Kushiel's Chosen (17 page)

"Ah." Severio nodded understanding; he had, it seemed, a fair grasp of internecine intrigue. "Well, I understand his fear, then, but his suspicions are misplaced. If his cousin is in La Serenissima, it's naught to do with me. Nor, I think, my grandfather the Doge. He is too canny to risk displeasing the D'Angeline Queen."

Who, then? Lost in thought, I bit my lip and wondered.

"I must greet his grace the Duc de Somerville," Severio observed, pulling a face. "I am charged by my mother on behalf of Prince Benedicte to thank him for the company of D'Angeline guardsmen he sent to attend the Little Court. It seems my maternal grandfather grows chary of protecting his pure-blooded heir." He gave me another bow. "Phèdre, may I call upon you before I must needs return home? Just to converse," he added with a self-conscious laugh. "I have come in these few days to hold a great regard for your ad vice. Truly, it would please me."

"You must be considerably pleased with yourself." Lean ing against a column, Barquiel L'Envers pitched his voice to reach my ears without bestirring himself.

"Save it for your patrons," L'Envers said. "You've made quite an impression on the young Stregazza, I hear, Phèdre. He was even gracious enough to allow the possibility of peace between our Houses, for all that his kin murdered my sister. Gracious, indeed. How do you think your lord Delaunay would like this day's work?"

"I don't know, my lord." I tried to read him, and failed. Barquiel L'Envers smiled at me, revealing even white teeth. His pale blond hair was cropped short as ever, defying fash ion for D'Angeline noblemen, and his eyes were the same dark violet as Ysandre's.

"Neither do I," he said pleasantly. "On the one hand, the Stregazza disposed of his nemesis in the form of my sister Isabel; on the other, they posed the greatest threat to his sworn charge, his darling Rolande's Ysandre. It must have galled him dreadfully to turn to me to set the balance aright."

"If it did, he never said so."

Barquiel L'Envers favored me with his white smile, gaz ing down at me with those lovely violet eyes; like the Queen's, like the woman whose fingers wrapped familiarly around his arm. "Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève," he said, sounding amused. "Nicola L'Envers y Aragon."

I made a curtsy without thinking, the response automatic upon hearing the names of two of the Great Houses of Terre d'Ange and Aragonia jointly linked.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Nicola had the same unreadable smile as the Duc. "Too bad my husband is a minor lordling, and a drunkard at that. But one does what one can for one's House, even if one is a minor offshoot." Releasing Barquiel's arm, she took a step toward me, standing a little closer than courtesy dictated. I felt the familiar dizziness of being in the presence of a patron, and her violet gaze held awareness of it. "Still," she said softly, "I think I might haY6 an interesting time here at court, should I choose to stay a while." Patting my cheek, she moved away in Ysandre's direction.

"Anafiel Delaunay didn't do you any favors when he trained you to spy, little
anguissette,"
he said in a low voice, and no one would mistake him now for anything but a deadly opponent. "He died through dabbling in the affairs of state when he shouldn't. Don't you make the same mistake."

I made my voice mild. "My lord Delaunay was murdered by traitors plotting to overthrow the throne, your grace. Do you threaten me with the same?"

L'Envers laughed harshly, wagging his finger at me. "Don't even think it, Phèdre. I have a great deal of forbearance for you, for what you've done, but it only goes so far. There are questions unanswered in my mind, and I hope, for your sake, you don't hold the answers." With that, he made me a curt, dismissive bow and stalked away, dangerous as a hunting leopard.

Staring after him, I thought of the questions unanswered in my own mind.

"He wouldn't." Chin in hand, Fortun sat staring at the two-story plan of Troyes-le-Mont spread and weighted on the table; markings indicating Melisande's room, the postern gate, the guards' positions. "Because he didn't." He looked up at me. "Does it make sense any other way?"

"Then why did he kill his sister?" Fortun contemplated the map again as if it held answers. "That guardsman Branion, I tell you, my lady, he was sure of it. Remy and Ti-Philippe made no mistake about it."

Joscelin and I exchanged a glance.

"There are two possibilities," I said, holding up a forefin ger. "One, your guardsman is mistaken, Fortun. And since this is the simplest explanation, it is the likeliest. But two ..." I held up a second finger, "... 'Twas the other way 'round. Marmion killed Persia because
she
helped Melisande escape."

"So?" Fortun frowned, puzzling it through. "If she did, and he learned it, why kill her? He gained the Queen's trust by betraying Melisande's allies, for Elua's sake. Why let this coin slip through his fingers? To kill his sister? He's torn House Shahrizai apart, with the rumor of it! Unless ..." He glanced up at us. "Unless he had no proof, that's why."

"Or killing her," I finished. "He doesn't know. If he did, he'd not suspect
me.
And he does, believe me. He warned me at the Masque, and he turned grey seeing me talking with Severio. I don't think he's playacting. He's feared for his life."

"How does he know Melisande is in La Serenissima?" Joscelin asked reasonably. "We only do because ..." He eyed me sidelong. "That damnable cloak."

"Which means a patron," I murmured. "If I knew which one, I promise, this would be much simpler. Well, if Marmion confronted Persia, who knows what she told him? Enough to know that Melisande is well protected, here and in La Serenissima. Enough to threaten him, so that he was moved to kill her. But not enough for proof."

"Why would Marmion suspect his sister?" Fortun asked.

"Yes," I said. "Remember Selig's steading? People see what they expect. You put a wolf-pelt over your head and muttered a few words of Skaldi, and Selig's folk saw one of the White Brethren. It would take less than that for the guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont to see Melisande as Persia. The Shahrizai are all cast from the same die. They saw a daughter of House Shahrizai enter alone, and they saw her leave. They saw what they expected."

I shrugged. "Look to the wolf-pelt. Whatever his sister wore into that chamber, she didn't have it afterward. They rode into Troyes-le-Mont cloaked and hooded. I'd be willing to hazard a guess that Persia Shahrizai somewhere mislaid that garment, and her brother Marmion took note of it. He's not stupid, no matter if he's a match for Melisande or not. He'd guess well enough to confront his sister with it." I stirred. "Elua! We need to talk to those guardsmen. Did the lads have any luck at the barracks?"

Fortun pulled a glum face. "No one who served that night was with de Somerville in Camlach, my lady, but most of his men are quartered in outlying L'Agnace. Do you want us to pay a call?" His face brightened at the prospect.