Kushiel's Dart (43 page)

Then he flashed his irrepressible grin. "So?" he asked and shrugged, miming the crack of a whip. "I can learn to be cruel, if that's what you want. I'm the Prince of Travellers," he boasted. "I can do anything."

At that, I laughed, and took his face in my hands and kissed him; and caught my breath when he returned it, kissing me back with unexpected skill and sweetness—they'd taught him well, the married noblewomen with whom he dallied—until Joscelin's mail-backed fist slammed my change onto the table and both of us jumped, guilty as children, to meet the Cassiline's dour gaze.

Riding homeward beside him in the gloaming winter twilight, I glanced at Joscelin's forbidding profile and ventured to speak of it. "I told you there was no harm in it, and no concern of yours," I said, irritated by his silence. "My marque is made; I've no bond to betray now."

"Your marque is not yet limned, Servant of Naamah," he said stiffly, and I bit my tongue; it was true. He looked straight ahead. "Anyway, it's naught to me where you bestow your . . . gifts."

Only a haughty Cassiline could have summoned that much contempt for the word. He set spurs to Delaunay's saddle horse and left me scrambling to keep up, detesting him once more.

THIRTY-SEVEN

In due time, the deal with the gem-merchant was concluded, each tiny diamond assessed for its quality and worth, and when all was tallied and counted, I was presented with a goodly sum of money.

With Joscelin's rebuke still stinging, I wasted no time in arranging a final appointment with Master Tielhard. I confess, I looked forward to the day with no small excitement. Like most Servants of Naamah, I had made my marque in slow, agonizing inches; to have it done in one blow, as it were, was a coup indeed.

Alcuin had done it, of course, but Alcuin had forced his patron's hand to it, and done penance to Naamah for it. Melisande's gift, whatever motivated it, was genuine. Whatever strings were attached to her gifts lay in the one about my throat, and not the one to be limned on my back.

Until the day of my appointment arrived, I dwelled in a strange hinterland, neither bond-servant nor free D'Angeline citizen. For once, though, I did not chafe at my confinement, but strove to make sense of all that had happened, not the least of which was my last encounter with Hyacinthe. I had a strange longing then to see his mother.

I wish, now, that I had seen her; Delaunay would decry it as superstition, but there was a grim truth in her prophecies. Perhaps things might have fallen out differently, if I had.

The wisdom of hindsight is always flawless. I know, now, that I should have told Delaunay the whole of what had befallen between Melisande and I; I should have told him that I knew about Prince Rolande. Indeed, I should have guessed it for myself. Of all the shadows that darkened De-launay's soul, that had always been foremost among them: the Battle of Three Princes.

Rolande had fallen; Delaunay had failed to save his liege-lord. I had thought that was all it was. But now, I looked at him differently, remem bering the words of his poem.
O, dear my lord, Let this breast on which you have leant, Serve now as your shield
. He had loved Rolande, and failed him. "Rolande was always rash," Delaunay had said, his voice bitter. "It was his only flaw, as a leader."

I should have known.

So I think, and doubt, and second-guess myself. But in truth, would it have mattered? I cannot know. I never will.

The day of my final appointment with Master Tielhard dawned cold, crisp and bright. Delaunay, half his mind elsewhere, was expecting a visitor; he agreed unthinking to the loan of his horse and Alcuin's, so my surly Cassiline companion and I rode to the marquist's shop.

Master Tielhard was not a greedy man. He was an artist, and no question about it. But artists, no less than other mortals—and betimes more—aspire to heights unreached by their peers, and I saw his aged eyes glimmer at the sight of the gold I offered, and the prospect of an
anguis-sette's
marque fulfilled. I was the first, in his lifetime.

We spent a fair amount of time in the stifling-hot back room of his shop, confirming the design and the lineaments of my marque. I could see Joscelin through the curtain, waiting with outstretched legs and folded arms. Well, then, let him wait; I was not about to rush the completion of my marque upon a youthful Cassiline's impatience.

I had only just disrobed, and felt the first blow of Master Tielhard's tapper pierce my skin, when the commotion arose in the front room. As it was no business of mine—so I thought—I remained upon the table while Robert Tielhard sent his apprentice to investigate.

I wish, now, that I had known Master Tielhard's apprentice's name; I never did, and I am sorry for it now. He came through the curtain, eyes wide.

"There is a man, Master," he said. "He insists upon seeing m'lady—upon seeing Phedre no Delaunay. The Cassiline has him well in hand. Shall I call for the King's Guard?"

I sat up, then, wrapping a sheet about me. "Who is he?"

"I don't know." He swallowed hard. "He says he bears a message, which you must deliver to Lord Anafiel Delaunay. My lady, shall I call for the Guard?"

"No." I was too long Delaunay's pupil to turn away information; I scrambled for my gown, pulling it over my head in haste. "Send him in, and Joscelin with him. Master Tielhard . . .?"

The old marquist held my gaze a moment, then gestured with his head toward the rear of his shop, where he and his apprentice ground their pigments. "See him, then,
anguissette
, and give me no cause to regret it," he growled.

I had barely laced my stays when Joscelin came through the curtain, driving before him at knife-point a youngish man with a sailor's queue and a discomfitted look on his face.

"Call off your Cassiline hound," he said to me, grimacing as Joscelin shoved him into the marquist's studio. "I've word that needs be delivered to Lord Delaunay!"

For what it was worth, I put on my sternest expression as I followed them through the far curtain. Joscelin gave the sailor one last shove, then sheathed his daggers efficiently, standing between me and the messenger. "Who are you?" I asked the man.

He rubbed at his midsection and made a face. "Aelric Leithe, of the
Mahariel
. I'm oath-sworn to the Admiral, Quintilius Rousse, and here under the standard of the Comte de Brijou of Kusheth. I'm supposed to be meeting with your lord, Delaunay."

I paused. "How do I know this?"

"Elua's Balls!" He rolled his eyes. "There's a password, isn't there? What is it? I swear it, on the Prince's signet, his only born."

The Prince's signet. I thought of the ring that Ysandre de la Courcel had showed Delaunay, and schooled my features to expressionlessness. "Very well, then. Why are you here?"

"There are men, watching the Comte's manor." He bent over, still trying to catch his breath. "Damn you, Cassiline, for a hasty fool! I saw 'em, and scryed out the situation at Lord Delaunay's; he's being watched too, they're waiting for me. Someone slipped up, and gave 'em word. I saw you leave, and followed you here."

It chilled me to realize that Delaunay's fears had merit. Motioning Joscelin to bide, I pressed the sailor. "What word, then, from Quintilius Rousse?"

Aelric Leithe drew in his breath, and loosed his message with it. "When the Black Boar rules in Alba, Elder Brother will accede. That's my message. That's the whole of it."

I fumbled at my purse, trying to cover my consternation, and found a coin at hand; it was a gold ducat, but I'd no doubt Delaunay would reimburse me for it. "My thanks, lord sailor," I murmured. "I will relay your Admiral's message to my lord Delaunay, and of a surety, he will send word."

Aelric Leithe was no coward, I am sure of that; no man who sailed with Quintilius Rousse could be. But he was out of his element here, and fair frightened. He took the coin, bobbed a bow with fist to brow, and fled. Through the curtain I saw Master Tielhard and his apprentice staring after his disappearing figure.

Then I looked at Joscelin Verreuil, and the terrible expression on his face.

"The house," he said, and headed for the door.

I had seen Joscelin move quickly, and I have seen it since; but that day, he rode as if seven devils were after him, and I have never seen him move faster. How I kept apace of him, I don't know, save that terror gave my heels wings, and Alcuin's horse, whom I rode, seemed to sense it when I mounted and laid into his sides. We laid a trail of sparks from the marquist's shop to Delaunay's door, skittering amid a shower of them into the courtyard.

It didn't matter; it wouldn't have mattered how fast we'd ridden. We had dallied too long at Master Robert Tielhard's, the sailor, the Cassiline and I. , *•

It was too quiet in the courtyard, and no stable-boy came to take our mounts.

"No!" Joscelin shouted, dismounting in a flash and charging the door, both daggers drawn. "Ah, Cassiel, no!"

I followed him into the silent house.

Whoever had been watching it, they had been there before us.

Delaunay's men lay where they had fallen, weltering in their own gore. They'd killed the housekeeper too, and thrown her apron over her face; I couldn't look. So many servants, and I'd never bothered to know them all, why they'd chosen to share their lives with Anafiel Delaunay.

We found him in the library.

There must have been a dozen wounds or more on him; which had killed him, I do not know. His sword was still in his hand, blood-crusted the length of it. Delaunay's face, unmarked, was strangely peaceful, at odds with the awkward sprawl of limbs. I stood in the doorway while Joscelin knelt and felt for a pulse. His expression, when he looked up, said all that was needed.

I stared uncomprehending, my world crumbling.

In the dimness of the unlit library, something moved, making a scraping sound.

Joscelin moved quicker than thought, shoving a path through the disarray, volumes and tomes strewn hither and thither. When he saw what it was, he cast his daggers aside, frantically clearing debris away from the source of the sound.

I had seen a swatch of hair like moonlight glimmer amid the strewn books. I followed slowly.

I saw Alcuin's eyes, dark and flooded with pain.

Joscelin cleared away the books that had been tossed heedlessly across him, and I heard his breath hiss between his teeth to see the damage. He pressed both hands to Alcuin's stomach, to the fine cambric shirt drenched with red blood, and shot me an agonized glance.

"Water." Alcuin's voice was no more than a thread. I knelt beside him and fumbled for his hand. "Please."

"Get it," I murmured to Joscelin. He opened his mouth, then nodded, and disappeared. I held tight to Alcuin's hand.

"Delaunay?" His dark gaze searched my face.

I shook my head, unable to say it.

Alcuin's gaze wandered away from mine. "Too many," he whispered. "Twenty, at least."

"Be quiet!" My voice came out fierce with tears. Joscelin returned with a ewer and a sponge. Dipping the sponge, he squeezed a trickle of clear water into Alcuin's mouth.

Alcuin's lips moved; he swallowed, feebly, grimacing. "Too many . . ."

"Who?" Joscelin's voice was low and calm.

"D'Angeline." Alcuin's wandering gaze sharpened, focusing on him. "Soldiers. No crest. I killed two."

"You?" I stroked his hair, heedless of the tears spilling down my face. "Oh, Alcuin . . ."

"Rousse," he whispered, and grimaced. "Get him word."

"Quintilius Rousse?" I exchanged a glance with Joscelin. "His messenger found us. Me. He said the house was being watched."

Alcuin whispered something; I strained to hear, leaning close, and he repeated it. "Password?"

"No." My wits were utterly scrambled. "Yes, yes, he gave one. The Prince's ring... the Prince's signet, his only born."

Alcuin twitched, and gasped for air. Joscelin gave him more water, sponging his face. I saw then, incredibly, that he was trying to laugh. "Not a ring . . . cygnet. . . swan. Courcel. Delaunay . . . oath-sworn to guard her. Cassiel's oath . . . Rolande's daughter."

"Anafiel Delaunay stood as oath-sworn protector of Ysandre de la Courcel?" Joscelin asked quietly. Alcuin's head moved in a faint nod.

"Swore it... for ... Rolande's . . . sake," he murmured, licking his lips. Joscelin squeezed another trickle of water over them. "What. . . of. . . Rousse?"

"When the Black Boar rules in Alba, Elder Brother will accede." I held Alcuin's fading gaze, pleading. "Alcuin, don't go! I need you! What do we do?"

The thread of his voice was fraying, the dark eyes dim and apologetic. "Tell. . . Ysandre. Trust. . . Rousse. Trevalion. The . . . Thelesis knows . . . about Alba." He stirred again, a slight cough, and blood frothed on his lip. Such beauty, ruined; I was clutching his hand too hard. "Not Ganelon . . . slipping. It's the Dauphine." His head moved, and I knew he was looking for Delaunay. "He kept his promise." Alcuin's voice, for a moment, rang clear; he gasped, his eyes rolled upward, and his hand clenched on mine. "Phedre!"

How much time passed, I do not know. I held his hand for a long time, long after it lay limp in my own, and the final spasm of pain had smoothed itself from his features. It was Joscelin who pulled me away, raising me stumbling to my feet and shaking me. I let him do it, boneless in his grasp, feeling the broken pieces of my heart rattle as he shook me. Beyond the still figure of Alcuin lay Delaunay. I could not bear to look. Gone, all gone, his noble features deceptively calm in the gentle repose of death. The auburn coils of his braid, streaked with silver, lying so seemly over his shoulder, as if no pool of blood clotted beneath him.