Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [51]
It seemed like the only preeminent figure not in the City was Barquiel L’Envers, who had withdrawn in disgust to his estate in Namarre, having never abandoned his opposition to the Carthaginian delegation. Even the other members of Parliament who’d opposed it had lingered, drawn by curiosity. Not L’Envers. In truth, I didn’t blame him, but I welcomed his absence nonetheless.
The day before the spectacle, Sidonie and I rode out to observe the preparations, accompanied by her guard.
I must own, I was at least a little curious. The event itself was to take place in Elua’s Square, the exact center of the City. The horologist Bodeshmun was there, overseeing the placement of the great mirror, directly in front of the ancient oak tree said to have been planted by Blessed Elua himself.
“No,” he said absently, making a measurement with a piece of string on which a bead was strung. “No, no, no! It must be perfectly level.”
Slaves groaned, lifting the mirror from its tripodal base. One crawled beneath it, adjusting the tripod, and the mirror was lowered again.
“That is one damnably big mirror,” Claude de Monluc observed.
It was. I gauged its diameter as at least five armspans’ length; a vast pool of silver, reflecting sky and oak leaves. There were symbols worked around the silver rim, representing the twelve Houses of the Cosmos.
Bodeshmun measured again and grunted. “Better.” He glanced down at one of the symbols, then strode a few paces, an unlikely figure in his black beard and a long robe. He raised his thumb, sighting along an unseen line. Half a league away, atop the white walls of the City, an answering mirror flashed. Bodeshmun squinted at his thumb. “Two degrees west,” he said curtly. “Send a runner.”
One of the slaves departed at a run. We lingered, watching, while the process was repeated, then began anew with the next symbol.
“It seems a complicated business, my lord,” Sidonie said at length, still seated astride her white palfrey.
“Yes, your highness.” Bodeshmun glanced up at her from beneath heavy brows, then gave a short, perfunctory bow. A multifaceted green gem that hung on a chain around his neck swung briefly into view, catching the sunlight. “The secrets of the heavens do not reveal themselves easily,” he said in his deep voice. “One must be diligent and exacting. But I promise, you will find the results well worthwhile.”
She inclined her head. “I’m sure I shall.”
He smiled in a way that made my flesh prickle. “You will.”
For the first time since we’d become lovers, Sidonie and I argued that day. All the way back to the Palace, we quarrelled.
“I don’t like it,” I said. “Can’t you talk Ysandre into calling it off?”
“On what grounds?” Sidonie asked reasonably.
“I don’t know!” My voice rose in frustration. “It smells bad, Sidonie. I don’t know why. I just know it does.”
“It’s not enough.” Her back was very straight in the saddle. “Half the realm is here to observe this. We need some evidence of bad faith on the part of Carthage to deny them.”
“Astegal’s intentions—” I muttered.
“Were spoken plainly.” Sidonie scowled at me. “Imriel, I don’t like it either. But we’ve accepted their gifts. We’ve heard their suit, and they accepted our refusal with seeming good will. If Carthage does move against Aragonia, yes, everything changes. But they haven’t, not yet.”
“They will,” I said darkly.
She sighed. “And we will deal with it when they do. What are you afraid of, Imriel? The City is bursting at the seams, filled with our soldiers and sailors. What can Carthage possibly do?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “That’s what scares me.”
“Well, stop scaring me!” she retorted.
We were irritable enough with one another that when Sidonie answered a summons from her mother on returning to the Palace, I went to the Hall of Games to distract myself. I found Mavros playing piquet with Julien Trente and a young Siovalese baron, and joined them. I played badly and lost rather more money than