Kushiel's Dart (30 page)

Delaunay said the coachman gave no reply but to cringe. He gave the man no further heed, gathering Guy in his arms and laying him over his saddle, making his slow way home.

For many days, the household was in a state of cautious turmoil; cautious, for all were mindful of both Alcuin's convalescence and Delau-nay's mood, yet the turmoil was unavoidable. The servants and I tended Alcuin, while the embalmers came to work their art on Guy, whose body lay in state in his humble room. Delaunay left for a time on the second morning, returning tight-lipped and angry.

"Bouvarre?" I asked him.

"Gone," came the curt reply. "Packed up and fled to La Serenissima, with half his household."

However extensive Delaunay's web, it was built of information, and not influence; if his knowledge extended beyond the bounds of Terre d'Ange, his reach did not. Vitale Bouvarre was safe enough in the Stre-gazza stronghold. Delaunay paced the library like a tiger, whirling to glare at me.

"No assignations," he ordered. "Until Bouvarre is brought to justice, I won't risk either of you."

Either of us, I thought, and stared at him. "You don't know?"

"Know what?" Too restless to give his mind over to one matter, he had paused at his desk, tracing the lines of a half-written letter and stabbing his quill at the inkwell.

I drew my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. "Bouvarre's patron-gift paid the remainder of Alcuin's marque," I said softly. "It was the other half of his price."

Delaunay looked at me, quill suspended in midair. "He
what
? Why? Why would Alcuin do that?"

My lord, I thought, you are an idiot. "For you."

Delaunay set the quill down slowly, taking care not to blot the letter. I had seen the address, it was to the Prefect of the Cassiline Brotherhood; to ask if Guy could be buried as a member of their order, I assumed. He shook his head, denying my suggestion. "I would never have asked him to take such a risk. Never. Either of you. Alcuin knew that!"

"Yes, my lord," I said cautiously. "We both of us knew; it is why he did not tell you, and swore me to silence. But the service of Naamah is not in his blood, as it is in mine. He swore himself to it to ... to settle the debt between you."

Guy's words; I saw the blood leave Delaunay's face to hear them. "There was no debt between us," he whispered. "My duty to Alcuin lay elsewhere."

"In the promise of Prince Rolande de la Courcel?"

"He was my liege-lord!" Delaunay's voice was harsh. I shrank back at it and he saw, relenting. "Ah, Phedre ... I have trained you too well. Alcuin should have known, there is no debt between us."

"Then perhaps he is right, and you should have trained him to arms rather than bedchambers and intrigues, if you would have honored the memory of your liege," I said remorselessly. If my words were cruel, well, I make no apology. That night was too fresh in my mind, the cold stones and Alcuin's blood ebbing between my fingers.

"Perhaps," Delaunay murmured, no protest at my unkindness, gazing past me at some memory beyond my ken. "Perhaps I should."

I loved him too well to make him suffer. "Alcuin chose knowing what he did, my lord. Do not belittle what he has done for you. He grieves that Guy paid the price for it. Allow him the dignity of his grief, and he will come around. You will see."

"I hope you have the right of it." His gaze sharpened. "Nevermore, then. Alcuin's marque is made. And you . . ."

"I am pledged to Naamah, my lord," I reminded him gently. "You cannot absolve me of that, no more than Alcuin could break his own pledge."

"No." Delaunay picked up his quill. "But my words stand. No assignations, until Bouvarre is settled." He dipped his quill; I had pressed him to the limit of what he would discuss. Reluctantly, I cleared my throat. "Yes?" he asked, glancing up.

"There is the delegate posted to Khebbel-im-Akkad," I reminded him. "The one who developed . . . exotic tastes ... in his posting? He is reporting to the King in some ten days' time, and I am contracted for his pleasure."

"The lordling from L'Envers' retinue." Delaunay tapped the pinion-end of the quill against his lower lip, lost in thought. "I had forgotten about him. D'Essoms must have commended you." He glanced down at his letter. "Bide, then, and we will see. If it come to it... well, we can claim tragedy in the household, and truly enough. But we shall see."

I bowed my head in silent acknowledgement, having no desire to press him further. Only the weight of his regard forced me to look up again.

"Do not do this thing for my sake, Phedre," he said gently. "If it is only for love of me ... I beg you, let us beseech the priesthood of Naamah, and find another way to absolve you of your oath. Surely there is a way, for Naamah is compassionate."

I gazed at his beloved face, and the red haze rose in my vision un-compelled, moving from my left eye to obscure the whole of my sight. Behind Delaunay, Kushiel's face floated, stern and uncompromising, and in his hands he bore the rod and flail. In my skin, I shivered. I thought of Alcuin, and Guy. "No, my lord," I murmured, and blinked. My vision cleared. "It is you who put a name to what I am and made it a glory, and not shame, but it is Kushiel who chose me for it. Let me serve as I was made to do, whether it be in your name or Naamah's."

After a moment, Delaunay acceded with a curt nod. "Then let it be, only wait upon my word," he said, and returned to his letter.

Thus was the matter settled between us, and if I was at fault, it was only in failing to mark the significance when I saw that the courier who came for his letter bore the insignia of House Courcel. When no reply was forthcoming, I put it out of my mind, and indeed, Delaunay seemed reconciled. There was no funeral service—there was no family, and it would have been cruel, with Alcuin unable to attend—but he paid for full rites, and Guy was buried in the grounds of the sanctuary of Elua outside the City.

In a week's time, Alcuin's wound had begun to knit and bid fair to heal cleanly, although it would leave a fierce scar. I checked it daily, soaking off the bandage with warm water tinctured with valerian, to dull the pain. If I had no skill at healing, at least I was trained to be deft, and he was grateful for it.

Alcuin was a good patient; he never complained, which was no surprise, as it was not his nature to do so. On the seventh day, he even essayed a laugh to see me sniff at the wound, checking to see that it didn't mortify.

"Some physician you make," he said faintly, pushing himself upright against the pillows and grimacing as the motion caught at his stitches.

"Lie quiet," I retorted, dipping my fingers in the pot of salve and spreading it over his wound. The gash looked quite dreadful as it curved across his pale torso, but for all that, it was healing. "If you want better tending, let Delaunay see it."

Alcuin shook his head mutely, stubborn and unrelenting. I glanced at his face and sighed. Nothing could take away his unearthly beauty, but still, he looked drawn and haggard.

"Guy made his own choices, too," I told him, folding a fresh linen pad over his wound. "He knew the risks, better than either of us. He was the one hired to kill Delaunay, after all; and it was Delaunay who forgave him and took him in. You diminish his repayment of that debt if you take the blame all unto yourself."

It was the first thing I had said that got through to him. "It does not excuse my folly," he said stiffly.

"Ah, no," I said, winding the bandages back over the pad. "Others may err, but not Alcuin no Delaunay. Well, and if you think you are berating yourself for the failure, how much the more so do you guess Delaunay does for failing to discern that you despised the service of Naamah? I tell you, you should speak with him, Alcuin."

I thought for a moment that he would soften, but his lips hardened, and he gave another brief shake of his head, withdrawing from conversation. Undismayed, I busied myself about his room, moving the washing bowl, folding bandages, corking the doctor's salve.

"Now, which one of the Stregazza is Therese?" I asked, when I gauged that he was no longer paying attention to me. "Is she the firstborn? Prince Benedicte's daughters are House Courcel, I thought."

"They're of the Blood by birth, like Lyonette de Trevalion, but Therese married a Stregazza cousin. Dominic." I had caught his interest; his voice ran a little ahead of his thoughts. Alcuin had always been better than I at royal genealogies. "A bad match, by all reckoning; he's a minor Count, but then she was second-born. First is Marie-Celeste, who wed the Doge's son. It's her son stands to inherit La Serenissima. Once Prince Rolande died, I wager Dominic Stregazza thought to poise his family near the D'Angeline throne, though."

"And found his path blocked by House L'Envers," I mused. "How disappointed he must have been. But why would Delaunay care who killed Isabel L'Envers? By all counts, she was his enemy."

Alcuin shrugged, lifting up one hand and letting it fall. "That, I don't know."

"Perhaps it was her he loved, and not Edmee de Rocaille," I suggested. "Perhaps her betrayal lay not in causing the death of Prince Rolande's first-betrothed, but in becoming his second."

His eyes widened. "You can't think it, Phedre! Delaunay would never condone murder. Never! And why would he honor the Prince's promise concerning me, if it were true?"

"Guilt?" I suggested. "He grew angry enough when I mentioned Rolande's name, the other day. Perhaps we have had it wrong all the while, and this feud between Delaunay and Isabel L'Envers de la Courcel was not enmity, but a love affair turned deadly bitter."

Alcuin gnawed his lower lip, mulling over my words while I concealed a smile. I had proposed it only to distract him, but it was too plausible to ignore. "You're mad to think it," he repeated, visibly distraught, color risen in his pallid cheeks. "It isn't in Delaunay to so dishonor himself, I know it."

"Well." I sat back and folded my arms, favoring him with a long glance. "You'll never know, if you won't speak to him. And you've a better chance than I of getting the truth out of him, by a far shot."

We were trained by a master, both of us; it was only seconds before Alcuin realized what I had done and laughed. It was his true laugh, free and unfettered; the very one that had greeted me the first day I had arrived at Delaunay's house. "Ah, no wonder they pay again and again for your charms! I laid my price before Vitale Bouvarre like a farm-wife in the market, while you coax secrets from their tongues and leave them none the wiser. Would that I'd had half your gift for it."

"I would that you had, too," I said ruefully. "Or found at least half the pleasure in it that I do."

"Even half might kill me." He smiled, quieting, and ran a fold of my gown through his fingers. "Your pleasures are too strong for my taste, Phedre."

"Talk to him," I said, giving Alcuin a kiss and rising.

TWENTY-SIX

Healing of all kinds maintains its own pace, but there was no putting off the visit of Rogier Clavel, the lordling from Barquiel L'Envers' entourage. For one long day prior to our assignation, I thought Delaunay would cancel the contract, but at the last, he came home with a mercenary in tow: a man with the unlikely name of Miqueth, an Eisandine
tauriere
who had grown bull-shy after an incident which left a scar gouged into his left temple.

My new guard had parlayed his skill with weapons into a lucrative sideline, and Delaunay gauged him reliable enough. He was slight and dark, with brows that drew together in a perpetual half-frown, and while I had no doubt of his skill with a blade, I was surprised to find how greatly I missed Guy's silent presence. We rode together in Delaunay's coach and Miqueth grated on my nerves with his restlessness.

My assignation with Lord Clavel was at the Palace itself. To my relief, my guard remained blessedly silent as we traversed its marbled halls, contenting himself with hovering behind me and scowling at everyone we passed. We were in one of the lesser wings, where minor dignitaries are housed, so we encountered no one I knew, although there were a few who saw my
sangoire
cloak and gave me secret looks, knowing who I was and what it betokened.

Lord Rogier Clavel received me eagerly. He had the D'Angeline looks, but had been living a soft life in the court of the Khalif, and gone a little plump with it. Still, he had the haughty manners of a courtier, and dismissed Miqueth quickly enough, for which I was grateful. Delaunay and I had gone over our strategy enough times, but still, I needed no distractions.

"Phedre no Delaunay," Rogier Clavel said, putting on a formal voice that didn't quite disguise a quaver of eagerness, "I would appreciate it if you would put these items on." He snapped his ringers for a servant, who came bearing the flimsy gauze gowns of a hareem girl. I bit my lip to keep from laughing; it was a scenario straight out of a standard Night Court text, the Pasha's fantasy. I had expected more from a man who'd been satiated in the courts of Khebbel-im-Akkad.

Still, I knew what was expected of me, and donned the transparent robes. Rogier disappeared, and I was ushered into a bedchamber, which was arrayed with genuine Akkadian appointments. It was more than nice, with luxuriant silk tapestries of elaborate, abstract designs and worked pillows fringed in gold. I sank down on these and knelt
abeyante
, waiting. The first of my lessons, and still among the most valuable. In time, Rogier Clavel entered, magnificent in his Pasha's attire. I kept from laughing at how his jowels quivered in his soft face beneath the splendid turban, kneeling to kiss the turned-up toes of his kidskin slippers.