I would have foregone it, though, if Joscelin had come willingly.
The Palace Guard admitted me without comment, cool and perfunctory. They had no orders to keep me out, though I daresay I'd have been turned away if I had asked to see Ysandre. But Nicola was the Queen's cousin, and they allowed me passage on her explicit order.
Mayhap it would have been wiser to seek solace in Kushiel's temple, but it was a relief, after all that had gone before, to surrender to a patron's whim. This time, Nicola's bindings held true to a knot, and there was not the least I could undo. Eyes bright with mingled curiosity and cruelty, she wielded the flogger unmercifully until it drew blood, moving me to violent pleasures, which I repaid with all the ardor with which Joscelin had accused me, until she was sated.
Afterward, she had chilled wine and fruits served, until I said it was time for me to go.
"No," Nicola said thoughtfully. "I don't think so. You have called the day and time of repaying your debt to me, Phèdre, and I would claim a forfeit for it. I had your promise that I might question you, but I've not done it yet, have I?" "No, my lady." I met her L'Envers eyes and hid a frisson of fear. She was, after all, Barquiel's ally, and I ran a risk in coming here.
Nicola smiled lazily. She knew; patrons almost always do. "All the Palace says you have fallen out of favor with Ysandre," she said softly. "But I do not believe it. Think of us what you like, but House L'Envers does not break faith with her followers for less than a mortal offense, and my cousin the Queen is as much L'Envers as she is Courcel. What game do you play now, Phèdre nó Delaunay?"
I did not answer, but said instead, "One rumor says Marmion Shahrizai rode straight for the Aragonian border, and has not been seen since. Did you offer him sanctuary?"
Her brows creased in a frown, then she laughed again, ruefully, and shook her head. "I should know better, after the first time. All right, then. Yes. I did." Nicola gave me a long, level look. "Marmion had word of what Barquiel was about, and he came to me the eve before, and told me the truth about the fire. I believed him. I do not disagree with my cousin the Duc's motives, but his methods ..." She shrugged. "He threw Marmion's life away, at that hearing. I told him if the worst fell out, the House of Aragon would receive him, if he made it there alive. I gave him Ramiro's name, and my word as surety. That, and no more."
"Your husband would take him in?" It surprised me, a
little.
"Marmion likes to drink, and gamble. He's an excellent courtier. Why not?" Nicola gave another shrug. "Ramiro knows the merits of indulging my whims, and it does not cross de Morhban's edict. Aragonia is exile. Believe me, I know. Will you answer me now?"
I shook my head, slowly.
"Blessed Elua!" She spat out the words like a curse, rising to pace restlessly about the room. "You and Barquiel... Phèdre, you're on the same side, only you're both too mistrustful to see it. Can't you see that with his resources and your wiles, you'd get a lot further working together?" She shot me a frustrated look. "Why would I lie? Any influence I hold in Aragonia is wholly dependent on Ysandre's retaining the throne of Terre d'Ange."
"Not exactly," I murmured, glancing at her. "Your cousin the Duc would do just as well, I think. And if he wishes me out of the way, he would be indebted to you for aiding him in the process. He's already disposed of Marmion, and Elua help me, I gave him the means to do it. Would I be wise, you think, to trust?" I shook my head. "Barquiel is more enemy than ally, and Ysandre has withdrawn her favor. Our debt is settled, and in Naamah's eyes, I owe you naught. I am not fool enough to linger here, my lady."
"So I heard. One of your chevaliers was reported buying travelling stores in the marketplace this very morning." She said it matter-of-factly; I hadn't doubted that the eyes of the City would be on my household, after last night. Nicola's gaze lingered on my face, and it was decisive. "Phèdre, lis ten to me," she said, her voice low and urgent, stooping in front of my chair to grasp my hands. "I don't know what you're about and when you come to it, I don't blame you for not telling me. But what I do know for truth, I know all the same. Cousin Barquiel is not a traitor." She drew a deep breath, paling slightly, and continued. "The password of House L'Envers is 'burning river.' If you need aid—mine, Barquiel's, even Ysandre's—any scion of the House is honor-bound to give it unquestioning."
"Why are you telling me this?" My voice shook ask ing it.
"What does it matter?" Releasing my hands, Nicola stood and smiled wryly. "Whatever I told you, you'd only come up with half a dozen reasons, each more sinister than the last. As it happens, I've seen my House torn apart by suspicion and enmity once, and I don't care to see it again. Your lord Delaunay and my cousin Isabel pulled Rolande de la Courcel in twain; I don't need to watch you and Barquiel do the same to Ysandre. But it doesn't matter what you believe. Just remember it."
I wanted to believe her; I wanted to question her. In the end, I dared do neither. At the door of her quarters, she gave me the kiss of farewell, and kept me for a moment, one hand on my arm, a peremptory touch that stirred my desires.
"Cousin Barquiel would have my tongue for what I told you," Nicola said quietly. "But he'll answer to it all the same. Do me a favor, and don't put it to the test unless you're truly in need."
"If you will do me the kindness of nursing your suspicions in silence," I murmured.
Nicola laughed at that and kissed me again, this time as a patron rather than a peer. "If you hold to that bargain as well as this one, I will promise it." Releasing me, she cocked her head as I regained my composure. "I like you, Phèdre," she said with regret. "For whatever reason you're going, I'm sorry for it. I'll miss you."
"So will I," I said, and meant it.
I made the rest of my farewells that day, which were few; 'tis an astonishing thing, how quickly one's friends diminish with a Queen's disfavor. That it meant we had succeeded made it no less painful to find doors closed which had once opened eagerly to my name. Even Diànne and Apollonaire de Fhirze would not see me. It served to make me mindful that Nicola had meant what she said. Either she was foolish enough to risk Ysandre's displeasure—and I did not think she was—or she was sure our roles were but a deception. It gave me no ease, when I thought of Barquiel L'Envers, and the fresh welts on my skin, painful beneath my gown, reminded me of how rash my actions had been. I would pay for it, riding tomorrow.
Nonetheless, I locked the words in my memory: Burning river. If I dared, I would have asked Ysandre to verify it, but there was no way I dared risk contacting her without giving the lie to our falling-out, and I was dependent on that perception to gain access to anyone who might be her enemy. At any rate, I thought, there was no way I would entrust my fate to the password of House L'Envers; not even if I trusted Nicola wholly, which I did not.
My last visit was as my first had been: Cecilie Laveau- Perrin, whose door opened with alacrity. Indeed, she em braced me on the doorstep, heedless of whatever gossips might be watching. "Oh, Phèdre," she whispered in my ear. "I'm so sorry!”
Her unquestioning loyalty touched me to the core, and I struggled to hold back tears; as luck would have it, she thought I grieved at my disgrace. It is the most dire thing of all, among Naamah's Servants, to incur the displeasure of a sovereign. I spent an hour or better in her home, enduring her kindness with all the squirming unease of a guilty conscience, and at last fled, before I gave voice to the entire deception, which lay the whole time on the very tip of my tongue.
So it was done, and my farewells all said. When I returned home, all was in readiness for our departure. I spoke with Eugenie, and confirmed that she would maintain the house in my absence, giving her a purse of money and a note for my factor, should further funds be needful. I promised to write her with an address, to forward any urgent communication, as soon as we were established in La Ser-enissima. To my surprise, she burst into tears in the middle of our discussion, clutching me to her bosom. I had not known, until then, that she regarded me with such fondness; indeed, mothers have wept less, bidding farewell to their children.
At least, mine certainly did.
Whether it be through exhaustion, pain, pleasure or fear, I laid my head on the pillow and slept that night like the dead, a deep and dreamless sleep, and woke alert and ready at dawn. After strong tea and a light breakfast, our party assembled in the courtyard, Remy still yawning and knuckling his eyes. Five mounts, and three packhorses; enough, for my purposes. My chevaliers wore the livery of Montrève, black and green with my personal insignia at the breast bearing the moon and crag of Montrève, to which Delaunay's sheaf of grain and Kushiel's Dart had been added. Joscelin wore his own attire, dove-grey shirt and trousers with a long, sleeveless mandilion coat of the same drab color over it. It was close, very close, to the ashen garb of the Cassiline Brotherhood, save that his hair was braided, and not clubbed at his nape. I looked at him, his vambraces glinting in the early morning sun, daggers at his belt, sword strapped to his back, and made no comment. He looked back at me, equally expressionless. "Let us go," I said.
TWENTY-SEVEN
As the white walls of the City of Elua fell behind us, I felt my spirits begin to rise with the freedom that comes of ac tion after long confinement. It was a glorious D' Angeline spring day, a blue vault of sky and the sun bright and young overhead, the earth surging eagerly into bloom. Our horses were plump and glossy from winter's long stabling, restless with energy too long unspent. Remy sang aloud as he rode, until I had to regretfully bid him to silence; there were other travellers on the road, headed toward the City, and my household was supposed to be in disgrace.
Still, we were travelling light and making good time, and it was hard to suppress our excitement. After several hours, even Joscelin's expression grew less severe, although he took care to remain stoic when I glanced at him. No child of the City, he, but Siovalese born and bred; he thrived in the open air. I daresay if there had been mountains, he might even have smiled.
At least, until we reached the crossroads of Eisheth's Way, where it curves to within a half-day's ride of the City of Elua.
"Smell that?" Ti-Philippe stood in his stirrups, sniffing conspicuously. "Salt air," he declared, grinning at me; I knew full well he couldn't smell the sea at this distance. "A sailor's nose never lies! Two days' ride to the south, and we're in Marsilikos, my lady, with ten days' leisure in harbor."
"So we would be," I said, drawing up my mount and shifting my shoulders so that the fabric of my gown rubbed my skin. Kushiel's chosen may heal swiftly, but 'tis betimes an itchy process. "If we were going straight to Marsilikos."
They stared at me, all of them; I hadn't told them this part. I'd not told anyone. It was Joscelin who sighed. "Phèdre," he said in a tone of weary resignation. "What have you planned?"
I rested my reins on my pommel. "If we move quickly," I said, "we've time enough to reach the southernmost garrison of the Allies of Camlach and ask after the missing guardsmen."
Joscelin looked at me without replying, a strange expres sion on his face. "You want to query the Unforgiven."
I nodded.
"Bloody hell and damnation!" Ti-Philippe grumbled, fid dling with a purse at his belt. "I bought a set of new dice for this journey. Azzallese staghorn, guaranteed lucky. You mean to tell me we're riding all the way to Camlach, just to turn around and race for Marsilikos?"
"You can gamble from Marsilikos to La Serenissima," I told him, "and if your stakes hold out longer, it will be lucky indeed. Unless you'd rather not go?"
"No, my lady!" Eyes widening, he took up the reins and turned his horse's head to the north. "Whatever the seven hells you're about, I'll not be left behind. Camlach it is."
Fortun and Remy laughed. I glanced at Joscelin, who was looking away, and identified at last his odd expression. I had seen it before; he was trying not to smile.
Unaccountably, my heart lightened, and I laughed too. "To Camlach!"
The truth of Ysandre's parting words to me—her real words, in our audience—was more than evident in this journey. Terre d'Ange was at peace, and prosperous. Eisheth's Way, built by Tiberian soldiers over a millennium ago, was solid and well tended. More than once, we saw teams of masons and bricklayers at work, repairing winter's damage. There are no major cities in Camlach, but the road wends through myriad villages, and in each one, we saw the signs of contentment and prosperity—open markets, with the first fruits of spring for sale, and the last of winter's dried stores; poultry, mutton and wild game; fabrics, threads and necessities. Once we saw a Tsingani
kumpania,
outfitted with a travelling smithy. There was a line of villagers waiting, with horses to be shod, pots to be mended. I thought of Hyacinthe and all that he had sacrificed, and swallowed hard.
And flowers; there were flowers. "You see that, my lady?" Fortun asked, nodding toward a stand where a young woman buried her face in a nosegay, eyes closed with pleasure. "When common folk have coin to spare for flowers, it bodes well for the land." He laughed. "Though they say in Caerdicca Unitas that D'Angelines will buy flowers before food."
That first evening we reached the village of Aufoil, which had an inn large enough to lodge our party. If my purposes had been different, I would have been carrying letters of invitation to half a dozen noble holdings, and we would have been welcomed and feasted in style, but 'twas better this way. No one would be looking for the Comtesse de Montrève on the road to Camlach, and if they were, they'd not look in common travellers' inns.
For their part, the villagers made us welcome. The inn-keep rushed about to procure fresh bed-linens, ordering a cask of their finest wine breached. We sought to repay their hospitality with courtesy as well as coin, and Phèdre's Boys surely excelled at that, remaining in the common room to take part in revelry and drink into the small hours of the night.
It was not wasted time, either. In the morning, a bleary- eyed Fortun sketched for me a map to the closest garrison of the Unforgiven, some few days' ride away. One more day on Eisheth's Way, and then we needs must turn aside, on less travelled paths.
