Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [149]
“So Esme succeeded?” I asked.
Kratos chuckled. “Ah, the lass was brilliant! Yon Astegal does love to be cozened and pampered. She oiled him and worked him down to his fingertips.” He kissed the tips of his own fingers. “The ring slid loose like a charm. I could see it all from the caldarium. You remember?”
“I remember,” I said briefly.
“Yes, well.” Kratos smiled broadly. “It fell to the floor and bounced. Ch-chink, ch-chink! Our Esme scrambled after it in a panic. Astegal hadn’t even begun to worry before she shoved the copy on his finger, babbling apologies. I watched. She retrieved his ring later.”
“This?” I raised my right hand.
Kratos nodded. “That. So what happens now, my lord?”
I sighed. “Unfortunately, we wait. I need to speak to Sidonie alone, and that’s the one thing I can’t fathom how to do.”
“That, and getting Bodeshmun’s talisman,” Kratos observed. Over the past days, I’d taken him fully into my confidence and told him everything. “Is he really as dangerous as all that?”
“Ptolemy Solon thought so,” I said, removing the ring and stashing it in the trunk with the false bottom. “And so did Sunjata.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like it.”
On that score, Kratos was wrong. The following morning, Astegal summoned Roderico de Aragon and his entourage to the great hall. The elderly former king struck a tragic, forlorn figure, standing with the remnants of his court in his former palace while Astegal paced back and forth like an angry lion. Bodeshmun stood behind him, silent.
“My wishes were clear,” Astegal said. “No one was to give audience to my wife without my express permission. You defied me.”
“She is the Dauphine of Terre d’Ange,” Roderico said with dignity. “Was I to refuse her when she was at my doorstep?”
“Yes,” Astegal said. “You told her lies that upset her. Last night, she could find no peace without the aid of a sleeping draught. Even now, she is too ill to rise.”
Roderico’s eyes flashed. “I told her no lies.”
“The truth is what I say it is.” Astegal’s voice hardened. “Carthage and Terre d’Ange have always been allies. Aragonia provoked this war by permitting its fleet to prey unchecked on Carthaginian trade-ships. That is the truth, and from this moment onward, any man or woman who claims otherwise is guilty of treason. Is that understood?”
The former king didn’t answer. One of the members of his entourage, a young man who couldn’t have been much past his majority, muttered an expletive.
“You!” Astegal snapped. “Come here.” After a moment’s hesitation, the young lord obeyed. Astegal surveyed him. “There are rumors circulating that Carthage is capable of wielding dire magics. Observe and learn fear.”
He beckoned to Bodeshmun, who stepped forward. The young Aragonian stared at the Chief Horologist with hatred, a muscle jumping in his cheek. Bodeshmun raised one hand, palm upward, until it was level with the man’s face. He blew out his breath gently over his palm. A brief puff of dust arose.
The young Aragonian gasped. One gasp, no more. His hands rose frantically to scrabble at his throat. His face worked. Not a sound emerged from his mouth.
“Enough!” Roderico said sharply. “It shall be as you say. Spare the lad.”
Astegal folded his arms. “What is done cannot be undone. If you wish others to be spared this fate, remember this moment.”
It was an awful thing. The great hall was filled with onlookers. Astegal meant this event to be witnessed. And in front of all of us, the young Aragonian lord slowly choked to death for no apparent cause. His face turned dark and his eyes bulged. It was a mercy when he finally sank to the floor. Several members of Roderico’s entourage were weeping audibly, and silent tears ran down the former king’s creased face.
“Is it understood?” Astegal repeated.
“Yes, my lord.” Roderico’s voice cracked. “The truth is whatever you