks availing themselves of the palaestra. “What did you think of her?”
“Disconcerting,” I said. “She’s quick-witted and bored. I can see why Bodeshmun’s worried.”
Sunjata increased his stride. “What did you think of her, Leander?”
I pushed myself to match his pace, feeling my muscles warm and loosen. It came easier than I remembered. Our bare feet thudded softly on the path. “I’m not entirely sure of that, either. But whatever it is, I find myself thinking a good deal too much of it.”
Another stretch of silence. I could hear Sunjata’s breathing, steady and even. I matched him breath for breath.
“Perhaps you’re falling in love with her,” he said when next we reached the turn at the far end of the footpath.
“At one meeting?” I laughed. “Don’t be absurd.”
“At a glance,” Sunjata said. “At a single, devastating glance that stripped clever Leander Maignard of all his smooth beguilements and left him standing in the street, staring after her palanquin like a man besotted.”
“That only happens in poets’ tales,” I scoffed.
He gave me a sidelong glance. “Are you sure?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but Sunjata pulled away, his effortless stride increasing once more. Irritated, I pulled abreast of him. My lungs were working hard now. He pushed his pace and I struggled grimly to keep up with him, running too hard for conversation. Another lap, then another and another. My lungs felt like they were bursting and I had a stitch in my side. Even Sunjata was breathing hard. Still, I managed to keep up with him this time.
“There!” he gasped at last, slowing to a panting halt. “See, I told you. We’re all capable of things we can’t imagine.”
I braced my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. “You’re out of practice.”
“Not so.” Sunjata shook his head. “This is my one great escape. I suspect you’ve been training at somewhat.”
I eased myself upright. “Not that I recall.”
Sunjata gave me one of his opaque looks. “Let’s get you into the baths. I can still smell that damnable pomade.