Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [92]
“I will do my best to convey your goodwill, my lord,” I said gravely. It was all for show, of course, but outside the veil of discretion that existed in her ladyship’s household, one had to be circumspect.
“Captain Deimos has orders to give you every assistance,” Solon said, indicating the man beside him, a tall, lean fellow with piercing eyes. The captain and I exchanged greetings. “The tribute has been loaded.” He smiled faintly. “I trust you will find sufficient funds, gifts, and bribes.”
“I’m sure you’ve been more than generous, my lord,” I said.
Solon handed me a packet of letters. “These are letters of introduction to various Carthaginian lords of my acquaintance. I cannot say of a surety which you will find in residence, and which will have joined Astegal’s campaign.”
“I’m sure it will suffice, my lord,” I replied.
There wasn’t a great deal more to be said. Captain Deimos’ sailors loaded my belongings. Solon glanced at her ladyship. “Have you words in parting?”
Her ladyship stood, tall and splendid as a goddess, and although she’d taught me to read faces, I couldn’t read hers in this moment. For the first time, it struck me—truly struck me—that this was a grave trust indeed. Cythera ran a serious risk in this scheme. If I failed, if I was caught, the consequences could be dire. I was leaving her to wait and worry, while her poor, besotted son chafed at his inactivity and I went off to attempt to seduce the woman he loved.
It made me feel strange in my skin.
“Be safe,” her ladyship said in a low voice. “Nothing more.”
“My lady Melisande,” I said to her, “I swear to you in Blessed Elua’s name that I will make you proud.”
She shook her head. “Just be safe.”
It was a peculiar moment. I took it to be a final warning against taking any unnecessary risks, probably one that was well merited, given my exuberant spirits. I noted it duly.
And then it was time to go.
I boarded the flagship, waving a final farewell to those gathered on the docks. Solon had moved to stand at her ladyship’s side, and though he looked smaller and more wizened than ever next to her, she had laid a hand on his shoulder as though to draw strength from him. It was curious, and it made me feel oddly melancholy.
Then Captain Deimos gave the order to raise the anchor and set to oars, and the ship began to move. Our prow nosed seaward and the harbor began to fall away behind us, taking my melancholy with it.
I was bound for Carthage.
Her ladyship needn’t have warned me against unnecessary exuberance. By the end of our first day at sea, my initial rush of excitement had settled into a more calm, calculating frame of mind. I examined the manifest of tribute that Solon had provided. He really had been generous. Gods above, the old ape doted on her ladyship! A lifetime of caution and restraint, and he was throwing it all to the wind, risking Carthage’s ire—and a considerable amount of money—in a mad scheme like this.
And to whose benefit? That was the part that made me shake my head. Terre d’Ange and its spell-beleaguered Queen, who had insisted on pressing for her ladyship’s execution. Her ladyship’s own son, who, until Carthage struck and he desperately needed her help, had seemed perfectly willing to see her executed if it meant he got to wed his princess.
Yet her ladyship and Solon were aiding him.
Love makes fools of us all, I supposed. Solon loved her ladyship. And she loved her son Imriel, and bore a strong measure of guilt in the bargain. I’d heard the tales of what he’d suffered as a child, and I had to own, it sounded awful.
One had to wonder about him.
I knew what slavery had done to Sunjata. It had made him bitter. And as much as I loved his caustic wit, there were times when I wondered what he would have been like if he’d not been taken. He’d come from a line of warriors. He remembered his father dressing for battle, tall and strong, laughing deep in his chest. Teaching him to throw a spear, to lift his heavy shield. I