Kushiel's Avatar (32 page)

“Well.” He regarded me. “We need to talk to Amaury Trente.”

At the dinner-table that evening, we found Lord Amaury full of his conversation with Ambassador de Penfars. There were, it seemed, numerous candidates for Pharaoh’s most dangerous enemy, but Raife Laniol’s favored contestant was one General Hermodorus; a cousin, it transpired, through the Ptolemaic bloodlines, and eligible for the throne should it suddenly become vacant.

“Comte Raife suggests,” Amaury informed me, “that you and messire Joscelin might call upon the General, my lady. We cannot, without giving offense to Pharaoh, but you might. If it is remarked upon by the aristocracy, they will suppose that you are rivals to our mission, come to court Pharaoh’s opponents.”

“We will send a letter of introduction on the morrow, my lord,” I said. “My lord Trente, I have heard another theory proposed today, from a Menekhetan source.”

“Oh?” he inquired.

I saw the Lady Denise Fleurais, who had spoken of the divide between Menekhetan and Hellene society, take notice. And I saw too that the Menekhetan servant who hovered with a tray of fish was the same who’d attended us last night, lingering with the beer-jug. We had been speaking, in company, in D’Angeline. I continued in the same tongue without altering my tone. “My lord,” I said, “there is a serpent in the corner.”

A full half the company heard and startled, turning to stare; Joscelin was on his feet in an instant, a dagger in his hand, reversed for the throw. I kept my eyes on the Menekhetan and saw that he did not react to my words but looked instead at the reactions of our party, slow and perplexed, before glancing around.

It paid to be cautious.

“What serpent?” Amaury Trente asked, half-risen from his seat and irritable. “Which corner?”

“Forgive, my lord,” I said. “I thought I saw somewhat in the shadows, and …” I nodded imperceptibly toward the Menekhetan, “… I needed to be sure.”

Amaury sat, comprehension dawning. Melisande was right; he was not a subtle man. Then again, it is an eternal failing of those born to the peerage, forgetting that those who attend them hand and foot have eyes and ears and minds that think. Joscelin shook his head, sheathing his daggers and returning. I waited until the rest of our company was seated.

“It is believed among the folk of the city,” I said in a low voice, “that Pharaoh has taken the boy for his own and plays a game of concealment.”

It hadn’t occurred to them; I saw it in their faces. I couldn’t fault them for it. It hadn’t occurred to me, either. If Amaury Trente was not subtle, he was no fool, either. He grasped the ramifications quickly enough, his expression somber.

“If it’s so, we’ve lost the lad,” he said grimly. “Ptolemy Dikaios could never own to it. And we’ve played our hand too close to the vest to threaten to renege on the deal over a mere slave-boy.” He shook his head. “Ysandre was clear on that much. She doesn’t want the boy’s identity known. If we let slip his importance … Elua! He’s a walking target, and she doesn’t have the means to protect him. And if someone were to use him against her …”

“I know, my lord,” I said. “Believe me, I do. I am doing what I can to learn if the rumor is true.”

“And if it is … ?” It was the Lady Denise Fleurais who dared to ask it.

I looked squarely at her. “We will do whatever is needful. Naamah’s Servants have always known that there are ways into any palace, and what was stolen, may be stolen back. If Pharaoh has not admitted the gain, he cannot acknowledge the loss.”

“How would you-” Lord Amaury began to ask, then cut his words short. “No, never mind. We will speak of it later, if it comes to it.”

“Thank you, my lord.” I inclined my head to him.

Amaury sighed and fixed his brooding gaze upon Joscelin and I. “I’ll speak to Raife Laniol again tomorrow and see if he thinks this rumor may have merit. Say what you will, Comtesse, but trouble seems to follow you like a lover, you and messire Cassiline here.”

Neither of us disagreed.

It was not until we were in bed that night that Joscelin spoke of it.

“What if it comes to it, Phèdre?” he asked, leaning on one elbow and gazing down at me. “Would you accept an assignation if needs be to gain access to Pharaoh’s seraglio? Is it worth so much to you to see Melisande’s son safe?”

I played with a lock of his hair, avoiding his shadowed gaze. I had not told him, yet, that I had made her a promise. With all that lay between us, all of us, it was too hard to say. “There need not be an assignation made in truth. It may be only a matter of convincing Pharaoh’s attendants one such exists. I’d try that route first.”

“And if more is required?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know.” I met his gaze, then. I had to. “Joscelin, he’s a
child
. You saw the ones we rescued in Amílcar. This will be worse, much worse. Does it matter whose son he is? Naamah lay down in the stews of Bhodistan with common men when Blessed Elua hungered. Should I-” my voice broke, “-should I scruple at less?”

He was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “No.”

“It would fall to you to get him out whole and safe,” I said. “By whatever means.”

Joscelin smiled. “Do you doubt me?”

“No,” I said fervently, wrapping both arms about his neck. I didn’t, either. He had come for me on La Dolorosa, the prison-fortress no one could assail. Joscelin had done it, crawling beneath the underside of a bridge. If it came to it, freeing Imriel de la Courcel from Pharaoh’s Palace was as naught to that. “Not for an instant.”

“Then we are agreed.” He lowered his head to kiss me. I held him hard, praying it was so.

Thirty-Three

NESMUT CAME in the morning and informed us that the word had been spread and his contacts were keeping a sharp lookout in the Palace of Pharaohs. A friend of his mother’s-the laundress-had a daughter who was responsible for polishing silver and gilt fretwork lamps within the Palace, and thought she might be able to secure an assignment within the concubines’ quarters. Nesmut was bubbling over with excitement, scarce able to contain himself.

I cautioned him again in the strongest language I could muster, watching his eyes glaze even as he nodded obedience. Joscelin added his warnings to mine with a different emphasis, touching the hilts of his daggers and reminding Nesmut that we would know who to blame if our search was discovered. I daresay the lad took his words more seriously, looking warily at Joscelin.

It would have been amusing, had I not been so worried; like as not, Joscelin would sooner cut off his own hand than harm the lad, but Nesmut had no way of knowing it. And I must own, Joscelin could look quite dangerous when he had a mind to. Ten years as my consort hadn’t dulled the edge of that implacable Cassiline discipline.

We sent Nesmut on his way with a bulging purse of coin; mostly coppers, and a few silver obols. He left at a trot, grinning broadly and fingering his jangling purse. I shook my head, feeling heavy-hearted, and went to pen a letter of introduction to General Hermodorus and his wife.

Afterward, since there was naught I could accomplish elsewhere, I accompanied the Lady Denise Fleurais on an excursion to the baths.

There are a good many bath-houses in Iskandria, and this one was recommended by our hostess Metriche as a suitable one, frequented by women of the middle aristocracy. It was built in the Tiberian style, with separate pools of water-cool, tepid and steaming hot.

’Twas a different world, there, from the one I had glimpsed with Nesmut yesterday. Here, there were no men save the attendants, quiet and unobtrusive. It was filled with women, young and old, chattering voices raised in a mixture of Hellene and the occasional word of Menekhetan. We bade the carriage-driver to wait and paid our fee, entering the bath-house. A bowing attendant handed us each a thick cotton towel and robes of fine-spun linen at the door to the changing-room.

It is the Tiberian fashion to commence in the cold waters of the frigidarium; a custom I have always found unnecessarily rigorous. We went straight to the caldarium, with its vast pool. It was here that the majority of patrons lingered. Conversation did not exactly cease as Denise Fleurais and I entered the heated bathing-chamber, but there was a lull, followed by a murmur of resumption. Looking at Denise, I could understand why. Her intelligent face had a high-boned beauty, and even wreathed in steam, her hazel eyes shone. The careless grace with which she had piled her hair atop her head, the way an errant lock coiled over one shoulder as she removed her robe …

We were D’Angeline. It was enough.

The tiles, emblazoned with fish, were slick beneath my bare feet, heated beneath by an unseen hypocaust. I slipped the robe from my shoulders and descended the steps into the steaming water, ignoring a collective gasp as I did so.

“It is your marque, Comtesse.” Sinking into the bath with a sigh of pleasure, the Lady Denise glanced at me with heavy-lidded amusement. “They’ve not seen the likes of you before.”

Betimes I forgot it myself.

A pair of Menekhetan noblewomen, giggling, dared one another to approach us. The braver of the two drifted near, addressing us in excellent Hellene. “Kyria,” she said. “My friend and I, we were debating. Is it customary for D’Angeline women to …” she pointed at me with her chin, “… to so adorn themselves?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but Denise answered for me. “It is the marque of Naamah, who is our goddess of pleasure,” she said with candour. “And the Comtesse Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève is sworn to her service. Do you not have such things in Menekhet?”

“No!” blurted the shy one of the pair, and they dissolved in laughter, clutching at one another. “It is true, then?” she asked. “Your gods demand you do service …” her voice dropped, “… in the bedchamber?”

I raised my eyebrows and looked at Denise.

“Oh, yes,” she said blandly. “But only the most noble and beautiful, such as my lady Phèdre. You can see, can you not, that she is fit to serve only princes and kings?”

It seemed they could, from the merriment that ensued. One, greatly daring, asked if she might touch it; if one might, they all must. I endured it with good grace, standing waist-deep in the steaming water as tentative hands stroked my skin, tracing the elegant black lineaments etched the length of my spine, the cunning crimson accents. It is a unique torment for an
anguissette
.

“It feels no different!” the bold one said in astonishment. “I thought it would be raised, like a scar … Auntie, come here, feel, her skin is like silk,” she added before switching to Menekhetan, beckoning to a veritable grandmother with wizened breasts and bright, curious eyes. All of them crowded round me, oohing and prodding.

“For this, you brought me here?” I asked Denise Fleurais.

“My mother was an adept of Bryony House,” she said in D’Angeline, head bobbing low above the water, giving me her shrewd smile. “Amaury Trente may not care to guess how you might gain access to Pharaoh’s quarters, but I can. If you mean to bring your Cassiline, you’ll need to allay suspicion and let it be known it is a pearl of great price you bestow, worthy of guarding with the utmost care. To gain the upper hand in any trade, it is best to establish an outrageous value at the outset.”

“Ah.” I turned to face my admirers, inclining my head politely; curiosity satisfied, they acknowledged the tacit dismissal and withdrew, laughing and splashing as they went. “I have not made that decision,” I said to Denise. “It would be premature to consider it.”

“To decide, yes.” She shrugged, cream-white shoulders rising from the waters. “Not to lay the foundations.” She regarded me through the steam. “Her majesty assigned me to this delegation because I am skilled in matters of trade,” Denise Fleurais said quietly. “Whatever transpires, she would not have the Cruarch of Alba make a bad bargain for her sake. And yet it is a merchant’s gift to know the secret desire of her client’s heart, and her majesty wants the boy, Imriel, restored to his place. I know this. I do not pretend to understand what desire motivates you, Comtesse, but you are committed to finding the boy. If you are willing to pay the price, do not disdain my aid.”

Women’s voices echoed over the waters of the caldarium, blithe and unconcerned. I looked at Denise, silent. I thought of the children we had found in Amílcar. I thought of Pharaoh, bejeweled and unknown. My skin still tingled from the touch of strange hands. I thought of Nesmut’s valiant grin, that so reminded me of Hyacinthe. And I thought, too, of Melisande Shahrizai closing her eyes in pain, and of her lips on mine.

And of Joscelin. Always Joscelin.

“I don’t know if I’m willing to pay the price,” I said honestly.

“No?” Denise Fleurais smiled, sadness mingled with her shrewdness. “Most people don’t, until the bargain is struck. I cannot answer for you. I do not bring the bargain, but only set the table for it.”

Her words stayed with me as I went to submerge myself in the cooler waters of the tepidarium, and long afterward. I had thought of it, of course; the Lady Denise was right. But it had been a long time since I had sold myself for aught but love or the pleasure of Naamah’s service. When I was younger, I thought, I would have done it unthinking. Now, ’twas somehow different.

Still and all, there was naught to be done and no point to agonizing over it until we knew for a surety that Imriel de la Courcel was held in the Palace of Pharaohs … and on that score, to my dismay, our investigation began to stall.

Nesmut reported on the following day, his expression glum. Despite an overwhelming eagerness to contribute to the search in covert defiance of the aristocracy, no one within the Palace had yet seen anyone matching the description of the D’Angeline boy-and, he assured me, they had a better idea what it meant now that descriptions of me were circulating, born of my encounter in the baths.

Against my own misgivings, I recruited Nesmut to aid us in searching General Hermodorus’ house and interviewing his servants. Our letter of introduction had been received, and an invitation to a dinner party with a few of their friends came in short order. Naturally, we accepted; and contracted Nesmut to serve as our torch-bearer for the evening.