Kushiel's Chosen (5 page)
Love as thou wilt.
Naamah's path is sacred to us, for she chose of her own will to win the freedom and sustenance of Blessed Elua with the gifts of her body. It was her choice, and she does not compel her Servants to follow." With that said, she turned back to give me a long, considering gaze. "To you, I answer differently."
" 'Mighty Kushiel, of rod and weal/Late of the brazen portals/With blood-tipp'd dart a wound unhealed/Pricks the eyen of chosen mortals,' " she quoted, citing the very verse with which Delaunay had identified my nature. "I cannot chart your course,
anguissette;
your calling lies beyond Naa mah's purview alone. You are Kushiel's chosen, and he will cast you where he will. Only Elua, whom even the Com panions follow, knows the whole of it. But you are Naamah's Servant as well, and under her protection, and to that I may speak. You ask, is it the will of Naamah that you serve her? I say: Yes." Wrapping her robe about her, the priestess gazed into the distance. "Tens of thousands of Servants of Naamah," she mused aloud, "all following a sacred calling. And yet our stature diminishes across the land. Whores, catamites, trulls ... I have heard these words, spoken with harsh tongues. Not by all, but enough. Too many."
It was true, for I had heard it myself. Such words had not
existed in our tongue when Elua and his Companions trod
"How long has it been since an enthroned ruler summoned the Dowayne of Cereus House for counsel?" The priestess' sharp green eyes measured my thoughts. "Four generations or more, I think. Too long. It is not my place to restore the glory of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, but the glory of Naamah. .. yes. I know who you are, Phèdre no Delaunay." She smiled, unexpectedly. "Comtesse de Montrève. Your story is known, and it is told, a
sangoire
thread woven deep into the tapestry of war and betrayal that nearly sundered our nation. Because of you, the Scions of Elua and his Companions have returned to the Houses of the Night Court, playing at fashion, grasping at secondhand glory with thoughtless ardor. But you are a peer of the realm, now. Is it Naamah's will that her presence breach the Palace walls to shine once more at the heart of Terre d'Ange? To you I say, yes."
I shivered, and had to look away. "My heart is torn," I murmured.
She touched my face again, gently. "What does Kushiel say?"
It burned this time, her touch, heating my blood so that it rose in a warm blush. Priests and priestesses, they have that damnable surety about them. I wanted to turn my face against her palm, taste the salt of her skin. "Kushiel's will accords with Naamah's."
"Then your question is answered." The priestess took her hand away, calm and undisturbed; I nearly fell yearning against her, but kept myself steady. "And I will pose mine again. Is it your wish to be rededicated unto the Service of Naamah?"
"Yes." I said it strongly this time, and stooped to open the birdcage. I took the trembling dove in my hands and straightened. "It is."
I did not watch, this time, as it launched free of my hands and winged its way to the oculus. The priestess and her acolytes did, tracking it smiling. I did not need to watch to know my dove found its way. With bowed head, I knelt until I felt the priestess' hands at my shoulders, bidding me to rise.
"Welcome back," she said and kissed me; I felt the tip of her tongue dart between my lips and had to keep myself from clutching her wrists as she released me. The priests of Naamah are not quite like any other. Her long green eyes glinted in the slanting light of the temple, wise and knowing. "Welcome back, Servant of Naamah."
Thus it was done, and I stumbled twice leaving the tem ple, leaning hard on the arm of the acolyte who had admitted me. A dam may hold for a hundred years, but once it de velops a chink, the rushing tide comes after. Thus did I feel, having dammed the terrible force of my desires for a year
sangoire
cloak; the flood was not far behind. I do not mean, if I may say it, that I loved Joscelin the less, nor desired him less for it. From the first, even when I despised him, I found him beautiful. And to those who think a Cassiline, unschooled in the arts of love, no fit match for a trained courtesan, I may say they are wrong. When he surrendered to it—and he did—Joscelin brought to our bed a desire wholly untutored, but as pure and wonder-struck as Elua's first wanderings on mortal soil. That is a treasure no one else has ever given me, nor ever could. What I taught him, he learned as if he were the first to discover it, eager and natural as a new-minted creature.
I
am mistress of this house."
Nonetheless, I told him firmly, "You do no wrong in obeying my wishes. I will tell them as much."
They were all there, waiting. The day-maid sketched me a quick curtsy, and whisked past to make her escape. Remy and Ti-Philippe would not meet my eyes; Fortun gazed at me expressionlessly. In the background, my kitchen-mistress Eugenie waited nervously.
And Joscelin strode forward to grasp my shoulders. "Phèdre!" My name burst from his lips, harsh with anxiety; he shook me a little. "Blessed Elua, where in the seven hells have you been?"
His fingers bit into my flesh and I closed my eyes. "Out."
The white lines of rage stood out on his face, so close to mine. His hands clenched hard. "You idiot, one of
us
should have gone with you! Whatever it was, there is
no
reason for you to go unescorted, do you understand? Who ever Melisande's allies are, they know damned well who you are!" He punctuated his words with hard shakes. "Never, ever go out unattended, do you promise me? What on earth would possess you—?"
Whatever was reflected on my face, Joscelin saw it; his hands fell away. "Blessed ..." he whispered in disgust, turn ing away from me, his voice trailing off. When he spoke, it was without looking at me. "Don't do it again."
"Joscelin." I waited until he turned. "You knew what I was."
"Yes." His voice was brief. "And you what I was. Where does that leave us, Phèdre?"
I had no answer, so gave none, and presently he went away. Remy released a long-held breath and fingered the dagger at his belt.
"My lady, if he harms you, Cassiline or no ..."
"Let him be." I cut him off. "He is in pain, and it is my doing. Let him be."
"No." It was Fortun who spoke, slow and thoughtful. "It is Cassiel's doing, my lady. And even you can do naught about that."
"Maybe." I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. "But I chose my course, and it is Joscelin who bears the price of it."
"Stupid to speak of blame when the wills of the immortals are involved." Ti-Philippe, irrepressible as ever, fished a pair of dice from his purse and tossed them high, grinning. "Let the Cassiline stew, my lady; I am told they thrive upon it. Fortun says we have questions to ask, and quarry to pursue!"
"Yes." I dropped my hands and gazed at their open, eager faces, steeling my resolve. "We do. And I must plan my debut."
I know, now; everyone knows. Melisande knew Baudoin would not have defied his mother openly for her sake, and she had a greater target in mind. Terre d'Ange and Skaldia combined, an empire the likes of which no one has seen since the days of Tiberium's rule. D'Aiglemort was only a pawn, though he didn't know it until the end. I know, I'm the one who told him.
anguissette,
and the only time Melisande Shahrizai ever con tracted me as sole patron. I earned my marque, that Longest Night, with the patron-gift she made me. It is the only time, in a hundred assignations, I ever gave the
signale,
the code word of surrender that requires a patron to cease. I gave it twice that night, and the second time for no reason beyond the fact that Melisande ordered me to speak it.
"I have nothing to wear." Irritated, I flung the doors of the wardrobe closed and sat with a flounce upon my bed. Gemma, the day-maid, set down her feather-duster and stretched her eyes at me; by her standards, I had gowns aplenty.
"My lady," she said timidly. "What of the grey velvet? It is passing lovely, and I ... I have a brother who is apprenticed to a masquer, he could make somewhat to match; a diadem of stars, mayhap, or a mist-maiden ..."
