Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [117]
“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