Kushiel's Chosen (88 page)

I do not think Ysandre intended him to inherit—she was young, and had every hope of yet bearing children of her own—but she had spoken truly in the Temple of Asherat-of-the-Sea. Rather than allow another blood-feud to fester, she would take the child into her household and see him raised with honor and respect, thwarting whatever hopes Melisande Shahrizai harbored of her son eventually cleaving House Courcel in twain.

It might even have worked.

We had a clear description of the infant from numerous sources: a babe of some six months' age, with fair skin, a dense crop of black hair and eyes the hue of blue twilight. By all accounts, Imriel de la Courcel was a beautiful babe— unmistakably, his mother's son.

The following day bore strange, familiar echoes of the aftermath of the battle of Troyes-le-Mont as the denizens of the Little Court were brought before Ysandre for hard questioning. A few were detained, but most appeared genuinely ignorant of Melisande's identity and Benedicte's betrayal. None of them had knowledge of the missing heir. Last time, I had faced questioning too; this time, I stood beside Ysandre's throne, watching and listening for the telltales of a lie. In the matter of the child, I saw none. Melisande's contin gency plan was cloaked in secrecy.

Ti-Philippe returned quietly in the small hours of the morning, reporting with weary relief that all the Yeshuites had gotten out safely; I was glad to hear it, and Joscelin all the more so. One day, a party of Serenissiman Yeshuites would indeed depart for the far northern lands, where the sun never sets in summertime but shines day and night upon the snowy vistas, and they would be led by a young man named Micah ben Ximon, who fought with crossed daggers that shone like a star in his hands—but that is a story for another day, and not mine to tell.

I was just glad it was not Joscelin's.

A long night, and a long day to follow it. I made a report in full to Ysandre at one point, detailing all I could remem ber from my arrival in La Serenissima to my return and my appearance in the balcony. It took the better part of two hours, and Ysandre's Secretary of the Presence, the Lady Denise Grosmaine, wrote furiously the entire time, quill scratching against the parchment. I'm not sure which of us was more tired when I had finished. Ysandre merely looked at me with her brows raised.

She took my hand, her gaze turning sober. "And over me, Phèdre nó Delaunay, to have given me such a servant as no mortal deserves. Anafiel Delaunay swore an oath to my father out of love. I did not ask you to keep it in his name. Nonetheless, know that I am grateful for it, beyond the tell ing of words. His memory lives in your deeds. I will not forget either."

I nodded, unable to speak for the tears that choked me. Ysandre smiled gently, squeezed my hand and released it, and I gave silent thanks to Blessed Elua that he had sired a line that had begotten this scion, worthy of serving.

'Twas a dangerous post, and he accepted it with equanim ity, knowing full well the risks entailed. De Cherevin was a man who had served under Ganelon de la Courcel as Am bassador to Tiberium, and he was unwaveringly loyal and wise to the ways of Caerdicci politics.

Even so, it took two full days to take care of the business of securing the Little Court and gain the Doge's approval of the arrangements. On the second day, Ricciardo and Allegra Stregazza came to call upon the Queen of Terre d'Ange.

'Teach them to read and write, the gentle arts of poesy and conversation?" she asked, smiling a little. "Those skills reckoned unfit for noblewomen?"

"Yes, my lady." I smiled back at her, inclining my head. "Precisely."

Ricciardo closed his mouth and swallowed, looking at his gracious and capable wife. "Comtesse," he then said to me. "In your honor, I shall so endeavor."

"I am glad to hear it."

Some of my possessions had been recovered from the quarters of Marie-Celeste Stregazza; not what I had lost at La Dolorosa—those things I never saw again, including the great collar of pearls given me by the Doge—but the items seized from my rented house on the canal. It included a portion of my wardrobe, some of which had been altered to fit Marie-Celeste, ever greedy for the latest of D'Angeline fashion, and some of which had not, for lack of matching fabric. There was considerably less of me to cover.

My
sangoire
cloak was among the items retrieved, too. That I did not wear, but folded carefully at the bottom of my trunk. I could no more bring myself to discard it than could Marie-Celeste Stregazza. Anyway, it had been a gift from Delaunay.

Also included was the signet ring of Montrève, which I reclaimed with no little relief, not so much for its own sake as for the memory of my lord Delaunay, who never wore it as was his right. It was fortunate that I never wore it either, the ring being too massive for my finger, or it too would

have been lost at La Dolorosa. The ring, Marie-CeJeste had

Not that it mastered much, where Melisande was con cerned. But it helped.

The mood within the Temple was sombre and well it might be, for we had heard the rumors filtering through the Little Court. The Priestess of the Crown and the two Elect who had aided her in blasphemy were dead, executed in accordance with Temple ritual. Asherat's vengeance was swift and sure, and their blood had darkened her altar. Pass ing her effigy, I averted my eyes. By their laws it was just, but I did not like to think on it.

Ysandre de la Courcel took a seat opposite her without being asked. The rest of us—which included myself, Joscelin, Lord Trente, Lady Grosmaine, two guardsmen and Ysandre's surviving Cassiline—remained standing.

"Your majesty." Melisande made a graceful gesture of acknowledgment, her tone pleasant and unconcerned. "To what do I owe this honor?"

Ysandre paled; I do not think she had truly crossed wits with Melisande before. Nonetheless, she retained her composure. "I have neither the time nor the will to engage in sophistry. If it was your wish to reform the D'Angeline sys tem of governance, you have gone about it in a passing strange manner. The penalty for what you have done, you know full well. I am offering to spare your son the taint of it and see him raised to the honor that is his due."

The Lady Grosmaine's quill scratched on parchment as she recorded their exchange. Amaury Trente made a noise deep in his throat. "No," Ysandre said finally. "Neither."

Melisande's brows rose beneath her veil. "No?" she asked, mocking. "You offer... nothing? Then does it surprise you that I offer nothing in response?"

Ysandre drew back, but did not quail, answering steadily. "You have sought to tear the realm asunder, Melisande Shahrizai. I have always considered you an enemy."

"Have you?" Melisande gave her a cutting smile. "For two years, I have held your life in my hand. If it was only that I wanted ..." turning her head, she reached out to touch the breast of Ysandre's surviving Cassiline Brother with el egant fingers, "... I could have taken it at any time. But I sought the prize, your throne. And for that, I needed to choose a time when I could control the events that fol lowed." Her smile froze in place. "Believe me, your maj esty," she said, "you do not want me to regard you as my enemy."

The Cassiline, whose name was Brys no Rinforte, breathed hard, hands twitching above his daggers, sweat beading his brow as he struggled to remain impassive. Like Joscelin, he had witnessed one of his Brethren betray
his
oath in the most incredible fashion, and he knew full well Melisande was the reason, if not the cause.