Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [75]
I didn’t know what to say.
“So.” Leander shrugged again. “Now you know.”
It was a strange feeling. I’d never thought of my mother as a child, as someone’s daughter. I’d never thought about the forces that had shaped her, like a charming and vicious father. I couldn’t help but feel a creeping sense of admiration for the young woman she had been. Laying the groundwork for plans that would eventually shake the realm to its core. Adhering to her own twisted principles of integrity.
And a sense of loss, too—for the person my mother might have been if she hadn’t been so goddamned ambitious.
All of us had monsters hidden within us.
I’d seen the face of mine in my madness, turning me against everyone I loved, relishing their pain. I’d seen a future in which my son, Dorelei’s and my son, had become a tyrant, cruel and ruthless.
We reached the villa. It was a sprawling place, sunlit and gracious. The foothills were terraced, grapes ripening on the vine. The scent of cypress wafted down from the mountains. Leander and I dismounted in the courtyard. A cheerful Cytheran stable-lad came to take our mounts. Leander ruffled his hair, gave him a kiss on the cheek. The stable-lad ducked his head and smiled.
“All is permitted in her ladyship’s household,” Leander commented.
He led me through the villa. It had mosaic tile floors that were exquisite, depicting the Hellene goddess of love in various adventures. I heard the sound of laughter. A young woman darted from a hallway, her eyes blindfolded, and blundered into Leander. He laughed and caught her shoulders.
“Leander,” she said decisively, raising her blind face and sniffing. “I know your pomade.”
“Well done.” He kissed her brow. “Hurry!”
A dark-skinned young man emerged from the hallway, his eyes bound, stumbling after her. Leander stepped deftly out of his way. “Ah,” he said with a trace of melancholy. “He puts me in mind of Sunjata.”
“You know him?” I asked.
“Very well.” His mouth quirked. “We trained together, Sunjata and I. ’Tis a barbaric custom, gelding. It happened at Carthage’s hands. Now her ladyship seeks to acquire them earlier, before it can be done. And his apish lordship has banned it at her urging, at least on Cythera.”
The sound of laughter receded.
I heard a fountain instead.
“Here.” Leander halted at the entrance to an inner courtyard. His light-blue eyes met mine. “I will go no farther with you. Her ladyship awaits.”
I entered the courtyard.
I saw her.
Phèdre was right. My mother’s beauty hadn’t dimmed. It had only changed again. Melisande lifted her head and gazed at me, tears brightening her glorious eyes, the deep blue hue of a twilit sea. There were faint lines etched at the corners, a few threads of bright silver strewn in her black hair. There was somewhat else, too. A well of sorrow and regret, a humanity that had been lacking. A goddess rendered mortal by time and compassion, all the more poignant for it.
My mother breathed my name. “Imriel.”
I walked toward her. “Mother,” I said, my voice sounding strange to my ears. I had never called her that. I’d never called anyone that.
She touched my cheek, her fingers hesitant. “You look older than I expected.”
“Twenty-two,” I said, my throat tight. “But on most days it feels like more.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
I took a deep breath, trying to loosen the tightness. “I don’t . . .” I spread my hands. “I don’t know what to say. You know why I’m here.” She nodded without speaking. “Solon accused me of callousness and temerity. I told him it was desperation. But you sent for me, too. Sunjata did your bidding. Knowing that I’d sworn to bring you to justice, you sent for me. So . . . here I am. Begging for your help.” I licked my dry lips. “And I will tell you what I told Solon. Terre d’Ange is willing to commute your sentence to exile. I can’t offer more than