Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [70]
We sailed into the harbor unchallenged. Oppius ordered the sails struck and we went to oars, gliding toward the docks. A handful of mounted men emerged from the fortress, riding along the palisade. By the time Oppius’ men had secured the Aeolia, they were waiting for us.
“State your business!” the leader called in Hellene.
“Gods, this feels familiar, doesn’t it?” Oppius murmured to me. “Delivering a passenger,” he called back to the Cytheran harbor-master. “But I’m eager for trade if there are contracts to be had.”
The harbor-master laughed. “Oh, always. Come ashore, then!”
My legs trembled as I disembarked. Now that I was here, I wished I had another day to think and prepare. I braced myself for the harbor-master’s reaction when he saw Melisande Shahrizai’s face reflected in mine.
It wasn’t quite what I expected.
He whistled through his teeth. “Ah, I see! One of hers, eh?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer. “I’ve come to petition the Governor.”
“Solon, eh?” The harbor-master blinked. He was a slight fellow with pock-marked olive skin and an accent that reminded me of Canis’. “All right, then. No doubt he’ll see you. He’s always interested in curiosities. You’re that, no doubt.” He watched the Bastard being led ashore. “Nice horse. What’s your name?”
“Cadmar,” I said. “Cadmar of Landras.”
Eighteen
The harbor-master, whose name was Mehmed, had one of his men direct me to a suitable lodging-house; it was not an inn, but a gracious villa overlooking the western edge of the harbor, surrounded by bougainvillea and tall, swaying date palms.
It was owned by a widow named Nuray. Her eyes widened at the sight of me, but she said nothing, only bowed and escorted me to my quarters, which were airy and pleasant and well-appointed.
I was in the city of Paphos, breathing the same air as my mother.
It felt very, very strange.
Mehmed had promised to bear word of my request to Ptolemy Solon. Oppius had promised not to set sail without my blessing.
I tended to the Bastard myself, refusing the aid of Nuray’s stable-lad. The Bastard suffered my attentions, eyeing me with a look of deep reproach.
“I’m sorry,” I said to him. “Truly.”
What had I been thinking? I shouldn’t have subjected him to a lengthy sea voyage. It hadn’t been necessary. I hadn’t wanted to be alone, that’s all. Weeks without exercise, without sunlight. The Bastard was in worse shape than I was now.
And why had I given Mehmed a false name? I wasn’t entirely sure. One of hers, he’d said. One. What did that mean?
I didn’t know and it made me uneasy. I didn’t trust myself. Driven by the memories of my madness, the urgency of my cause, I’d been careless. I thought about Bodeshmun the horologist, aligning his mirrors in the City of Elua with exacting care. Thought about him smiling into his beard when Sidonie and I reviewed his preparations, sure in his knowledge of what was to come.
I couldn’t afford to be careless.
I couldn’t afford to make mistakes.
So I waited. I availed myself of the villa’s baths. Nuray sent a laundress for my clothing, all of it salt-stained and foul. While it dried in the sunlight of a hidden courtyard, I sat on a terrace above the harbor, wrapped in a thick linen robe, and ate a luncheon of grilled octopus, potatoes cooked in olive oil, and sausage seasoned with coriander. I watched waves breaking over a rock formation westward, foam jetting skyward. There was a place, only a few leagues away, where it was said the Hellene goddess of love had first touched mortal soil.
I inhaled the sea air, the same air my mother breathed. A moist, salty tang, sweetened by blooming flowers and ripening fruit. Salt and sweet. My mind wandered. I remembered kneeling for Sidonie, wearing her discarded blindfold. The tap of the tawse between my shoulder blades. Her fingers, loosing the fabric of the blindfold, forgiving me. Her scent, salt and honey. The smile in her voice as she bade me do penance. Ah, Elua! The love in it. I’d done my penance with pleasure.
The taste of her.
Gods, it hurt.
“My lord?” A Cytheran voice speaking