Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [119]
“No.” Her expression was unreadable. “I need to . . . no.”
It was my turn to be perplexed. “All right.”
Whatever it was, the Amazigh and the bearers sorted it out. We changed course and took a different route back to the House of Sarkal’s villa. The princess was quiet and withdrawn, and I was fearful I’d made a misstep.
“May I call on you tomorrow?” I asked before I took my leave. “Or have I begun to contribute to your tedium?”
“No, of course not.” She gave me a quick, absentminded smile, and I realized that whatever disturbed her, it had naught to do with me. “I’ve enjoyed your company, Leander. I’ll send word.”
I bowed. “I will await it.”
Thirty-Three
When I returned from taking exercise with Sunjata on the morrow, there was word awaiting me—but it was from Bodeshmun, not the princess. He wished for me to call on him immediately at the College of Horology.
Of course, I complied.
I found him distracted and pacing. As before, he was an abrupt and ungracious host, not offering so much as a cup of water. I bowed deeply, keeping my tone light and unconcerned. Harmless. Oddly, it was a great deal easier to do with Bodeshmun than it was with Princess Sidonie.
“You wished to see me, my lord?”
He fetched up before me, glowering. “You took her into the city.”
“So I did,” I said. “Was that wrong?”
Bodeshmun’s deep-set eyes flashed. “I would prefer that you did not, not without consulting me. It is imperative that her contacts be . . . managed.”
I shrugged. “She made an offering to Tanit and threw some flowers to children in the marketplace. There was no harm in it.”
“There might have been,” he said grimly.
“My lord, she’s bored.” I spread my hands. “I accompanied her into the city at her own request. If you wish to keep her distracted and under the impression that she’s not a prisoner for the next fortnight, I suggest you provide her with a few more of these managed contacts, because I fear my charming banter and impressive chess skills are wearing thin.”
My suggestion earned me one of his quelling looks. “I didn’t become Chief Horologist to play master of revels for a bored young princess!”
I stifled a smile. “Nonetheless.”
Bodeshmun sighed. “I’ll think on it. Until then, you will agree to no further excursions.”
“You wish me to refuse her?” I asked.
His broad mouth twisted sardonically. “I’m confident you’ll think of some cause. I understand you’ve done quite well at playing the blushing admirer while dancing clear of any . . . awkward . . . topics. Whoever taught you to dissemble is to be commended.”
I inclined my head. “My thanks, my lord.”
“Go.” He waved one hand. “And remember that if that glib tongue of yours should slip, I’ll have it cut out. Keep my warning in mind.”
“I always do,” I said with perfect sincerity.
The encounter with Bodeshmun didn’t trouble me overmuch. At least he was a known danger, and the meeting confirmed he still thought me harmless, a useful fool. But Sidonie . . . Sidonie was another matter. Gods, what was it she’d overheard the Amazigh say yesterday that had disturbed her? I wished I’d had time to learn Punic. If I’d had any idea I’d be in this position one day, I would have learned it years ago.
And what if she didn’t send for me again?
The thought of not seeing her made my heart ache. And the thought of failing—of leaving her a spell-bound pawn in Carthage’s hands, happily spreading her legs in Astegal’s bed—filled me with sick fury.
When a letter inviting me to dine with her that evening came later in the day, I nearly laughed aloud with relief. It was ludicrous. Never in my life had I felt such absurd, soaring joy.
I’d heard it described, though.
That was the awful irony of it. The day I’d accompanied Prince Imriel to the Temple of Aphrodite on Cythera, I’d asked him what it was like to be in love. And impossible as it seemed . . . yes. That was how I felt. As though my heart could burst, flaying my chest. As though I could leap off a cliff and take wing.
And then it changes, he had said. It becomes a part of you.
He had been speaking