It brought me hard against him, my loins pressed firm against his, my breasts brushing his chest, I craned my neck back to gaze at his implacable, smiling star-masked face. "Do you pretend loyalty to the Queen, my lord Shahrizai?" I asked him breathlessly, struggling to match his composure. "I hear you set the fire that killed your sister, lest she reveal the complicity with which you betrayed her."
Marmion's smile hardened and his hand splayed on my back, pressing me harder against him. I could feel his fingertips digging into my flesh, and beneath his breeches, his phallus rising, rigid and pressing against me. His other hand clenched hard on mine, grinding the small bones together. "Do you?" he asked. "I hear a great many things about you, too, Comtesse. I trust not all are slanderous lies, as is this thing you have heard."
Kushiel's Dart strikes where it will; my body betrayed me, yearning toward his. He danced with consummate grace, and no one but I knew that his hips moved with the subtlety of a skilled tribadist, moving against me as his iron grip held me in place. I fought unsuccessfully against the flutter in my loins, the surging warmth. "Lord Shahrizai," I said, my voice taut, "I beg you release me."
"Will you make a scene?" He smiled remorselessly; my left hand was numb from his grip and I moved helplessly against him, rippling with desire. "Or give your
signale,
perhaps,
anguissette?
I know all about you, and I am watch ing. Understand that nothing will come between me and the Queen; not some tattooed barbarian princeling, not my cousin and, surely, not you!"
The musicians ended their air with a flourish, hiding my gasp as Marmion Shahrizai released me, nigh on the verge of climax. He gazed down at me superciliously from behind his mask. "When you think to cross me, little
anguissette,"
he said with amused contempt, "I pray you remember this dance."
"My lord," I said, drawing myself up with difficulty. "The Aeolian harp sounds at each passing breeze, but that does not mean the tune is masterfully played."
A moment's pause, and then he gave a cynical laugh and bowed. "You put a good face on it,
anguissette.
I should expect nothing less from one of Melisande's creatures, and you are an exceptional one at that." He touched my face lightly in warning. "I have said it once; do not make me say it twice. Whatever game you play, keep it far from me.”
As I watched him take his leave, Fortun made his way to my side once more. "My lady," he asked anxiously, "do you wish me to speak to him?"
"No," I murmured, watching the candlelight diffuse in a thousand shifting points from the Shahrizai's mirrored coat. "Either he's a fool, to overplay his hand thus, or he's more subtle than I credited, to make me think as much. And I rather doubt it is the latter. Let us keep our eye on Lord Marmion Shahrizai, to see what else he may reveal. But for now, I think we must seek our traitor elsewhere." I sighed, my body throbbing with desire unfulfilled. "Fortun, if you care for me, stay at my side the remainder of this Longest Night, and see that I do naught I will regret come dawn."
"I promise," he vowed stoutly.
Somewhat to my dismay, he did.
THIRTEEN
Elua have mercy!" Gemma entered the sitting room staggering under the weight of the parcels and letters she bore. "My lady, how many more ... oh!" A neatly ribboned missive dangling a small, stoppered bottle slid from her grasp and struck the floor. The spicy scent of cloves filled the air as the wax seal cracked and oil leaked from the bottle.
"Never mind," I said absently, setting aside a pile of opened proposals to make room for the latest. "Put them here, thank you."
"You'll need a larger house, at this rate." Ti-Philippe carefully detached the leaking bottle from the letter and placed it upright on the table, licking oil of cloves from his fingers and making a face. "Too strong."
"It's not supposed to taste good, exactly. It sweetens the breath." I picked up the missive, glancing at the seal. The Baron d'Eresse, an Eisandine lord with interests in the spice trade. "Good for toothaches, too. If I were in the market for imports, I'd consider him." Since I wasn't, I put his letter on the likely-to-decline pile. "Here, help me sort through these latest."
Happily, for there had been a great many proposals de livered in the past days, all three of my chevaliers found the prospect amusing enough that none minded playing at sec retary. For a time, there was no sound in the sitting room save the faint crack of seals breaking and the rustle of paper.
"Ah!" Remy laughed aloud. "A brother and sister, my lady; who hold jointly the Marquisate de Fhirze. Shall I put them on the decline pile?"
"I should think—oh, wait." I caught sight of the seal, twinned masks of Diana and Apollo. "No, I liked her. I'll see it."
"As you wish." He grinned, eyebrows raised.
"My lady," Fortun said quietly, looking up from the mis sive he scanned. It was unopened, a scroll of thick vellum tied with a gold cord and sealed with red wax. "I think you will be interested in this."
"Whose is it?" Accepting the scroll, I glanced at the seal; too crudely drawn for D'Angeline work, it depicted a Ser enissiman carrack at harbor, a tower in the background. The insignia of the Stregazza family. "My lord Severio," I mused, cracking the seal and sliding off the cord. "I wondered how long he would wait." I skimmed the contents of his letter.
No one noticed when the scroll fell from my nerveless fingers.
"Phèdre?" Joscelin, entering the room, checked at my ex pression. I looked blankly at him. "Are you all right?"
"Yes." I blinked, picked up the scroll and handed it to him. "Look."
He read it quickly—it was only a couple of lines—and looked bewildered. "Does he jest?"
"No." I shook my head. "I don't think so. He didn't seem much for humor."
" 'No one outbids the Stregazza,' " Joscelin read aloud in a flat tone. " Twenty thousand in gold to be the first.'' Ignoring the collective indrawn breath of my chevaliers and a faint squeak of astonishment from Gemma, he tossed the scroll on the table. "No poetry, no protestations of desire and no pretty sentiments in honor of Naamah," he observed. "But you can't argue with the price, if that's what matters."
I looked coolly at Joscelin. "Severio Stregazza is three- quarters Caerdicci, and raised in La Serenissima. If he lacks the grace and polish to compete with half the royal D'Angeline court, at least he has the wit to know it. I prom ised him no pretense. He has taken me, I think, at my word."
"He's a boor," Fortun murmured.
"Yes," I said. "He is. And I am going to accept his offer."
"What—" Gemma was still wide-eyed at the figure. "My lady, what will you do with all that money?"
I smiled. "You will see."
As it happened, they learned sooner rather than later what I intended with the sum. It took the better part of two days to hammer out the terms of the assignation, with Remy serv ing as my representative. He had a knack, it seemed, for such things. It was necessary to explain to Severio the guild- laws that bound the terms of our contract, and the penalties for breaching them. It is a serious business in Terre d'Ange; to violate the rights of one of Naamah's Servants is to vi olate the precept of Blessed Elua, and is the gravest form of blasphemy. Elsewhere, I am told, courtesans are largely dependent on the whims of their patrons. It is not so among D'Angelines.
The nature and purpose of the
signale
needed also be explained to the Serenissiman Prince, for although I heard a group of young gallants had taken him to the Night Court, it was to Orchis House they went, for lovemaking and merriment. Valerian and Mandrake alone among the Thirteen Houses use the
signale,
and at Mandrake, it is for the benefit of the patrons. In the arts of pain, protestation is a part of the game; it is therefore important that a
signale
be established. I should know, having gone to extreme lengths without speaking mine.
Choosing the word itself was simple, for I have had the same one since first I was an adept: Hyacinthe. He was the truest friend I ever had, and my refuge and sanctuary from childhood onward. If I chose his name in part to annoy Delaunay all those years ago—and I did—I chose it now for Hyacinthe himself, who made the greatest sacrifice of all of us on that fateful journey.
My plans kept me busy, and by the time Remy returned with the signed contract and a nervous clutch of Palace Guardsmen surrounding two laden mules, I had an appoint ment waiting.
"Half on signing," Remy called, grinning. "As you asked, my lady."
"Good." Standing in the doorway, I fastened the clasp of my
sangoire
cloak. "Now bid them take it to Eglantine House. I've a meeting with the Dowayne."
His mouth fell open and he gaped at me; the Guardsmen grumbled. "You're not—"
"It's my fee, and I'll do as I please with it," I said mildly, then raised my voice. "Joscelin! Will you do me the honor of beholding how I disperse this money that so offends you?"
If I thought to find him apologetic, I was wrong; he came at my call with an amused expression, adjusting his vam braces. "Will it please you if I admit to curiosity?"
"It would please me if you admitted to rather more," I said, "but I will settle for that. Come and see."
The Dowayne of Eglantine House was one Moirethe Ler eux, a stately woman in her middle forties, without the mad cap streak that marks so many of that house; which, I suspect, was a large part of how she came to be its Dowayne. I have heard also that she played the harp so beautifully that warriors wept and criminals confessed at the sound of it, but I never had the pleasure of hearing her play. No adept of the Night Court is easily swayed by the sight of money and a Dowayne less than most, but even Moirethe was hard put not to look twice as the Palace Guardsmen deposited clinking sack upon sack on her desk. I could see the Chancellor of the House itching to count it after I thanked the Guardsmen and dismissed them. They left posthaste, shaking their heads at the madness of Naamah's Servants.
"Are we agreed, then?" It felt strange, sitting and facing the Dowayne as a D'Angeline noblewoman fair swimming in gold, with a Cassiline and a chevalier attendant behind me. "Four thousand for her marque, and four thousand against the House's loss of her art and labor in the time she would have made it."
"And a balance of two thousand toward the purchase of materials and a year's patronage at Eglantine House should she so desire; hers clear if she does not," Moirethe Lereux agreed, glancing over our written agreement. "I am in accord, Comtesse. Shall we sign?"
We did, and it was witnessed and approved by the Chan cellor after he had opened and peered into each of the sacks, weighing Severio's coinage with sensitive fingers.
"Done," the Dowayne proclaimed. "Anselme." She beck oned to an apprentice, who knelt quietly
abeyante.
"Will you bring Favrielle, please?"
He fetched her as quickly as he could, I think; still, we had a time to wait. Moirethe Lereux bided patiently, serving us chilled wine and sugared almonds, of which Remy ate a great many. When Favrielle no Eglantine entered scowling, it was clearly at her own pace.
"You," she said without pleasure, beholding me. "I've got half the petty lordlings in the City plaguing me on your account, Comtesse! I didn't ask you to tell
everyone
who made that gown."
"I didn't," I protested.
"Fortun told them," Remy volunteered helpfully. "They daren't ask you, my lady."
Moirethe Lereux cleared her throat. "Favrielle, for your services in designing a costume for the Midwinter Masque, the Comtesse Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève has chosen to bestow a patron-gift upon you. The balance of your marque as established prior to your ... accident ... is paid in full, and the balance of funds from the loss of your serv ices. To you is remanded the sum of two thousand ducats, which you may apply toward materials and a year's patron age in Eglantine House if you so choose. You may retain such assistants as you have trained, and all profits in that time would be your own. If you do not wish to remain here," she added, "it is yours clear, but we would be pleased to have you."
Sharp-tongued as she was, Favrielle was at a loss for words, staring at me. "Why would you do that?" she asked me finally, her voice sounding young and bewildered without its customary edge. "You don't even
like
me!"
Cocking my head, I regarded the seamstress, her pretty face with its scattering of golden freckles marred only by her scarred lip now that astonishment had smoothed away her habitually cross expression. "You told me to let you know when I could transform you as surely as Kushiel's Dart unmade my flaw," I said. "Well, I cannot make you into an
anguissette,
and I do not think you would like it if I did. But I can give you the means to transform yourself from an unfit adept indentured to years of service in Eglantine House to a woman of independent means and the foremost couturier in the City of Elua."
Still staring, Favrielle gave a short laugh. "You're mad!"
"Mayhap." I shrugged. "So too have been the proposals I have received, and your genius may well have doubled their insanity. That much, then, do I give back, and we are at quits, you and I."
Biting her lower lip, she turned to the Dowayne. "That's it, then? I'm free?"
"Yes." Moirethe handed her a document. "By the tenets of the Night Court, of course, you are forbidden to bear Eglantine's marque on your skin, as you have not, properly speaking, been engaged as a Servant of Naamah. But the amount of your marque is paid in full, and your contract is returned to you."
