Kushiel's Chosen (84 page)

I hadn't been sure, until then, if Melisande would dare it. I should have known that she would. She came in on the arm of Benedicte de la Courcel, tall and hale in the blue and silver of his House, his erect carriage belying his age. Her gown of deep-blue velvet matched his doublet, and her head was lowered modestly, the shining Veil of Asherat hiding her features; but behind, ah! Her hair hung loose and unbound, falling in gleaming blue-black waves to the small of her back.

Melisande, I thought, laughing silently, tears in my eyes; oh, Melisande!

Inside, it grew quiet, save for the rustle and murmur of several hundred bodies gathered in one place and the hiss of incense burning, the slight crackle of candle flame. From my hidden perch, I gazed down at the gathered tableau. A chair had been provided for Cesare Stregazza; I could see the peaked crimson cap atop his thinning white hair, the Dogal Seal flashing gold on his trembling hands where they rested on the arms of the chair.

He had asked my aid in keeping it, the canny old manip ulator. Of a surety, what he had intended was not what I had in mind; but it was the course that had offered itself to me, and I had no other choice.

The ceremony of investiture was about to begin.

In the litany that followed, the Priestess of the Crown cited the ancient history of La Serenissima and the role of the Doge within it, enumerating his duties, which were given voice in a call-and-response style by the six Elect. It was a pleasant enough ceremony, if one were not watching it from a hiding place, aquiver with tension. I strained my ears to listen to the noise of the crowd in the Campo Grande, faintly audible at times. It had not reached a breaking point.

No, I thought; nor will it, not until Marco Stregazza wears the Dogal Seal upon his finger. He'll take no risk of having his investiture disrupted. It must be a done thing, before chaos is loosed. Even from above, I could read as much from his posture, at once relaxed and eager. I wondered if Allegra Stregazza had gotten my message, and if her husband Ricciardo had responded by rallying the Scholae.

It went on for a considerable time, this ceremony, until my attention nearly began to wander. I caught myself, worrying; if I were distracted, how much more so were Joscelin and Ti-Philippe, and Kazan and his Illyrians hidden behind the door, who were not trained to attend on tedium? And then the Priestess of the Crown addressed herself to the Doge-elect, and my focus sharpened.

"I do."

She bound him, then, in a long and complicated oath which I failed to commit to memory and which Marco re peated letter-perfect, and then summoned him to the altar to anoint his brow with chrism, which I watched in an agony of indecision. Should it be now? It must be done before the sacrament was complete.

"Your Grace," the Priestess of the Crown said to Cesare Stregazza, not quite inclining her head. "Before Asherat-of- the-Sea, the appointed hour has come. It is time for the Dogal Seal to pass to another." I watched his crimson- capped head bow in defeat, his crabbed hands rise from the arms of the chair as his trembling fingers rumbled at the massive gold seal.

Now. Yes.

The moment was now.

Easing backward, I rose to my knees, the very breath shivering in my lungs, rehearsing the Caerdicci words, the pitch and intonation, in my mind. Asherat, I thought, glanc ing at the image of the goddess, for this you saved me; lend me now your aid. Elua's child I am, Kushiel's Chosen and Naamah's Servant, but you plucked me from the depths of the sea and raised me upon your bosom that I might be here today. If it is your will, then use me now!

Kneeling on the balcony, I pitched my voice toward the echo chamber.

"O my Beloved, why do you forsake me?"

I think there was no one, in that instant, who did not raise their eyes to the apex of the dome, seeking the presence of divinity. And in that moment, two years' worth of careful planning, two years of hard-won allegiances bought and sold, began to unravel.

"It is a sign!" Cesare Stregazza cried in his quavering voice, shoving the Dogal Seal back onto his finger and curling his fist on the chair arm. "A sign!"

"It is a trick!" Marie-Celeste Stregazza hissed, whirling in her finery. I could only guess how her gaze scalded the Priestess of the Crown, the gathered Elect. "A trick, I say! Find it out and make an end to it!"

I had guessed aright when I guessed her the cunning one of the pair.

The Priestess of the Crown, two of her Elect; heads turning, seeking the balcony, slow-dawning comprehension on their features. Others followed their gazes. Reacting slowly, the Dogal Guardsmen began to move indeterminately, still unable to see me.

Stepping into the balcony and laying my hands on the railing, I gazed down into the Temple. Let them see me now; it no longer mattered. In the milling crowd, the divi sions nonetheless showed clearly. The captain of the Dogal Guard and a full three quarters of his men looked to Marco Stregazza for guidance, while the others, bewildered, gazed from their commander to Cesare Stregazza to the other Ser-enissiman nobles who began to slowly size up the situation, one by one aligning themselves with the Doge, Cesare.

Ysandre stood tall and erect, her face pale as her Cassiline Brothers formed a square around her, vambraces and daggers crossed to defend. The D'Angeline nobles fell in behind, men-at-arms fanning out to protect them.

The old, blind priestess Bianca raised two trembling hands to the effigy of Asherat, her lips moving in prayer; with a shudder, she turned her sightless face to the Priestess of the Crown and began backing away from her, and three others of the Elect followed.

Melisande.

Although I cannot be sure, I am nearly certain I saw Mel isande's head bow fractionally toward me in a duelist's nod; I
am
certain that I saw her left hand move in a covert gesture, taken up by Marie-Celeste Stregazza and relayed to the Priestess of the Crown, who nodded in the direction of the antechamber. Easy to see, from above, for one trained to it; still, there was naught I could do. My lips shaped a warning shout, but already a nameless hand had slipped the bar of the great doors to the Temple of Asherat. "Rioters!" cried a high male alto from the antechamber, and acolytes and attendants began to fall back into the Temple proper as an onslaught of crudely armed workers and tradesmen poured through the wide-flung entrance doors.

That was when the fighting began.