At least until now.

Throughout the short journey, the weather continued to be miserable. It wasn’t truly cold this far south, but it was cool enough that the rain made one feel dank and chilled. Sunjata and I spent a good deal of time taking refuge in my cabin and speculating, while Kratos entertained himself by dicing with the sailors.

“Do you suppose Ptolemy Solon was wrong about Astegal’s token being hidden on Sidonie’s person?” I asked after I’d told Sunjata about my last encounter with her. “She seemed quite convinced it wasn’t.”

“It’s possible.” Sunjata reclined in a hammock, one foot braced on the floor, rocking himself gently. “As I understand, there’s more than one way to construct a spell.”

“You’re the one secretly apprenticed to a horologist,” I observed. “Your guess is likely to be better than mine. Why do they call themselves that, anyway? It seems to me that they study a good deal more than the cosmos.”

He smiled. “True. It didn’t begin that way. The study of arcane arts have flourished since Bodeshmun was appointed.” He rocked in his hammock for a moment, then added, “You know, it may well be Solon’s inquiries long ago that piqued Bodeshmun’s interest.”

“That’s a dire thought,” I commented.

“Mayhap it’s one of the reasons he agreed to help you,” Sunjata said. “Who knows what goes through the Wise Ape’s head?”

I snorted. “It’s not me he agreed to help. I’m the one taking the risks, that’s all.”

“Yes, of course.” Sunjata smiled crookedly at me. “You just seem to have grown singularly . . . invested . . . in the cause.”

I ignored the comment. “So what do you think? About the spell?”

“Hmm.” He pushed with his foot, rocking. “Leander, what if it’s not one thing you’re looking for? What if it’s everything?”

“How so?” I asked.

Sunjata gazed fixedly at me. “Everything. What if Bodeshmun’s managed to stitch and bind the spell into every garment, every piece of jewelry the princess possesses?”

I thought about it. “Is that possible?”

“Yes,” he said. “I believe it is.”

“There’s bound to be some point . . . the bath, mayhap . . .” I thought more about it. “Well, no. I suppose it could be managed if her attendants were careful and clever. Hairpins, earrings, nightgowns.”

He nodded. “So you’d have to get her mother-naked to break the spell. Or at least that half of it.” Another crooked smile. “That’s a prospect you shouldn’t mind.”

“Yes, well it would have been a great deal simpler to remove a single ring,” I said.

“Oh, like Astegal’s will be?” Sunjata raised his brows at me.

I shook my head. “That’s different. I don’t expect that to be easy. But if his token had been the House of Sarkal’s signet ring, I tell you, Sunjata, half the spell that binds her would already be broken.”

“And you a happier man,” he said.

“I can’t help how I feel.” I gazed at him. “I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you. Are you jealous?”

“Jealous.” Sunjata folded his arms behind his head. “I’m not sure that’s the right word for it. We’ve been friends for a long time, you and I. Lovers when it suited us. I never expected anything more than that, and I daresay you didn’t, either. So, no. And yet . . .” He stared at the ceiling. “What you’re feeling, I’ve never felt. Let us say I’m envious.”

“Don’t be,” I said. “Remember, if I do succeed in breaking the spell, the first thing she’ll remember is Prince Imriel.”

“There is that.” He glanced at me. “Are you so certain she’s not capable of loving more than one man?”

“I don’t know.” I sighed. “Believe me, I wonder about it every day.”

“I think you need to believe it, Leander.” Sunjata smiled with surprising gentleness. “Will it truly hurt all the more if you’re wrong?”

“Yes,” I said. “It will.”

The weather cleared at last on the day we sailed into the port of New Carthage. I nearly wished it hadn’t, since it felt almost as though the weather itself was in league with Astegal. Still, it meant we were able to be comfortable above the deck, gazing at the city that was our new temporary home.

It wasn’t nearly as formidable as old Carthage, but it was imposing enough. The harbor was large, with heavy fortifications on either side, fortresses mounted with engines of war. Here and there, one could see foundered ships that had not yet been salvaged. But most of Carthage’s fleet had survived intact, and the waters were thick with war-ships.

“What happened to the Aragonian fleet?” I asked Sunjata.

“Destroyed,” he said soberly.

“The whole thing?” I asked. He nodded.

Like old Carthage, New Carthage was walled, although the walls were a fraction of the size. And too, the city was built on a hill, sloping down to the harbor. Unlike old Carthage, here the hill was topped with a sizable palace, dominating all it surveyed.

That, I thought, would be where Astegal had ensconced himself.

We were stopped and our papers examined. New papers, stamped with the seal of the House of Sarkal, courtesy of Sidonie’s steward. The captain who examined them shrugged quizzically, but he let us pass.

There was a procession of mounted Carthaginian soldiers in full regalia making its way toward the quay to meet the flagship. As we waited our turn to dock, I studied the fellow at the head of the procession.

“Astegal?” I asked Sunjata.

“That’s him.”

He was a tall man, but he sat lightly in the saddle. Black hair bound with a gold fillet. Strong features in the hawk-nosed Carthaginian mold. A narrow beard dyed a striking scarlet. Above it, he was smiling broadly, watching as the flagship was moored. His teeth were very white.

I hated him already.

Trumpets blared as Sidonie appeared at the top of the ramp, flanked by her Amazigh guards. Today it was warm enough that she needed no cloak. She was wearing the pale yellow gown. Sunlight gleamed on her hair, sparkled on the diamonds at her ears and throat.

My heart ached more than I would have thought possible.

Astegal’s smile widened as she descended. He made her a courtly bow, a cloak of Tyrian purple swirling around him. He didn’t need a cloak, either. It was just for show. The trumpets blared again. To the accompanying cheers of his soldiers, Astegal swept Sidonie into his arms and kissed her.

“Easy, my lord,” Kratos said at my left shoulder.

I hadn’t realized I was gripping the railing with such force that the wood was splintering beneath my nails. Sunjata gave me a worried look. I forced myself to breathe slowly and relax.

We had to wait some time to dock and disembark, but a second delegation arrived, composed of Aragonian peers with stilted smiles and hatred in their eyes. Foremost among them was a tall, slender old fellow with silvery hair and beard.

“Roderico de Aragon, I’ll wager,” Sunjata remarked.

Kratos whistled. “The deposed king?”

“He’s a political hostage . . . ha!” Sunjata nudged me with his elbow. “Well, well. Look who’s here. Justina.”

I followed his gaze to spot an old childhood companion in the midst of the Aragonian peers. Justina. I hadn’t seen her in the better part of five years. Long ago, she, Sunjata, and I had all trained together under her ladyship’s aegis.

“I didn’t know she was in Aragonia,” I said.

“Neither did I,” Sunjata replied. “But her ladyship casts her nets far and wide. Well, that’s a gift from the gods.”

“Good,” I said. “Because we’re going to need all the divine providence the gods have to offer.”

Kratos glanced from one to the other of us. Over the course of the voyage, I’d assured Sunjata that he was trustworthy. Still, it was the first time we’d spoken openly in front of him. I could see the flicker of curiosity in his gaze, but he kept his mouth shut. Good man.

The throng was still there when we finally disembarked. I paused at the top of the ramp. On the dock, Sidonie turned her head, gazing in my direction. I felt a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach as our eyes met. What if she had changed her mind? But no, she tilted her head slightly and made a beckoning gesture.

“You do plan on introducing me, I hope,” Sunjata said.

“Yes, of course.”

We left Kratos and the sailors to keep watch over our things while Captain Deimos made inquiries regarding lodging. I felt lightheaded and sick making my way along the crowded quay. We waited our turn amid other well-wishers, and then there they were before us.

Sidonie and Astegal.

“Messire Maignard.” She smiled at me. “I’m pleased you were able to join us.”

“So this is the chess-playing Cytheran D’Angeline.” Astegal studied me, then chuckled. “I suppose I must thank you for providing my wife with a harmless diversion. She has an impatient spirit.”

I bowed. “The pleasure was mine, my lord.”

“You’ll lodge at the palace, of course.” Astegal waved a careless hand. A gold knot glinted on one finger. “There’s ample room, and I fear Sidonie will find it no less idle here, at least until we come to terms with the rebels.”

Her brows rose. “Or you could do the sensible thing and leave me to administer New Carthage while you settle the matter.”

A muscle in Astegal’s jaw twitched. He smiled at Sidonie. “When the last rebel has surrendered, my dear, I will shower cities at your feet and you may administer them to your heart’s content. Until then, a man’s firmer hand is needed.”

“No one ever died of tedium, your highness,” I said lightly. Her quick gaze flicked to meet mine.

“I suppose not,” she said slowly.

So it was still there, gods be thanked. Her wits, her lingering fears and suspicions. I presented Sunjata to them, explaining my partnership in a business venture with the House of Philosir.

“Ah, yes.” Astegal’s gaze rested on Sunjata’s face for a few heartbeats. “Good old Jabnit’s assistant. You did us a good service as I recall.” He laid his hand on Sidonie’s shoulder, the ring glinting. “Do you remember the painting of gems I presented to your mother, my dear? The House of Philosir procured the gems.”

Sunjata bowed. “It was our honor.”

“I remember you,” Sidonie said to him.

Astegal’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

“No.” She shot him a puzzled look. “You were with Messire Maignard, were you not?” she asked Sunjata. “On the street outside the villa.”

“Ah.” Although his reaction wasn’t visible, I could feel Sunjata relax beside me. “Yes, your highness. I was among your admirers.”

“Then you must come to the palace as well,” Astegal said smoothly. “My lady wife should be surrounded by admirers. Speak to the chamberlain; he will see to everything.”

With that, he turned away, taking Sidonie’s arm and steering her. I hoped she’d look back at me, but she didn’t. I forced myself to look away, willing myself not to show the hatred and jealousy raging inside me. Some yards away, I saw Justina winding her way toward us, attended by a pair of Aragonian servants.

She had been a pretty girl, and she’d grown into an attractive woman. Quick-witted and quick-tempered, I remembered. Dark hair and olive skin. Her mother had been a Hellene slave in the household of a Tiberian merchant, and she could pass for any one of a half dozen nationalities.

To my surprise, Justina spat at my feet.

“What brings a D’Angeline to New Carthage?” she demanded in flawless Aragonian. “Do you come to spy and mock for your traitorous Queen while Astegal sets her daughter over us?”

A few Aragonians in earshot murmured with approval. Others sought to hush her, glancing anxiously in Astegal’s direction. I was so astonished, I could barely frame a reply. “No, my lady,” I stammered in Aragonian. “I am D’Angeline in heritage only. I come as a citizen of Cythera, an emissary of my lord Ptolemy Solon.”

“Cythera!” Justina sneered. “What does Cythera want?”

“Peace, generally.” I took a deep breath. “My lady, I am Leander Maignard, and I will be lodging at the palace. If you will grant me the courtesy of an audience, I will be pleased to discuss how Cythera might be of assistance to Aragonia in this difficult time.” I smiled ruefully. “I fear we are an island with considerable experience in the matter of being conquered and occupied.”

“You’re blunt,” Justina said. “I’ll think on it.”

She flounced away. Sunjata and I gazed after her. “Well,” he said presently. “Welcome to New Carthage and a whole new set of intrigues.”

Thirty-Eight

Life in New Carthage was agonizing.

Astegal was generous in his hospitality. Sunjata and I were given a suite of rooms to share, with a servant’s chamber for Kratos. Space was found in the barracks for a handful of Captain Deimos’ men to serve as guards for Sunjata as he went about the business of the House of Philosir, acquiring looted gems and jewelry at prices little short of robbery from unwitting soldiers. Astegal, it seemed, was eager to ensure that peers of old Carthage like Jabnit of Philosir thought themselves fatted on the spoils of war.