Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [76]
Curiosity raised my mother’s winged brows. It made her look younger. “What do you imagine I might ask for?”
“I don’t know.” I glanced around the courtyard. Flowering shrubs blossomed in profusion. The fountain splashed merrily, water sparkling in the sunlight. “Me,” I said. “You might ask me to join you in exile.”
Melisande’s curious expression didn’t change. “Would you?”
An invisible band around my chest tightened. I thought about Astegal and his heavy-lidded smile. Sidonie. Phèdre and Joscelin gazing at me in perplexity, their memories stolen. The rising tide of unease on the streets of Marsilikos, Quintilius Rousse’s ships in the harbor. “Yes,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. “If it meant undoing Carthage’s spell.”
Unexpectedly, she laughed, a mixture of humor and sadness in it. “Ah, Elua! Imriel, I’ve given you enough reasons to hate me already. Why would I choose one more?” My mother shook her head. “Come. Sit and listen a moment.”
There was a curved marble bench near the fountain. We sat on opposite ends of it. Melisande gazed at the falling water.
“I mean to persuade Solon to aid you,” she said without preamble. “And I believe he will. I wish you to know that I expect no gratitude for it. Not from you, not from Terre d’Ange. I do not imagine this will buy me forgiveness.”
“Are you making atonement?” I asked her.
Her gaze shifted to me. Gods, she really was beautiful. “Perhaps, in a way. Although you may not believe it, I do love Terre d’Ange. I could have controlled Waldemar Selig if he had proved victorious. I would have built somewhat glorious in the aftermath and turned his victory into my own.”
“Dreams of empire,” I murmured. “You’d like Astegal of Carthage.”
She gave a faint, wry smile. “Probably. But I don’t care to watch him usurp the country I once dreamed of ruling.”
“A true patriot,” I observed.
“No.” Melisande shook her head. “I don’t pretend to that. Still, there are ways in which I have changed. When you were taken . . .” She fell silent a moment. “I learned what it was to suffer. To hate. To be filled with fury and helplessness. To regret. And afterward . . .” She looked away. “Phèdre nó Delaunay told me I did not wish to know what befell you in that place. And yet I was torn between a fear of knowing and a need to know. In the end, I couldn’t bear it. I found a Caerdicci woman who had been there and had her sent to the Temple of Asherat. She told me.” She looked back at me. “And then it was worse.”
“You wrote to me,” I said. “You wrote that if you could undo what was done to me, you would do anything in the world.”
The shadow behind her eyes lightened. “You read my letters?”
“Yes.” I propped my elbows on my knees, clasping my hands between them. “Not for a long time, not until years after you disappeared. But I did. At first I tried to burn them,” I added. “After that, Phèdre kept them for me.”
“Phèdre.” My mother’s rich voice held too many things to decipher. She gazed into the distance. “The gods must laugh. And yet I begin to think mayhap they hold a shred of mercy for me. I cannot take back my deeds. I cannot undo your hurt. But this at least I can do, and pray that it leavens the burden of regret. So you see, I do not pretend to selflessness.”
“That’s good,” I said. “Since it has the added benefit of removing the sentence of death hanging over your head.”
“True.” Her brows rose again. “But if I had not acted to protect you, it wouldn’t have mattered. You would have forgotten all about your vow.”
I studied my clasped hands, thinking about a world in which I had forgotten my promise to bring my mother to justice. Forgotten Sidonie. “Will you answer a question truthfully?” I asked. “Could you have prevented it? Carthage’s spell?”
My mother didn’t answer for a long time.
I lifted my head and gazed at her.
“No,” she said finally. “Not without Solon’s help. I only knew the rumors Sunjata passed to me. It was Solon who pieced them together. He’s studied a great many arcane arts.” She