Kushiel's Chosen (2 page)

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Authors: Jacqueline Carey

Tags: #High Fantasy

BOOK: Kushiel's Chosen
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"In Cassiel's name," he said, his voice rusty from hours of disuse, "I protect and serve.”

We knew each other too well, we two, to dissemble.

"No more than that?"
"No more," he said steadily, "and no less."
I sat in my chair gazing up at his beautiful face, his blue eyes weary from his long vigil. "Can there be no middle ground between us, Joscelin?"

"No." He shook his head gravely. "Phèdre ... Elua knows, I love you. But I am sworn to Cassiel. I cannot be two things, not even for you. I will honor my vow, to protect and serve you. To the death, if need be. You cannot ask for more. Yet you do."

"I am Kushiel's chosen, and sworn to Naamah," I whis pered. "I honor your vow. Can you not honor mine?"

"Only in my own way." He whispered it too; I knew how much it cost him, and closed my eyes. "Phèdre, do not ask for more."

"So be it," I said with closed eyes.

When I opened them, he was gone.

Two
When last I entered the City of Elua, it was riding in triumph in the entourage of Ysandre de la Courcel, fresh from victory over the Skaldi, with the Royal Army and Drustan mab Necthana and the Alban contingent at our side. This time, my return to the city of my birth was considerably less dramatic, although it meant a great deal to me.
It is a powerful thing, homecoming. I had come to love Montrève, with its green mountains, its rustic charm; but the City was my home, and I wept to see its white walls once more. My heart, a year and more accustomed to the sedate pace of the countryside, stirred within my breast and beat faster.
We had been long days on the road, while the brisk weather of autumn turned to the chill of impending winter. When I had travelled before, it had been with no more than my companions and I could carry on sturdy mounts. Now, we were accompanied by laden wagons of wool, product of the last shearing of the season, with an entire wagon for my goods, which included the volumes and scrolls of Yeshuite research I had accumulated within a year.
It was a goodly amount, for the followers of Yeshua were a prolific folk. Their history is ancient, reaching back long before the time when Yeshua ben Yosef, the true-gotten son of the One God, hung upon a Tiberian cross, his blood min gling with the tears of the Magdelene to beget blessed Elua. I had not yet discovered in their writings a clue to unravel the
geis
that bound Hyacinthe, but I was yet hopeful.
Also in our train was a wagon for our gear, tents and foodstuffs, and pack-mules for my retainers' possessions. There was even a pair of saddle-horses we led unridden, fresh mounts for Remy and Ti-Philippe, who dashed back and forth between our slow party and the City.

"You'll need a carriage," Fortun said pragmatically as we drew near to the City. "It won't do for the Comtesse de Montrève to ride astride, my lady. But I reckon it can wait until we've sold the wool."

"It will have to." I had supposed, before Ysandre's Chan cellor of the Exchequer had informed me that I was the inheritor of Delaunay's estate and never-claimed title, that all D'Angeline nobles had coin in abundance; in truth, it was not so. I drew a modest income from my holdings at Montrève, and I had funds from the recompense of Delau nay's City house. It had been seized upon his death, when I was judged in absentia to be his murderer. Now, my name was clear, thanks to Ysandre's intervention. In the City of Elua, it is known that I loved my lord Delaunay well and had no part in his death; as he named me his heir, so did I inherit. Still, I had no wish to dwell in the place where he died.

So, his estate of Montrève I inherited, and I accepted rec ompense for the sale of his home in the City; but the pro ceeds from the former went toward the payment and equipage of my retainers, and the latter toward the purchase of a home for us. Of the small amount that remained, I confess, a great deal went into my library.
Those purchases, I did not regret. All knowledge is worth having, Delaunay used to say; and I had every intention of putting what I garnered to good use. But it left me with little in the way of capital.

I had a diamond, once, that would have financed the be ginnings of a salon any courtesan might envy. Thinking on it, I touched my bare throat where it used to hang. I would rather have starved than profit from that gem.

As we rode nigh to the southern gate, Fortun raised the banner of Montrève; green, a crescent moon in argent upper right, and sable crag lower left. The City Guard hoisted their spears in answer, a shout sounding from the white walls— Ti-Philippe, dicing with the Guard, had been awaiting our arrival. I heard a ragged chant arise, all too familiar: the marching-song of Phèdre's Boys, born out of our desperate quest to Alba.

Glancing at Joscelin, I saw his shoulders set with resig nation.

So we entered the City.

In some parts, it was small, and in others, vaster and more lovely than I remembered, gracious and proud. Ti-Philippe scrambled down to meet us, and led us inward, along the winding course of the river toward the Palace. In the street, citizens paused and watched curiously, marking our passage. I could hear the rumors begin to spread. To the east, the hill of Mont Nuit sloped upward. The Night Court was there, with its Thirteen Houses, where I had received my earliest training; in Cereus House, First among the Thirteen. At its foot lay Night's Doorstep, my refuge, where Hyacinthe had established himself as the Prince of Travellers.

That was the past. The future lay before us. In sight of the Palace, at the juncture of a narrow street, Remy met us. After a hurried conference, Ti-Philippe took stewardship of the wool-wagons, leading them to the worsters' district.

"My lady." Remy grinned, and swept me a bow from the saddle, rising to point down the street. "Your quarters await you!"
If anyone might question the wisdom of allowing my wild sailor-lads to seek out lodgings for us, their fears would be mislaid; they were jealous of my honor, Phèdre's Boys, and no one was allowed to mock it save they themselves. Hidden away in the shadow of the Palace, it was a charming house. It had a tiny courtyard near overgrown with shade vines, a stable and a deceptively generous layout, being narrow, but deep. There was ample room for our party.
"I contracted a kitchen-mistress," Remy said anxiously, "and a day-maid. There's a lad to help with the stables, and I reckon between the three ... four of us ..." he shot a glance at Joscelin, "... we can do what else needs doing. Will it suit, my lady?"

I stood in the entry, where the winter light filtered cool and green through the hardy vines. "It will suit," I said, catching my breath in a laugh. "It will suit most admirably, chevalier!"

Thus did I take up residence as the Comtesse de Montrève in the City of Elua.

My first invitation arrived before I'd scarce gotten settled; no surprise, for I'd written to Cecilie in advance that I was returning. We had maintained a steady correspondence dur ing my time at Montrève, for in addition to being one of my oldest acquaintances—and one of the few I trusted nearly as much as I did Joscelin—she was a delightful cor respondent, her letters laden with bits of news and gossip that I relished to no end. I accepted her invitation at once.

"Phèdre." Meeting me at her door, Cecilie Laveau-Perrin enfolded me unhesitatingly in a warm embrace that I re turned without reserve. Her light-blue eyes, set in a face no less beautiful for encroaching age, glowed as she held me at arm's length. "You look well. Country living must suit you." Smiling, she gave Joscelin the kiss of greeting. "And Joscelin Verreuil! I am still jealous of Cassiel's claim upon you."

Joscelin flushed to the roots of his hair and murmured something in reply; he had been more gracious, the last time. "With your permission," he said stiffly to me, "I'll see if I can find the scholars' hall that Seth ben Yavin spoke of, and return for you in a few hours' time. I'm sure you and the Lady Cecilie have much to discuss."
"As you wish." It was awkward, this formality between us; I could have bitten my tongue at the tone of my voice, though it was no cooler than his.
Cecilie raised her eyebrows, but said nothing until we were seated in her lesser parlour, the cozily appointed room where she received her intimate friends. A maidservant poured wine and brought a tray of delicacies, withdrawing with the immaculate discretion of one trained to serve an adept of Cereus House. "So did the strain of your star-crossed union prove too great, my dear?" she asked then, kindly.

"Not in Montrève, no." I shook my head and took a sip of wine, then drew a deep breath. "I am returning to the Service of Naamah."

"Ah." Cecilie rested her chin on her fingertips, regarding me. "And Messire Joscelin grieves. Well, I did not think Naamah had done with you, Phèdre," she said, surprising me. "You were born to be one of the great ones, not to waste your youth on sheep-shearings and barn dances. How old are you? Twenty?"

'Twenty-two." A touch of indignation in my tone made her smile.

"You see? Scarce out of girlhood." She toyed with a strand of pearls, but her pale blue eyes were shrewd. "Although I'll allow that you've seen and done things no Night Court adept could survive. Still, in ten years, you might come into your prime. Is it only that, my dear, or is it An afiel Delaunay's game you seek to play?"

I should have known she would suspect it. Cècilie had

been the one to train us, Alcuin and me, in the arts of love; she had also been one of the few who knew what Delaunay was about. For a brief moment, I considered confiding in her. I trusted her discretion. But it would worry her; and it could endanger her, too. And unlike Joscelin and my chev aliers, Cecilie was no warrior sworn to my protection, skilled in the arts of defense. It cast Delaunay's dilemma in a different light, and for the first time I sympathized with his desire to shield me in ignorance.
"I'm sworn to Naamah, and not to House Courcel," I said lightly. "Unlike my lord Delaunay. But you may be sure, I've not forgotten what I learned in his service. I will keep my ears open and my wits about me. If I learn aught that Ysandre should know ..." I shrugged. "So much the better."
Not entirely convinced, Cecilie leveled her gaze at me. "Be careful, Phèdre."

As an adept of Cereus House, she had cause to know. In the Thirteen Houses of the Court of Night-Blooming Flow ers, Naamah's Service was an item of faith. As Naamah had lain down with strangers on blessed Elua's behalf, so did we; but we were mortal, and where power intersects with pleasure, there is danger. Adepts of the Night Court dabbled with great caution in political intrigue. As a peer of the realm, I risked all the more. No one living had done it.

Placing a candied rose petal on my tongue, I let it melt in a wash of sweetness. "I will," I promised. "What news have I missed?"

"Ah, well!" Her eyes danced. "Despite the Cruarch's visit this summer, it grows obvious that the Queen is not with child. Now that winter stares us in the teeth, speculation mounts as to whether or not she will take a lover; and if so, whom."

"Does it indeed?" I murmured. "Do you think she will?" We were D'Angeline.
Love as thou wilt.
She would not have been the first, nor the last.

"No," Cecilie said decisively, shaking her head before sipping her wine. "Ysandre was raised as a pawn on the playing field of marital alliance; she knows how to play the game and commit to none. Any mind, I hear she is com mitted to him. If House Courcel provides an heir, he or she will be half Picti."

It was true; I had reason to know it. Against all odds, the marriage of the Queen of Terre d'Ange and the Cruarch of Alba was a love match—and the Strait that divided them was nigh as deep as the one between Joscelin and me.
"Still," Cecilie continued, "it is open season on the po sition of Queen's paramour, and contenders abound."

"If Ysandre is not troubled, I'll not trouble myself." I took up the wine-jug and refilled our glasses. "What of the Skaldi? Have the borders been quiet?"

"As the grave." There was satisfaction in her tone. "Som erville was awarded a duchy, you know; sovereign in L'Agnace. No one disputes it. The Royal Army's been ap proved to stand down, now. Camaelines hold the border."
"D'Aiglemort's men?" I glanced up, surprised. Cecilie nodded.
"The Unforgiven, they call themselves," she said softly. "They bear black shields."

We were both silent a moment, remembering. Only a few of the Allies of Camlach had survived the battle of Troyes- le-Mont, where the Skaldi warlord Waldemar Selig had united his people, leading an invasion against Terre d'Ange. He had had reason to believe he would prevail, encouraged in his endeavors by Melisande Shahrizai, who played a deep-laid game. I know, for she sold me into slavery among the Skaldi when I learned her plan. I do not think she meant me to survive. I did, though. In the deepest winter of Skaldia, I survived to become Selig's mistress, and I learned his plan, escaping in time to warn Ysandre. It was enough, by the nearest of margins. Ysandre sent me to Alba, and I brought the Cruarch's army to my country's aid. In the end, only Melisande escaped unscathed.

I could have done none of it without Joscelin.

The Allies of Camlach had been vassals of the traitorous Duc Isidore d'Aiglemort, Melisande's ally, whose fatal con spiracy had opened the door for the Skaldic invasion and

nearly brought ruin on the nation. Isidore d'Aiglemort is dead now, and he died a hero at the end.

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