Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [158]
“Will you do it?” I asked. “I promise you, if you do, Terre d’Ange will reward you beyond your wildest dreams.”
“I’m not an oath-breaker,” Deimos said curtly. “You don’t need to bribe me. The ship will be ready by tomorrow.”
“Good man,” I said, sighing inwardly with relief. What I would have done if Deimos had refused, I couldn’t say. Sunjata had been right about one thing. I was indeed lucky that my mother loved me.
After the harbor, Kratos and I stopped at the bath-house. It felt strange and empty without the presence of scores of soldiers, and I felt acutely self-conscious as I stripped. I’d done it a dozen times without even thinking. Today, it was different. I could hear the faint echo of Ptolemy Solon’s voice in my memory, a pinch at my earlobes. Surely they will serve as a last line of defense against the perils of nudity.
Elua have mercy, what an insane risk.
I washed and dressed quickly, feeling safer once I was clad. Back in my chambers at the palace, I sorted through my things, trying to decide how much risk I was willing to take. I needed to prove myself to Sidonie, but I had a feeling that if the first thing I did was strip mother-naked in front of her, it would strain her fragile trust. In the end, I donned a pair of my own breeches and underclothes, but everything else I wore was Leander’s.
Sunjata had been gone, but he returned before nightfall. I admitted him when he knocked on the door of my chamber.
“I’m sailing for Carthage on the morrow,” he said directly. “I’ve come to bid you farewell.”
“My thanks.” I put out my hand. “Be safe, Sunjata.”
He paused, then clasped it. “And you. Be careful, my lord. Don’t forget that you still need to wear Leander’s mask for a time, at least in public.” He gave me his wry smile. “A little less . . . intensity . . . mayhap.”
I nodded. “Duly noted.”
Sunjata’s smile turned wistful. “I wish you luck.”
At that moment, Kratos’ voice came from the far chamber, informing me that the physician had sent for me to attend the princess.
“My thanks,” I said to Sunjata a second time. I rummaged in my trunk and found my gold-knotted ring, sliding it on my finger and turning it inward to hide it. My heart began beating faster with a mix of hope and fear. I sensed it would be a long time before it slowed. “I fear I’m going to need it.”
With that, I went to Sidonie.
Fourty-Six
In Sidonie’s bedchamber, we reenacted the same ritual as the previous evening, only with considerably less drama. She drank the sleeping draught without protest, seeming weary and defeated. It wasn’t until the physician Girom withdrew and closed the door that her demeanor changed.
“You can’t stay long,” she warned me.
“I know.” I took a deep breath. “I’ll do this as quickly as I can. Forgive me if it sounds—”
“No.” Her lips curved in a faint, tired smile. “I made the guards drink a toast to Astegal’s health when Girom went to fetch you. If his infernal draughts are half as effective as he claims, they’ll be sleeping in minutes. You’ve got to dispatch Girom before it happens.”
I stared at her. “You are a wonderment.”
Her slender shoulders moved in a shrug. “Desperation provides all manner of inspiration.”
So it was that I waited quietly for only a few moments before going to inform the physician that she slept.
“So soon?” Girom remarked in surprise.
I spread my hands. “Gods, man, can you blame the lass? She’s worn to the bone with fear and loneliness. My lord Astegal would have been kinder to leave her in Carthage until Aragonia was truly settled.”
He sighed. “Yes, well, Astegal wants his heir. I pray that’s the cause of her highness’ uncertain moods.”
One of the Amazigh was already blinking conspicuously. “Well, whatever it is, I pray her highness calms soon,” I said, sinking cross-legged to take up my post before her door. I forced a yawn. “I’ll sleep better in my own bed. Go on. I’ll send word if there’s any difficulty.”
Girom took his leave.
I waited.
After a muttered exchange, the blinking Amazigh stretched out on the couch. He was snoring within minutes.