"I don't know," I murmured. "Melisande uses people well; it is her gift. I have never known her to dirty her own hands." I met his eyes. "What do you think?"
Gazing at the plan, he bit his lip. "I think," he said slowly, "I think it was someone very skilled with a dagger, to dis patch two of Percy de Somerville's hand-picked guardsmen without a sound. If I were you..." His voice shook; he cleared his throat and steadied it, holding my gaze. "If I were you, my lady, I would ask who among the Cassiline Brethren attended Ysandre de la Courcel during the siege of Troyes-le-Mont. Because ... because that is a possibility so impossible we never even considered it. But there were Cas silines there. And we are human."
Fortun sucked in a hissing breath. "Cassilines! If I were posted on guard by Admiral Rousse, in the old days ... my lady, I'd never think to question a Cassiline! I don't know as I'd even mark one's passing."
"They carried intelligence," I said, sick at remembering. "The length and breadth of the nation, working on Ysandre's behalf. Lord Rinforte, the Prefect, pledged as much, because no one would ever suspect the Cassiline Brotherhood of pol iticking." I saw the same sickness reflected in Joscelin's eyes. "Joscelìn, you were one of them. Is there any Cassi line, for any reason, who would support Melisande?"
"No." He sank his face into his hands. "I don't know. The training, oh, Phèdre! It goes bone-deep. But stranger... stranger things have happened, I suppose."
"I will try to find out," I said gently. "But will you write to the Prefect, and ask him? All I need are the names. We will do the rest."
Joscelin raised his stricken face. "I'll ask," he whispered. "You said ... do you remember? Even if..." He made his voice stronger. "Even if it is so, you said you didn't think the same person killed the guard at the postern gate, do you remember?"
"Yes." My heart ached for him. "It may be ... it may be another blind alley, Joscelin," I said slowly, not pointing out the fact that he himself had been first to disabuse me of the notion. "But we need to know."
"I will ask," he whispered.
Fortun had resumed staring at the plan of Troyes-le-Mont, a formidable scowl on his face. "The question remains," he said. "Why?"
None of us could answer.
True to his word, Joscelin wrote to the Prefect of the Cassiline Brotherhood, though I knew it cost him to go beg ging for information not rightly his to the man who had condemned him as a vow-breaker. Whether for spite or other concerns, no answer was forthcoming.
Remy and Ti-Philippe rode to Champs-de-Guerre, where the Royal Army was quartered, with funds enough for a three-day carouse. This they did to the fullest degree, re turning to the City of Elua with aching heads, empty pockets and no more knowledge than before. The guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont had as good as vanished.
I checked with Thelesis de Mornay, who had no record of the Cassiline Brothers attendant on Ysandre during the siege; indeed, she looked at me with mild surprise, having never considered the matter. At length, I found an opportunity to query Ysandre herself, broaching it in a sidelong manner.
The Queen frowned, pale brows knitting. "Honestly, I don't recall. There have always been Cassilines about, ever since I was a child; I don't think I ever saw my father with out a pair of them hovering in the background. One comes to forget their presence. Lord Ignace d'Avicenne was Secretary of the. Presence, he might remember. Or you could ask the Royal Archivist. May I ask why?"
Her tone changed, with that last question; Ysandre de la Courcel was nobody's fool, and most certainly not mine. I murmured something inadequate about Joscelin having an interest in the matter. Ysandre was sensitive enough to the troubles in our relationship not to pursue it, but her gaze rested thoughtfully on me. And beyond her, just out of ear shot, I saw that same interest mirrored in another pair of violet eyes.
Nicola L'Envers y Aragon, whose presence at court trou bled me.
Taking leave of the Queen, I went to bespeak Lord Ignace d'Avicenne, and found him old and feeble in his wits. He had been Ganelon's Secretary of the Presence; Ysandre had allowed him to retire gracefully after the war. He remembered the names of every nursemaid he'd had as a child, and not a one of the Cassiline Brethren who'd attended the Queen.
I went then to Micheline de Parnasse, who was the Royal Archivist. She had ten years on Ignace d'Avicenne if she had a day, but her mind was as sharp as Cassiel's dagger. She peered at me and spoke a few sharp words to one of her assistants, a lanky young Siovalese lordling who grinned when she wasn't looking, and treated her with the utmost deference.
One might expect dust and disarray in the Royal Ar chives, where the records of a thousand years of D'Angeline royalty are housed, but the place was spotless, smelling of sweet beeswax and organized within an inch of its life. Micheline de Parnasse's assistant followed her orders un erringly; and halted, stock-still, in astonishment.
"It's not here, my lady," he said. "The pages are missing."
Her brows beetled furiously, "What! You must be looking in the wrong place. Let me see." Moving with the aid of a cane, she came to scan the shelf. He passed her the hide bound ledger he'd withdrawn, and she examined it carefully, tilting it to and fro in the lamplight. At length, she looked soberly at me. "He's right. Three pages have been excised." Balancing the ledger, she showed me the sharp edges buried in the spine where the pages had been cut. "Five years of Cassiline Brethren attendant on House de la Courcel, re corded there. Someone's taken them out."
Oh, Joscelin! With an effort, I kept my voice level. "My Lady Archivist, who has access to these records?"
"Directly?" Micheline de Parnasse frowned, absently stroking the ledger as one might comfort a wounded child. "Myself, and my two assistants, who'd sooner murder a babe in the cradle than tamper with the archives! The Queen, of course. And the Secretaries of the Privy Seal."
I had been out of the City too long. "Who holds those posts?"
She gave me three names, and I startled at the third.
"Solaine Belfours? I did not know she held the honor still." Hastily, I gathered my wits. "My Lady Archivist, it is needful that these records be complete."
"Yes." Distraught, she held the ledger close to her. "Yes, I will write to the Prefect of the Cassiline Brotherhood, and ask him to supply the information. Rinforte will know, they keep records of their own. 'Tis a grave thing, to desecrate the Royal Archives!" She scowled, and I'd not have liked to be held accountable for the crime. "Rinforte will know. Do you want me to send notice when it conies, young... Phèdre, was it?"
"Yes, my lady," I murmured. "If you please."
I wrote out my name and address for her Siovalese assis tant, who held the bit of parchment on which I'd written like it was a precious thing, and grinned at me. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll find it."
So I left them, the Royal Archivist muttering in a fury, and her smiling assistant.
I had learned a great deal in the pursuit of knowledge that eluded me.
EIGHTEEN
Gaspar Trevalion heeded my invitation shortly thereafter, paying a visit.
A confederate of Delaunay's from the beginning, he was the closest thing to an uncle I had ever known. I received him warmly, and bid Gemma fetch out our finest wine to serve. After I had poured for him and we were seated, after he had suitably admired the bust of Delaunay that ever watched over my sitting room, I asked him the question that had been burning in my mind.
Gaspar Trevalion, the Comte de Forcay, frowned into his wine. "Ysandre kept Solaine Belfours on because I inter ceded on her behalf, Phèdre."
Sipping my wine, I nearly choked. "Why?"
It is a vivid memory for me, kneeling forgotten in a corner at Solaine's country estate, while the Marquise paced the room with gleaming eyes, switching her riding crop, and deciding to accept the offer of the Lioness of Azzalle to commit high treason and put the imprimature of the Privy Seal on a forged letter to the Khalif of Khebbel-im-Akkad.
"Because she begged me to." Gaspar met my eyes firmly. "Yes, I know. She was Lyonette's creature, and nearly acted treasonously on her behalf. But it never happened, Phèdre. You know it and I know it. Solaine knew it wouldn't when she asked Baudoin's escort as surety. Lyonette de Trevalion would never have risked her son thusly." He spread his hands. "Lyonette was her sponsor, and a powerful one. What could she do? She dared not risk a flat rejection. So she said, and I believe her."
I stared at Delaunay's marble face and wondered what he would have thought.
"Phèdre." Gaspar's voice was gentle. "She was less com plicit than my own cousin in Lyonette's scheme. I convinced Ysandre to reinstate Marc as Duc de Trevalion in all but name, with his grandson's inheritance clear. I would have been remiss if I'd let Solaine bear the punishment House Trevalion evaded. She was
fostered
at Trevalion, do you understand?"
"Yes." I did, though I didn't like it. The ties of noble fosterage were complex and binding, second only to mar riage; and maybe not even that. The bonds of matrimony could be dissolved easier than the bonds of childhood debts and loyalties. "I understand."
"Good." His expression cleared. "Now, why is it that you ask?"
This, at least, I could answer honestly without throwing suspicion on the present. "She was one of my patrons, my lord. And Delaunay did not trust her, but bid me watch her carefully. He stood ready to intercept that letter to the Khalif, you know, had it been sent."
"I know. And I stood with him. But it wasn't." His tone put an end to the matter, and we turned our conversation to more pleasant topics. I put a good face on it, talking lightly of affairs of the Palace. But I could not shake my deep unease, as I did not think it was conscience that had moved Solaine Belfours.
I did not know if it was conscience that had moved Gaspar Trevalion.
That night, I told Joscelin all that I had learned, and his face grew tight and drawn, the white lines forming. He paced the room like a caged tiger, splendid in his wounded anger. I sat quiet and watched him. Whatever I thought of the letter of Cassiline vows, I respected their nature. Jos celin, outcast and anathema, in violation of the vows of obe dience and chastity, had never, in his darkest hours, violated the central precept of Cassiel: To protect and serve.
When at last he sat down and buried his face in his hands in despair, I stroked his hair, the wheat-gold strands that fell loose and shining over his strong hands where they covered his face.
"Don't," Joscelin muttered, shuddering hard. He lifted his face, taut with rage and anguish. "Phèdre, don't. I can't bear it."
Neither could I, so I did the only thing I could, and left him alone.
I was drowning, and no hand would reach out to clasp mine. I slept ill, and dreamt, plagued by nightmares, waking with a stifled cry, my mouth half-stopped with gasping fear. I do not know what my lord Delaunay did at such times, when he was cast adrift in a sea of intrigue, bits of information all around like flotsam and jetsam, but none he could grasp, none that would bear his weight, no vessel to assemble. I was Naamah's Servant and Kushiel's Chosen. I cast myself on their mercies, and accepted another assignation.
It has never been my wont to service more than one pa tron at a time, but I suppose I could not help thinking of the Twins, Eamonn and Grainne, when I accepted the proposal of the joint rulers of the Marquisate de Fhirze. What might it have been like, had the Lords of the Dalriada shared me? Would it have balanced them all the same? I did not know; I had never even wondered, before then. And I would never know, for Eamonn was dead, slain on the fields of Troyes-le-Mont, and his sister had carried his head home to Alba, preserved in quicklime. Well, and they were barbari ans, but all the same, noble in heart and deed.
Apollonaire and Diànne; no idle jest, the Hellene masks of sun and moon, but a play on their names, a long history in House Fhirze. They were not twins—Diànne was elder by a year—nor barbarians, but quintessentially D'Angeline. The de Fhirze estates lay in Namarre near the Kusheline border, where the blood of their House had mingled freely with that of Kushiel's scions, but they were creatures of the Palace and wintered in the City of Elua. It was a tall, narrow house with many stories, and multiple windows on every one, so peering sun and moon alike could illuminate its interior.
One story entire was given over to their pleasures, and in truth, it was as well stocked with toys as any seraglio of the Night Court. There was a flagellary with whips and crops and tawses, pincers and feathered ticklers, trasses and tra pezes and suspension harnesses, and
aides d'amour
sheathed in leather and carved from ivory.
And all of these things Apollonaire and Diànne de Fhirze used on me, trading off in a well-orchestrated game, so that I must needs please the one while the other tormented me nearly beyond bearing. It was she who commanded the game, I quickly discerned, but she reckoned on him to carry it, for though he seemed quiet and bashful beside her, his stoic strength and endurance and prodigious endowment were near as obdurate as rock.
Well, I am what I am, and after many hours, Apollonaire de Fhirze sank trembling and exhausted to the cushions strewn about the chamber, his handsome face slack and empty, small muscles jumping in his strong thighs.
