Kushiel's Chosen (17 page)

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Authors: Jacqueline Carey

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BOOK: Kushiel's Chosen
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"You would know this one, my lord," I said conserva tively. "She resembles Lord Marmion, insofar as the sun resembles a star. And if Prince Benedicte caught word of her presence, he would surely have her extradited, for she stands condemned of treason in Terre d'Ange. It was Lord Marmion betrayed her unto the Queen's justice."

"Ah." Severio nodded understanding; he had, it seemed, a fair grasp of internecine intrigue. "Well, I understand his fear, then, but his suspicions are misplaced. If his cousin is in La Serenissima, it's naught to do with me. Nor, I think, my grandfather the Doge. He is too canny to risk displeasing the D'Angeline Queen."

"Doubtless you are right," I said automatically, watching Marmion make his way to Ysandre's side. He
knew
Meli sande was in La Serenissima! And he lived in fear of her retribution. It had been no act, that night at the Midwinter Masque; he truly suspected me of being in league with her. Marmion was playing a guessing game, the same as I. Wherever she was, it had somewhat to do with the Stre gazza. Not Severio; I'd no doubt his ignorance was genuine. I'd seen him reveal his innermost self, and he didn't dissem ble well enough to play the innocent. But Marmion didn't know that.

Who, then? Lost in thought, I bit my lip and wondered.

"I must greet his grace the Duc de Somerville," Severio observed, pulling a face. "I am charged by my mother on behalf of Prince Benedicte to thank him for the company of D'Angeline guardsmen he sent to attend the Little Court. It seems my maternal grandfather grows chary of protecting his pure-blooded heir." He gave me another bow. "Phèdre, may I call upon you before I must needs return home? Just to converse," he added with a self-conscious laugh. "I have come in these few days to hold a great regard for your ad vice. Truly, it would please me."

"You would honor my household," I said, smiling at him and curtsying. "Now go forth and be politic, Prince Sev erio."
He laughed delightedly at that, kissing my hands before taking his leave.

"You must be considerably pleased with yourself." Lean ing against a column, Barquiel L'Envers pitched his voice to reach my ears without bestirring himself.

"Your grace," I murmured, curtsying and wondering how long he had been there and how much he had heard. "It is a pleasure to see you once more. I think often on my debt to you." It had to be said, even if it took me back to the field of Troyes-le-Mont. I could not forget that, either. How I had swayed, on my knees, blood-soaked and awaiting death, gazing at the terrible love in Joscelin's eyes as he broke away from Selig's men to perform the
terminus
that would end both our lives mercifully. How that look had changed as he saw the portcullis raising beyond me, and Barquiel L'Envers and his Akkadian horsemen racing out to attempt a wildly daring rescue.

"Save it for your patrons," L'Envers said. "You've made quite an impression on the young Stregazza, I hear, Phèdre. He was even gracious enough to allow the possibility of peace between our Houses, for all that his kin murdered my sister. Gracious, indeed. How do you think your lord Delaunay would like this day's work?"

"I don't know, my lord." I tried to read him, and failed. Barquiel L'Envers smiled at me, revealing even white teeth. His pale blond hair was cropped short as ever, defying fash ion for D'Angeline noblemen, and his eyes were the same dark violet as Ysandre's.

"Neither do I," he said pleasantly. "On the one hand, the Stregazza disposed of his nemesis in the form of my sister Isabel; on the other, they posed the greatest threat to his sworn charge, his darling Rolande's Ysandre. It must have galled him dreadfully to turn to me to set the balance aright."

"If it did, he never said so."

"And now we are all in bed together, so to speak." Barquiel flashed another grin at me. "Some of us more so than others. Ah, poor Anafiel! I do wonder what
he
would have thought."
"So do I, my lord." In the face of his prodding, I drew on the dignity of my grief, thinking with sorrow of my lord Delaunay. "I wonder it every day."
"Well, we'll never know, will we?" Shrugging, the Duc straightened. "Come here, Phèdre no Delaunay; I've some one you should meet."
Obediently, I followed him through the salon to Ysan dre's side, where a small knot of folk were
gathered.
The bronze-haired young woman I had seen earlier turned, giving him the kiss of greeting as if it had been days, and not minutes, since she had seen him. Scarce taller than I, she was some five years older and very beautiful.
"Cousin Barquiel," she said in a naturally sultry voice, linking her arm with his and looking at me with interest. "Who have you brought me?"

Barquiel L'Envers favored me with his white smile, gaz ing down at me with those lovely violet eyes; like the Queen's, like the woman whose fingers wrapped familiarly around his arm. "Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève," he said, sounding amused. "Nicola L'Envers y Aragon."

I made a curtsy without thinking, the response automatic upon hearing the names of two of the Great Houses of Terre d'Ange and Aragonia jointly linked.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Nicola had the same unreadable smile as the Duc. "Too bad my husband is a minor lordling, and a drunkard at that. But one does what one can for one's House, even if one is a minor offshoot." Releasing Barquiel's arm, she took a step toward me, standing a little closer than courtesy dictated. I felt the familiar dizziness of being in the presence of a patron, and her violet gaze held awareness of it. "Still," she said softly, "I think I might haY6 an interesting time here at court, should I choose to stay a while." Patting my cheek, she moved away in Ysandre's direction.

I watched as Marmion Shahrizai struggled to choose be tween entertaining the Queen, and engaging the interest of this new-found cousin Nicola, who treated him so coolly. No mistake about it, what I had seen during the concert. She was playing him, and playing him well. I turned to look at Barquiel L'Envers.
"What can I say?" He smiled and shrugged, opening his arms. "House L'Envers is an ambitious one, and I made a bad marriage for Nicola some years ago. It gained me ties to the House of Aragon, but she's not prospered by it. Her husband is a fool. Who can blame her, if she wishes to try her luck at home now that Ysandre is Queen?"
The first and greatest lesson we learn in Cereus House is silence. I looked at Barquiel L'Envers and did not answer, until his smile faltered.

"Anafiel Delaunay didn't do you any favors when he trained you to spy, little
anguissette,"
he said in a low voice, and no one would mistake him now for anything but a deadly opponent. "He died through dabbling in the affairs of state when he shouldn't. Don't you make the same mistake."

I made my voice mild. "My lord Delaunay was murdered by traitors plotting to overthrow the throne, your grace. Do you threaten me with the same?"

L'Envers laughed harshly, wagging his finger at me. "Don't even think it, Phèdre. I have a great deal of forbearance for you, for what you've done, but it only goes so far. There are questions unanswered in my mind, and I hope, for your sake, you don't hold the answers." With that, he made me a curt, dismissive bow and stalked away, dangerous as a hunting leopard.

Staring after him, I thought of the questions unanswered in my own mind.

SEVENTEEN
You're sure." Joscelin frowned at me.
"I'd stake my life on it. He's terrified."
"Well," he reflected. "If Lord Marmion Shahrizai con spired to free Melisande, why should he fear her?"

"He wouldn't." Chin in hand, Fortun sat staring at the two-story plan of Troyes-le-Mont spread and weighted on the table; markings indicating Melisande's room, the postern gate, the guards' positions. "Because he didn't." He looked up at me. "Does it make sense any other way?"

"No." I shook my head.

"Then why did he kill his sister?" Fortun contemplated the map again as if it held answers. "That guardsman Branion, I tell you, my lady, he was sure of it. Remy and Ti-Philippe made no mistake about it."

Joscelin and I exchanged a glance.

"There are two possibilities," I said, holding up a forefin ger. "One, your guardsman is mistaken, Fortun. And since this is the simplest explanation, it is the likeliest. But two ..." I held up a second finger, "... 'Twas the other way 'round. Marmion killed Persia because
she
helped Melisande escape."

"So?" Fortun frowned, puzzling it through. "If she did, and he learned it, why kill her? He gained the Queen's trust by betraying Melisande's allies, for Elua's sake. Why let this coin slip through his fingers? To kill his sister? He's torn House Shahrizai apart, with the rumor of it! Unless ..." He glanced up at us. "Unless he had no proof, that's why."

"No." Joscelin leaned forward, folding his arms over his knees. He looked at me like in the old days, when our sur vival depended on our ability to think and act together as one. "That's only part. You're right, he's no proof of it, but there's still somewhat more. Marmion or Persia, either one, the same premise holds true. The guard at the postern gate would have given challenge. There's still the unknown ally, the trusted one. Whatever Marmion learned, if he threatened Persia with it, she would have threatened back, with some what he feared."
"Melisande," said Fortun.
"He's scared of Melisande now," I observed. "It can't be that. It's got to be someone whose reach is closer. Someone Ysandre trusts implicitly, whose mere word would be enough to condemn him. If Persia threatened him with that... well, mayhap."
"If he knew who it was," Joscelin said simply, "he could tell the Queen."
"But if he didn't," Fortun observed, "he'd be left with the choice of calling her bluff, or—"

"Or killing her," I finished. "He doesn't know. If he did, he'd not suspect
me.
And he does, believe me. He warned me at the Masque, and he turned grey seeing me talking with Severio. I don't think he's playacting. He's feared for his life."

"How does he know Melisande is in La Serenissima?" Joscelin asked reasonably. "We only do because ..." He eyed me sidelong. "That damnable cloak."

"Which means a patron," I murmured. "If I knew which one, I promise, this would be much simpler. Well, if Marmion confronted Persia, who knows what she told him? Enough to know that Melisande is well protected, here and in La Serenissima. Enough to threaten him, so that he was moved to kill her. But not enough for proof."

"Why would Marmion suspect his sister?" Fortun asked.

I pressed my temples and stared at the plan of the fortress until it swam in my vision. There, marked with her initials, were Melisande's quarters on the second floor. So little space in Troyes-le-Mont, we all slept two and three to a room, except for Melisande. Ysandre had allowed her that much, on what was to be her final night on this earth: A room of her own. Thelesis de Mornay's voice echoed in my memory, repeating the words she had recorded when she interviewed Ghislain de Somerville about that night.
By
now, my father had emerged, and assumed command un
thinking. He wasted no time in ordering a detachment to
the second floor, to Melisande Shahrizai 's chamber where
she was confined. There, he found her guards slain; one
with a dagger to the ribs, and the other with his throat cut.
The chamber itself was empty.
A piece of the puzzle fell into place, with a satisfying sense of tightness and surety I'd nearly forgotten.
"She never left Melisande's room," I said, lifting my head.
"You think ... ?" Joscelin stared at me. "Melisande."

"Yes," I said. "Remember Selig's steading? People see what they expect. You put a wolf-pelt over your head and muttered a few words of Skaldi, and Selig's folk saw one of the White Brethren. It would take less than that for the guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont to see Melisande as Persia. The Shahrizai are all cast from the same die. They saw a daughter of House Shahrizai enter alone, and they saw her leave. They saw what they expected."

"Well, but how would Marmion guess it?" Fortun asked.

I shrugged. "Look to the wolf-pelt. Whatever his sister wore into that chamber, she didn't have it afterward. They rode into Troyes-le-Mont cloaked and hooded. I'd be willing to hazard a guess that Persia Shahrizai somewhere mislaid that garment, and her brother Marmion took note of it. He's not stupid, no matter if he's a match for Melisande or not. He'd guess well enough to confront his sister with it." I stirred. "Elua! We need to talk to those guardsmen. Did the lads have any luck at the barracks?"

Fortun pulled a glum face. "No one who served that night was with de Somerville in Camlach, my lady, but most of his men are quartered in outlying L'Agnace. Do you want us to pay a call?" His face brightened at the prospect.

"I think so," I said decisively. "I need to hear from Phanuel Buonard, who found the slain guard at the postern, and anyone else on duty that night. Anyone! Unless I miss my guess, Melisande was at large from three bells onward, and Persia simply slipped back to her own quarters when the alarm sounded, before anyone thought to check Melisande's rooms. Whoever thought they saw Persia in that time, saw Melisande. Ghislain de Somerville made no report of it, but
someone
must have seen!"
"Who killed the guards at Melisande's door, then?" Jos celin asked softly. "Did she do it herself, then, with never a sound to alert the guard at the stair?" He placed a finger on the map of the fortress, raising his eyebrows. "Is she so skilled with a dagger, think you? Or was it the unknown ally?"

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