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Two

YSANDRE RECEIVED us in one of her lesser council chambers, a high-vaulted room dominated by a single table around which were eight upholstered chairs. Three men in the travel-worn livery of House Trevalion sat on either side, and the Queen at its head.

“Phèdre.” Ysandre came around to give me the kiss of greeting as we were ushered into the chamber. “Messire Verreuil.” She smiled as Joscelin saluted her with his Cassiline bow, vambraced arms crossed before him. Ysandre had always been fond of him, all the more so since he had thwarted an assassin’s blade in her defense. “Well met. I thought you would wish to be the first to hear of this oddity.”

“My la …” I caught myself for perhaps the thousandth time; bearing the Companion’s Star entitled me to address the scions of Elua as equals, a thing contrary to my nature and training even after these many years. “Ysandre. Very much so, thank you. There is news from the Straits?”

The three men at the table had stood when the Queen arose, and Ysandre turned to them. “This is Evrilac Duré of Trevalion, and his men-at-arms Guillard and Armand,” she announced. “For the past year, they have maintained my lord Ghislain nó Trevalion’s vigil at the Pointe des Soeurs.”

My knees weakened. “Hyacinthe,” I whispered. The Pointe des Soeurs lay in the northwest of Azzalle in the duchy of Trevalion, closest to those islands D’Angelines have named the Three Sisters; it was there that the Master of the Straits was condemned to hold sway, and Hyacinthe to succeed him.

“We have no news of the Tsingano, Comtesse,” Evrilac Duré said quietly, stepping forward and according me a brief bow. He was a tall man in his early forties, with lines at the corners of his grey eyes such as come from long sea-gazing. “I am sorry. We have all heard much of his sacrifice.”

They would, in Azzalle. It was there that we had come to land, D’Angelines, Cruithne and Dalriada, carried to the mouth of the Rhenus by the mighty, surging wave commanded by the Master of the Straits, the wound of our loss still fresh and aching. And it was Ghislain nó Trevalion who met us there; Ghislain de Somerville, then. He has abjured his father’s name since, and for that I do not blame him.

“Be seated and hear.” Ysandre swept her hand toward the table.

Although the realm is at peace, they maintain the ways of vigilance at Pointe des Soeurs; the Azzallese are proud, and wary of the fact that the rocky promontory lies close by to the border of Kusheth. Even in times of peace, it is not unknown for the scions of Elua’s Companions to skirmish among themselves. Blessed Elua, conceived of the blood of Yeshua ben Yosef and the tears of Mary Magdelene, nurtured in the womb of Earth, sought no dominion here, where he was welcomed open-armed after his long wanderings. He made this place his home, and Terre d’Ange it was called ever after in his honor.
Love as thou wilt
, he bade us; no more. It is another matter among his Companions-Azza, Naamah, Anael, Eisheth, Kushiel, Shemhazai and Camael-those fallen angels who secured his freedom and aided his passage, and who divided the realm betwixt them. Many gifts they gave us; and dissension, too. Only Cassiel took no part, remaining ever at Elua’s side, the Perfect Companion.

They are gone, now, to the true Terre d’Ange-that-lies-beyond. Once, and once only, a peace was made betwixt the One God and Mother Earth, that it might be so. Only we, their scions, are left to bear out Blessed Elua’s precept as best we might-but we are his descendants and our story continues. And this, then, was the tale that emerged, told first by Armand, who had been on night watch when it began.

“Lightning,” said Armand of Trevalion, “such as I have never seen; blue-white and crackling, my lady, great jagged forks of it, all coming from a single cloud, some ten miles from the coast.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I cannot be sure, in the dark, but it is in that direction the Three Sisters lie; I am as sure as any man can be that the cloud overlay them.”

“Surely there is nothing so odd about a storm,” Joscelin said mildly.

Armand shook his head. “I have seen storms, Messire Cassiline, natural and otherwise. This is my third turn of duty at Pointe des Soeurs. This was no storm, and I have never seen its like. It was a calm night, with the sky black as velvet and every star visible save where the cloud blotted them out. With each flash of lightning I could see the underbelly of the cloud, violet and black, shot with glimmers of gold. I stood on the parapet in the stillness of a spring night and watched it. Then I went to fetch the commander.”

“He describes it truly,” Evrilac Duré affirmed. “All around us was calm, but though the waves rippled and the insects sang at Pointe des Soeurs, we could see the skies split open and the seas in a fury about the Three Sisters.” He folded his hands on the table. “I have seen many strange things, living on the Straits. No man or woman, Alban or D’Angeline, would deny it. Tides that defy the moon, currents that run backward, eddies and whirlpools and unbreaking waves. You yourself have seen the Face of the Waters, is it not so?”

“Yes.” It is a thing, once seen, never forgotten.

“So it is told,” Duré murmured. “But I have never seen the like of this, nor heard it spoken. For the better portion of the night it continued, striking ever faster as Armand and I watched from the parapet. Beautiful, it was; and terrifying. In the final moments before dawn there came one last burst, a flash so bright it fair washed the sky in blindness, and a great crack of thunder. And a voice, crying out; a man’s voice, it seemed, but so vast it carried over sea and wave. A single cry.” He fell silent a moment. “Then nothing.”

“Woke the garrison, it did,” the third man, Guillard, offered. “And me the first out the doors, with the sky greying in the east. I saw the wave come and break ashore, and what it left in its wake. Fish, eels, you name it; thousands, there were, flopping and dying on the stones. A great ring of a wave, like the ripple from a cast pebble.” He shook his head. “All along the shore, as far as the eye could see, writhing and flopping. Never seen the like.”

“So.” I frowned. “You saw a cloud, and strange lightnings; then a wave, which brought many fish ashore. What of the isles? Did you attempt the Three Sisters?”

Trevalion’s men exchanged glances, and Evrilac Duré’s folded hands twitched. “We did not,” he said shortly. “Our orders are to watch and report. I sent word to my lord Ghislain, and he bade me bring notice in all haste to her majesty the Queen. This, I have done.”

He was afraid. I saw it in his eyes, the tight lines around his mouth. I could not blame him. Men of Trevalion had died assailing the Straits; a good many of them under Ghislain’s command, some dozen years gone by. It was no fault of his, but the orders of the old King, Ysandre’s grandfather, Ganelon de la Courcel. Still, they had died, and I could not fault Duré for fearing. I was afraid, too.

Ysandre cleared her throat. “I’ve already sent couriers to alert Quintilius Rousse, Phèdre. But he is away on excursion to Khebbel-im-Akkad, and not due to return until summer’s end. I thought you would want to know. It is my understanding you have made quite a study of the Master of the Straits.”

“Yes.” I passed my hands over my face, wishing the Royal Admiral were not gone. Quintilius Rousse had been there, when Hyacinthe made his choice; moreover, he had a long-standing quarrel with the Master of the Straits. It was Rousse who had tested the defenses of the Three Sisters, year upon year. If there was any man fit to try them again, it was he. I had only useless lore on my side-and Joscelin, who was little help at sea, for my own Perfect Companion, alas, was no sailor and was more oft than not found retching over the rails.

“What do you make of this?” Ysandre’s gaze was kind. She had known Hyacinthe, if briefly, and knew of our long friendship.

“I don’t know.” I raised my head. “The Master of the Straits said it would be a long apprenticeship. Mayhap it is only that, some phenomenon of power, a demonstration. But it is in my heart that it may be something more. With your permission, I would like to investigate.”

“You have it.” Ysandre bent her gaze on Evrilac Duré, not without a degree of asperity. “Messire Duré, I will not command any man of Trevalion to assail the Three Sisters … but I will ask. If Phèdre nó Delaunay wishes to travel thence, will you carry her?”

Evrilac Duré swallowed visibly, lifting his chin a fraction. They are proud, in Azzalle, and she had stung him. My Queen had learned some few things about manipulating people herself since first she ascended the throne. “Majesty!” he said sharply. “We will.”

Thus were our plans laid. Ysandre dismissed the Azzallese to seek food and rest, leaving instructions with the Secretary of the Privy Purse that they were to be rewarded and our excursion generously funded. Joscelin and myself, she invited to take repast in the garden with her, which I was glad of, now being hungry for my interrupted breakfast.

The late morning sun lay like balm on the greening flora, twice the size of my own modest garden and three times as well tended. It was a rare moment of intimacy we shared with Ysandre over egg possets and the first early fruits of spring. There were few people in the realm that the Queen trusted implicitly. Of all the honors she has bestowed upon me, that is the one I cherish the most.

The Chamberlain of the Nursery brought Sidonie and Alais, Ysandre’s daughters, to greet their royal mother as she dined, and I must confess it was a pretty sight. The elder, Sidonie, was a grave girl, with a straight, shining fall of deep-gold hair and her father’s dark Cruithne eyes. I saw much of both parents in the young Dauphine, and less in her sister Alais, who was small and dark and prone to private mischief. It was she who clambered onto Joscelin’s lap, butting her curly head beneath his chin. Joscelin laughed and let her toy with the buckles on his vambraces. He was good with children, better than I.

Ysandre smiled with a mother’s resigned indulgence, stroking Sidonie’s shining hair as her eldest knelt beside her, absorbed in winding violet stems through the wrought iron of a table-leg. “Alais doesn’t take to most people thusly, my lord Cassiline. Mayhap you should consider fatherhood; you seem to have the knack of it.”

“Ah.” Joscelin slid his arm around the child, holding her in place as he reached for a dish of berries. “I’ve broken vows enough without insulting Cassiel’s grace, my lady.”

The Queen raised her fair brows at me, and I returned her gaze unblinking.

We had thought about it, of course; how not? But there was a truth to Joscelin’s words, and a deeper truth I did not voice to Ysandre. I have an ill-luck name, given me by a mother who knew a great deal about Naamah’s arts, and not much else. My lord Kushiel marked me as his own, and he has cast his Dart in places further and more deadly than I might have dreamed. Who is to say, if the dubious gift of an
anguissette
is hereditary? I have never heard that it is; nor have I heard it is not. I am what I am, and there is no point in regretting it. I daresay I would not have survived such adventures as have befallen me if it were not for my unique relationship with pain.
Lypiphera
, they named me on the island of Kriti; Pain-bearer.

Nonetheless, I had no desire to pass this dubious gift on to any child of my blood, and I had never invoked Eisheth’s blessing to open the gates of my womb. It is harder to watch another suffer than to endure it oneself. There are forms of pain even an
anguissette
will avoid. This was one of them.

“So be it,” Ysandre said gently, nodding at the Companion’s Star upon my breast. “I always thought you were saving your boon for your children, Phèdre. A duchy, a royal appointment; even a betrothal, mayhap. I have given my word.”

“No.” I fingered the brooch and shook my head, answering with honesty. “There is naught that I need or desire, my lady, save that which is not within your power to grant.” I smiled ruefully. We are gotten on the wrong side of godhead, we D’Angelines, and the One God has washed his hands of Blessed Elua’s descendants; not even a Queen can alter that fact. “Can you bring the dead to life, or give me the key to lock the One God’s vengeance? Aught else I might desire, you have laid at my disposal.”

“I would that it was more. My debt to you is great.” Ysandre rose and paced, pausing to gaze across the verdant expanse of her sanctum. No herbs here, but only flowers for her pleasure, lovingly cultivated by her gardeners. Near the gate, four of the Queen’s Guard loitered at their ease, at once relaxed and attentive, while the Chamberlain of the Nursery stood by and servants in the livery of House Courcel awaited to attend her pleasure. The Dauphine Sidonie sat cross-legged on the flagstones, humming as she wove a garland, and young Princess Alais tugged at Joscelin’s braid. “There is no news of Melisande’s boy?”

“No.” I said it softly, shaking my head, although she could not see. “I would tell you if there were, my lady.”

“Phèdre.” She turned around, eyeing me. “Will you never be done with forgetting it, near-cousin?”

“Probably not.” I smiled at her, leaning over to pluck a handful of violets from Sidonie’s lap and plaiting them expertly into an intricate garland. I had done as much when a child myself, attending adepts in the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers. “There,” I said, setting it atop her head. The child glowed with pleasure, rising to run with careful steps and show her mother.

Some things a courtesan can do that a Queen cannot.

“Very lovely,” Ysandre said, stooping to plant a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “Thank the Comtesse, Sidonie.”

“Thank you, Comtesse,” the girl said obediently, turning round to face me. Her sister Alais loosed a sudden chortle and steel rang as she hoisted one of Joscelin’s daggers from its sheath. The guardsmen started to attention at the sound, relaxing with laughter as a chagrined Joscelin cautiously pried the hilt from her small fingers. The Dauphine Sidonie looked appalled at her sister’s breach of decorum; Alais looked pleased.

Ysandre de la Courcel looked resigned. “Mayhap you have the right of it,” she said wryly. “Elua’s blessing upon your quest, Phèdre. And if you pass the Cruarch’s flagship on your journey, tell him to make haste.”