Kushiels Dart

Page 27

 

  Alcuin turned without a word, unbuttoning the loose shirt he wore and letting it slip off his shoulders. His hair was unbraided, and he gathered it in one hand, drawing it over his shoulder so it fell, white and shining, in a thick cable over his chest. His dark eyes were downcast, shadowed by long lashes the color of tarnished silver. "Is my lord pleased?"

  "Alcuin. " Delaunay made a sound that might have been a laugh, but wasn't, not quite. He raised his hand, touching the fresh-limned lines of Alcuin's marque. "Does it hurt?"

  "No. " With the simple grace that marked everything he did, Alcuin turned again and laid both arms around Delaunay's neck, raising his gaze to meet Delaunay's. "No, my lord, it doesn't hurt. "

  In the hallway, I drew in my breath so sharply it hissed between my teeth, though neither heard. Delaunay's hands rose to rest on Alcuin's waist, and I more than half expected him to push Alcuin away; but Alcuin expected it too, and instead tugged Delaunay's head down to kiss him.

  "Everything I have done," I heard him whisper, "I have done for you, my lord. Will you not do this one thing for me?"

  If Delaunay answered, I did not hear it; I saw that he did not push Alcuin away, and that was enough. A grief I'd not known was in me rose to blind my eyes with tears, and I walked backward, feeling the wall with one hand, wanting to hear no more. I was no romantic fool, to moon over what was not to be, and I had known since my first year of service to Naamah that my gifts were not to Delaunay's taste. Still, it was another matter to know that Alcuin's were. Somehow I found the stairs, and stumbled my way to my bedroom, and I am not to proud to admit that I shed a good many bitter tears before at last I slept, exhausted with weeping.

  In the morning, I felt husk-hollow, emptied by the force of my own emotions. It made it easier to bear, seeing the faint shadows beneath Alcuin's eyes, and the smile he had only worn once before, after his night with Mierette no Orchis. I almost wished I could hate him for it, but I knew too well what he felt for Delaunay.

  Too well indeed.

  For Delaunay's part, he took it quietly, but something in him had loosened. I cannot put it into words; it was the same thing I had seen in the countryside. Some part of himself which Delaunay held tightly at bay was given rein to breathe. It was in his voice, in every motion, in the way he was quicker to smile than to cock a cynical brow.

  I don't know what I would have done had there not been news from La Serenissima that day; between boredom and despair, I was ready to test Delaunay's tolerance and cared little enough if he sold my rnarque. It's funny, how one can look back on a sorrow one thought one might well die of at the time, and know that one had not yet reckoned the tenth part of true grief. But that came later. Then, I was merely miserable enough to be morbid with it.

  It was the Comte de Fourcay, Caspar Trevalion, who brought the news. His friendship with Delaunay was stronger than ever since the trial, and he had weathered the ordeal with admirable dignity. The taint of treachery had not touched Fourcay.

  The news he brought from the Palace was mixed. Vitale Bouvarre had indeed been taken into custody by Prince Benedicte; but he had been found hanged in his cell before a confession could be obtained, and rumor had it that the regular gaoler had been replaced by a man who owed gambling debts to Dominic Stregazza. When that man was sought, his body was discovered floating in a canal. There was no question of his drowning. When they pulled him out, they found his throat had been cut.

  It seemed Prince Benedicte was no fool; he sent for his son-in-law, Dominic. But Barquiel L'Envers—or perhaps his cousin—must have feared the slippery Stregazza would succeed in lying his way out of any wrongdoing, which like as not was true. At any rate, Dominic's party was assaulted en route by a group of masked riders. They were deadly archers, who fled uncaught, leaving behind four dead, one of whom was Dominic Stregazza.

  "There's a rumor," Caspar said shrewdly, "that one of the survivors saw Akkadian trappings on one of the horses; tassels on the bridle or some such thing. And it's said that the Due L'Envers went a bit native during his posting to the Khalifate. Do you know aught of it, Anafiel?"

  Delaunay shook his head. "Barquiel L'Envers? You must be jesting, old friend. "

  "Perhaps. Though I also heard that Benedicte added a private postscript to his letter, begging Ganelon to bring in L'Envers for questioning. " He shrugged. "He might press the matter, too, if it weren't for other concerns in La Serenissima. Some rumor of a new Skaldi warlord. All the city-states of Caerdicca Unitas are frantic to form military alliances of a sudden. "

  "Truly?" Delaunay frowned; I knew he was worried, having heard nothing from Gonzago de Escabares since he sent a polite thanks for the translation I had made him. "Does Benedicte take it seriously?"

  "Seriously enough. He sent word to Percy de Somerville, warning him to keep an ear cocked toward Camlach. We're fortunate to have young D'Aiglemort and his allies holding the line there. "

  "Indeed," Delaunay murmured; I knew by the sound of it that he held a measure of reserve. "So there's no talk of Stregazza retribution?"

  "Nothing immediate. " Caspar Trevalion lowered his voice. "I will tell you privately, my friend, I do not think Benedicte de la Courcel will mourn the death of this son-in-law overly long. It is my belief that he would have drawn that one's fangs himself, had he not been wary of venom. "

  "And wisely so. " Delaunay did not elaborate on the comment—I knew what he meant by it, and I daresay Caspar Trevalion knew too—but turned the conversation to another matter.

  I waited out their visit, attending on it with more than half my mind elsewhere. It is the discipline of the Night Court that stays with me at such times, rather than Delaunay's training. A useful thing, to be able to smile and pour with a graceful hand when one's heart is broken. When at last the Comte de Fourcay had gone, I had a chance to confront Delaunay.

  "My lord," I said politely. "You said I might return to the service of Naamah when the matter was resolved. "

  "Did I?" He looked a little startled; it hadn't been uppermost in his mind, and I guessed he was a little short of sleep. "Yes, I suppose I did. Well, and I am willing to abide by it, on the strength of this news—though you will go nowhere without the Cassiline, mind. "

  "Yes, my lord. Are there offers to entertain?"

  "Some few," Delaunay said dryly; there had been many. "Had you somewhat in mind?"

  I drew a breath and steadied myself to say it. "I have a debt to settle with Lord Childric d'Essoms. "

  "D'Essoms!" Delaunay's russet brows arched. "He made an offer this week gone by, Phedre, but I am minded to let his anger cool before he sees you. D'Essoms has served his purpose; we'll get no more of him, unless Barquiel's up to somewhat I cannot fathom. I doubt it, though. He's made his alliance and had his vengeance; he's clever enough to keep his head down for a time. "

  "Send me where you will, my lord," I said and meant it, "but I am Naamah's servant too, and I owe a debt to Childric d'Essoms for what I have done in her service. "

  "Well enough. " Delaunay gave me a curious glance. "I'll not gainsay you in this. I'll have the other offers sent for your consideration, and sign the contract with d'Essoms. " He rose to stroke my hair, the curiosity in his gaze turning to concern. "You're sure of this?"

  "Yes, my lord," I whispered, and fled his touch before tears could choke me.

  Of that assignation, perhaps the least said, the better. Suffice it to say that d'Essoms' anger had not cooled, and I was glad of it, for it suited my mood. Never before had I used my service to escape any woes that troubled me, but I did that day. There was no artistry in what passed between us; given license by his rage and my contract, d'Essoms greeted me with a powerful blow across the face. It knocked me sprawling to the floor, and I tasted blood, the red haze of Kushiel's Dart claiming me with blessed relief.

  I did all that he ordered, and more.

  When he bound me to the whipping-cross, I felt the grain of i
ts wood caress my skin like a lover. I cried out at the first stinging kiss of the flogger, shuddering with helpless pleasure, and d'Essoms cursed me and wielded the lash with fury until pain overwhelmed the pleasure and I wept out of both, buffeted by pain, guilt and rage, sorrow and betrayal, no longer knowing the nature of the release for which I pleaded.

  D'Essoms was tender when he was done; I hadn't expected that. "Never again, Phedre," he whispered, holding me gently and sponging the blood from the morass of welts he'd laid across my back. "Promise me, you'll never betray me like that again. "

  "No, my lord," I promised, dizzy with agony and catharsis. In some distant part of my mind, I hoped Delaunay was right, and there was naught more to be obtained from Childric d'Essoms. "Never again. "

  He murmured something—I don't know what—and continued to tend to my weals, squeezing the sponge. Warm water ran over my skin, and I felt good, languid with the aftermath of it all, and happy that the first of my patrons still wanted me. I loved him a bit for that; I could not help it, had always loved my patrons at least a little bit. I never told Delaunay, though I think he guessed it.

  I cannot guess at my appearance as I entered d'Essoms' receiving room. I stumbled a bit, I know, but it must have been worse than that alone, for Joscelin's eyes widened in shock and he sprang to his feet.

  "Name of Elua!" he breathed. "Phedre . . . "

  It may have been pain or weakness, though I tend to think the sheer unexpectedness of hearing him say my name like that that made my knees buckle; either way, Joscelin was at my side in two strides. Without ceremony, he scooped me into his arms and headed for the door.

  "Joscelin. " Irritation cleared my head. "Joscelin, put me down. I can walk. "

  He shook his head, stubborn as any of his Brethren. "Not while I attend you!" He nodded to d'Essoms' liveried servant. "Open the door. "

  I was glad, as we emerged into the courtyard, that we were at d'Essoms' townhouse and not his quarters in the Palace; there was no one to see save a startled stableboy as Joscelin Verreuil, in his Cassiline drab, carried me to Delaunay's coach, my sangoire cloak trailing over his ashen-and-steel arms. I tried to ignore the strength of those arms, and the firmness of the chest against which they held me. "Idiot!" I hissed as he set me carefully within the coach. "This is what I do't"

  Joscelin gave the homeward command to the coachman and got in opposite me, folding his arms and glaring. "If this is your calling, would that I knew what sin I'd committed, that I should be ordered to witness it and stand idly by!"

  "I did not ask to have you here. " I winced as the coach lurched into motion, throwing me back against the seats.

  "And you call me an idiot," Joscelin muttered.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Delaunay offered little comment on my condition afterward save to say in his very driest tone that he was glad to see I was in one piece, and to bid me use the Yeshuite doctor's salve unstintingly, which I did. As I have said before, I have good-healing flesh, and the marks of Childric d'Essoms' wrath soon faded from my skin.

  During the time of my convalescence from this assignation—for whether I ailed or no, it would not do to go to one patron with the tracks of another still on me—Delaunay held a small dinner-gathering for a number of his friends. Thelesis de Mornay was among them, and when she returned some days later, I assumed it was to visit Delaunay, but I was wrong.

  Instead it seemed she had come to invite me to a performance by a troupe of players, staging a play written by a friend of hers.

  No one except Hyacinthe had ever made me an invitation for the pleasure of my company, and I was thrilled by it. "May I go, my lord?" I asked Delaunay, not caring that he heard the note of pleading in my voice. He hesitated, frowning.

  "She will be safe with me, Anafiel. " Thelesis gave the gentle smile that warmed her dark, luminous eyes. "I am the King's Poet, and under Ganelon's own protection. No one would be fool enough to trifle with that. "

  A faint twinge, as of an old wound, crossed Delaunay's face. "You're right," he conceded. "Very well, then. Only you," he added, pointing at me, "will behave yourself. "

  "Yes, my lord!" Forgetting I was still upset with him, I kissed his cheek and ran to get my cloak.

  I had seen players often enough in Night's Doorstep, and heard them declaim bits of this and that from the season's newest plays, but I had never, in truth, seen an actual performance. It was enthralling. The play was performed in the old Hellene style, with the players in gorgeous masks, and the verses were resonant with poetry. All in all, I enjoyed it most thoroughly. When it was over, I was fair glowing with the excitement of it all, and must have thanked Thelesis a dozen times at least.

  "I thought you would like it," she said, smiling. "Japheth's father was an adept of Eglantine House, ere he wed;'tis the first play written outside the Night Court to tell Naamah's story thusly. Would you like to meet him?"

  I went with her to the players' quarters, behind the stage. In contrast to the well-orchestrated performance, it was chaos in their dressing rooms. The masks were treated with care—players are superstitious about such things—but garments and props were thrown hither and thither, and the sounds of players squabbling mingled with a triumphant rehashing of the night's performance.

  I knew the playwright straightaway, for he was the only one in sober garb. Spotting Thelesis, he came toward her with arms outstretched and eyes aglow. "My dear!" he exclaimed, giving her the kiss of greeting. "What did you think?"

  "It was wonderful. " She smiled at him. "Japheth no Eglantine-Vardennes, this is Phedre no Delaunay, who very much enjoyed your play. "

  "It is my pleasure. " Japheth kissed my hand like a courtier. He was young and handsome, with curly chestnut hair and brown eyes. "Will you join us for a drink at the Mask and Lute?" he asked, shifting his attention eagerly back to Thelesis. "We were going to celebrate the triumph of our debut. "

  Before she could answer, there was a stir at the door. One of the players gasped, and a hush fell over their quarters as a tall man in courtier's fin'ery entered. I knew him by his long, clever face and his habit of waving a perfumed kerchief under his nose: Lord Thierry Roualt, the King's Minister of Culture. Japheth composed his features and bowed.

  "My lord Roualt," he said carefully. "You honor us. "

  "Yes, of course. " The Minister of Culture waved his kerchief, sounding bored. "Your play was not displeasing. You will perform it for His Majesty's pleasure five days hence. My undersecretary will see to your needs. " Another flourish of the kerchief. "Good eve. "

  They held their breath until he had departed, then burst into cheers and hugs. Japheth grinned at Thelesis. "Now you must join us!"

  The Mask and Lute is a players' house, and only Guild-members and their guests are allowed. As the King's Poet, of course, Thelesis de Mornay would have been welcome at any time, but I would not have been admitted alone, and so was happy at the chance. I sat and sipped my wine, marvelling at how the players carried on like children with their quarrels and dramas, when they held such power onstage. It reminded me of the bitter rivalries that went on behind the scenes among the adepts of Cereus House.

  Thus I paid little heed while Japheth and Thelesis spoke of poesy, but when their talk turned to politics, it caught my Delaunay-trained ear. "I heard a rumor," he said, lowering his voice. "One of my troupe had it from the steward of the Privy Chamber, who is enamored of her. It is said that the Due d'Aiglemort met in secret with the King, to bid for the Dauphine's hand. Is it true?"

  Thelesis shook her head. "I had not heard it. But I have no contacts in the Privy Chamber," she added with a smile.

  "Well, indeed. " Japheth made a face. "Who would, were it not for the merits such gossip may afford? But I bade her keep it silent, for the nonce. I've no wish to jeopardize our chances of playing before the King. "

  "And you shall, splendidly. "

  I held my tongue for all of three seconds, but could not resist.
"What was the King's answer?" I asked as innocently as I could.

  "He declined, and would give no reason. " Japheth shrugged. "As he has to every suitor. That is what I heard. Mayhap d'Aiglemort thought he was owed a boon, for bringing House Trevalion to justice. And mayhap he is, but not this one," With that,Jie turned the talk to other matters.

  Though I was neither poet nor player and could not follow all their talk, I am well enough read that I enjoyed it and the whole of the evening most heartily. When Thelesis' coach took me back to Delaunay's house, I thanked her again. She gave me her warm smile and took my hands.

  "It gladdened me to cheer your spirits, Phedre," she said kindly. "I have known Anafiel Delaunay a long time. If you have care in your heart for him, do not judge him too harshly for it. He has lost a great deal in his life, and not the least of it is his verses. Were it not for . . . well, for several things, he, and not I, might be the King's Poet. Alcuin is good for him, though Delaunay himself may not know it. Allow him this small happiness. "

  "I will try, my lady," I promised, abashed by her goodness. She smiled again, and bid me good night.

  If it had not been for what happened later, I might have taken no notice of the playwright's bit of news. Of a surety, I told Delaunay, who heard it without surprise; he was only surprised, I thought, that it had taken Isidore d'Aiglemort this long to ask. What he thought of the King's response, I do not know, save that it was no more than he expected. And with that, I would have put it out of my mind, save that a day later, an invitation arrived for Delaunay, bidding him to attend the royal staging of Japheth no Eglantine-Vardennes' Passion of Naamah.

  Being Delaunay, he made little of it; it was hardly the first time he had been invited to court. But I saw the invitation, and it bore the seal of House Courcel.