Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [138]
“Do you jest, my lord?” Kratos asked in surprise.
“Not at all.” Astegal stripped off his tunic. “Not at all.”
Astegal wasn’t boasting; he had considerable skill at the game. And he had twenty years on Kratos and the advantage of reach and leverage. It was a hard-fought bout, but in the end, Astegal won. And he won ugly, wrenching Kratos’ arm behind his back with such force that Kratos cried out in pain. Astegal leaned one forearm on the back of Kratos’ neck, grinding his face into the dust. It was an unnecessary humiliation.
“Do you concede, freedman?” he asked.
Kratos made a muffled sound of agreement. Astegal released him to the cheers of his men. He gave them a brief bow of acknowledgment.
“Carthage’s supremacy is restored,” he said lightly.
Kratos didn’t say anything then, only got to his feet with an obvious effort, rubbing his wrenched shoulder in pain. Later we had a good, long soak in the caldarium, which Kratos claimed would help the injury heal. We could see Astegal in a private room beyond the caldarium, the doorway guarded by a pair of ever-present and vigilant Amazigh. He was taking a massage, his muscles loose and languid, his eyes closed, his olive skin glistening with oil.
There was no one else in the pool at the moment. I entertained thoughts of killing him then and there. If I could have devised a plan that didn’t involve me getting spitted on an Amazigh blade, I might have tried it.
“My lord,” Kratos said thoughtfully. “Please tell me it’s your life’s work to destroy that man.”
“Why?” I asked.
The expression on Kratos’ homely face was calm, but there was hatred in his voice. “Because I would very much like to assist you.”
I nodded. “Excellent.”
Thirty-Nine
It was some days before the Longest Night when Justina finally sent for me.
“What in the seven hells took you so long?” I hissed at her when we were alone in her villa. I expected a flare of the temper I remembered in reply, but Justina surprised me.
“I needed to think,” she said quietly. “It’s a grave danger.”
“Did Sunjata not confirm the truth of all I told you?” I inquired.
Justina looked at me for a long time. “Yes,” she said at length. “Yes, he did. But he’s worried that you’re being hasty and careless.” She smiled wryly. “I didn’t realize you were . . . enamored . . . of her.”
“Strong feelings cloud the wits,” I said, quoting her ladyship. “Yes, I know. But a task is a task. And hasty . . . Name of Elua, Justina! The Longest Night is nearly on us. We don’t have forever. Come spring, Astegal will move against Serafin’s rebels, and the opportunity will be lost.”
“I know.” Justina sighed. “Astegal plans a fête to honor D’Angeline tradition. I’ve managed to get invited. I’ll approach him then and tell him I’ve been missing him. Beyond that, I can make no promises.”
“My thanks,” I said. “It’s a great deal to ask, I know.”
She gave me another long look. “’Tis an unlikely task. I’d no idea her ladyship had such . . . strong feelings . . . for her estranged son.”
“Nor does anyone else,” I observed. “Her ladyship is clever enough to use her own reputation and advice against her adversaries. By the Goddess, even Astegal and Bodeshmun think me an ally! Which makes it a perfect gambit, do you not think?”
“I don’t know,” Justina mused. “I truly don’t.”
“But you’ll help?” I pressed her.
She sighed again. “I’ll try.”
I didn’t know what to expect of the Longest Night. In her ladyship’s household on Cythera, we simply celebrated with a masqued ball. I had vague memories of celebrating it in Terre d’Ange as a child. Pine boughs and beeswax candles, snatched sips of joie. I’d been permitted to stay awake long enough to witness the pageant of Winter’s Queen and the Sun Prince the year before we had departed to prepare a household for her ladyship on Cythera. I remembered music and adults glittering in masks. I couldn’t imagine Astegal would seek to re-create it for Sidonie’s sake. Surely there were too many dangerous memories of Terre d