Kushiel's Chosen (31 page)

"Kerney and Geoff went back because they were ready to dig ditches instead of graves," Octave reminded him wearily; he had ridden far in the last twelve hours too, I could tell. He shook his head. "I don't know, my lady. We're L'Agnacites, we muster to the Comte ... excuse me, the Duc ... de Somerville's banner. If his lordship doesn't know, one of his subcommanders should."

"Mayhap." He said it reluctantly. "But they were owed pay in arrears. I don't think any of 'em would have foregone that. After all, the army's been ordered to stand down."

Fortun consulted his map of Troyes-le-Mont. "What of Phanuel Buonard?" he asked.

The L'Agnacites exchanged glances. "No," one of them said eventually. "I remember him. He's the one found poor Davet at the gate. He's Namarrese, he is. He didn't have the balls to become a Black Shield." Glancing at me, he coughed. "Begging my lady's pardon."

"Anael's scions love the land," I said softly, "as Camael's love the blade. So they say." I did not add that for this reason, no Camaeline had been named Royal Commander in six hundred years. Tarren d'Eltoine would have known what the kings and queens of Terre d'Ange had held true for centuries: Battle for the sake of honor may be a fine thing for bards to sing of, but it is no way to preserve one's homeland. I gazed toward the base of the mountains, picking out the Yeshuite party in the distance, wending its way toward the southern pass, sunlight glinting off the steel plates of their Unforgiven escort. "My lord Captain." I turned back to him. "I am grateful and more for your aid. You have given more than I could ever have required. But now, I fear, we must depart. There is a ship sailing from Marsilikos that will not wait for us."

He bowed to me from the saddle, then dismounted and went down on one knee, bending his head briefly. "As you must, my lady. I wish you good hunting." Rising, he mounted smoothly, guiding his horse with his knees. "Remember," he said, raising his shield. Like his men's, it was dead black, save a single diagonal stripe of gold to mark his rank. "If you have need of the Unforgiven, we will answer to you. Commend us to your lord, Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève!"

With that, the Captain of Southfort thundered after his men. We sat, Joscelin, my chevaliers and I, gazing after him.

"Well," I said thoughtfully. "Shall we go to Marsilikos?"

Now, I was not so sure. And there was Joscelin.

The weather held fair and balmy, and we made camp in a pleasant site surrounded by great cedars. A spring burbled from a cleft in the mossy rocks, dark and cold, tasting faintly loamy. Remy, who had begun his service with Admiral Quintilius Rousse as apprentice to the ship's cook, made a passing good stew of salt beef and dried carrots, seasoning it with red wine and a generous handful of thyme. The Unforgiven had made certain our stores were well stocked ere we departed.

"Joscelin." It was enough, for now, to say his name. I sat gazing at our campfire, watching a thin line of flame lick at the underside of the branch. He fed it carefully, twig by twig, branch by branch, until it blazed merrily and sent sparks into the night air. So we had done in Skaldia, the two of us, with numb fingers and prayers on our half-frozen lips. 'Twas all so different, now. "Do you remember—"

Joscelin cut me off with a mute glance, and I held my tongue until he spoke, fiddling with a bit of tinder. "You know, I didn't want to believe it," he mused, throwing the debris into the fire. "You think it's true. There is a Cassiline Brother involved."

"I don't know." I wrapped my arms around my knees. "I found nothing to suspect in the list Thelesis gathered, but I think it is likely, yes, based on what we heard today." I stole a look at his brooding profile. "Even if there is, Joscelin ... too many strings have been pulled, by someone with influ ence. A Cassiline could not have arranged for so many guardsmen to go missing. It cannot be only that."

"But it's part of it." He tipped his head back, gazing at the stars; I saw his throat move as he swallowed. "Despite it all, the training and the oaths, one of my own Brethren. We
are
human, Phèdre. Elua knows, we are that. But to break that faith, that training?" Joscelin drew a shaky breath and let it out slowly. "I never even went home. I promised my father, at Troyes-le-Mont, do you remember? And Luc. We were going to go to Verreuil."

"I remember." Sorrow rose, inexorable as the tide, and mingled with it, guilt. It was my fault. I had dragged him with me to the City instead, compelled by the strength of his vow. The Perfect Companion. "We were going to go this spring, you and I."

I had forgotten it, until then; forgotten the ringing in my head, the bronze edge of power that shaded my desperate words. I ran my hands blindly over my face. "I know," I murmured. "I remember."

Until he took me into his arms, I did not realize my body was trembling. I laid my head on his chest, and the worst part of a long-pent fear and tension went out of me with a shudder, grounding itself in his warmth. Joscelin tightened his arms and stared over my head into the fire. "It scares me too, Phèdre," he said. "It scares me, too."

Well, I have endured worse hardships than a cold bed, and I was not going to press the matter. Let Joscelin stand at the crossroads as long as need be, for while he stood, he stood at my side, and when all was said and done, for all the guilt I felt, I was grateful for it. One day, he must choose, and I was not so sure as I had been what path it would be.

Nor where mine would lead without him.

Of all the cities in Terre d'Ange, it is one of the oldest—a rich port from time out of mind, since the Hellenes began to conquer the sea. Tiberium held it, too, but since that mighty empire fell, it has belonged to us. It has a deep, protected harbor, and by tradition, the Royal Fleet anchors along the northern coast, warding off the threat of piracy. Ganelon de la Courcel ordered the fleet to the Straits after Lyonette de Trevalion's rebellion, fearing to trust to the loy alty of Azzalle. Ysandre, who restored peace in the prov ince, had returned the Royal Fleet to its proper berth. Small wonder that my chevaliers were excited. For them, it was somewhat akin to returning home.

If she was still, she would be expecting me.

I sent Remy and Ti-Philippe in advance, racing unbur dened up the hill to announce our arrival, while Fortun bar gained with a pair of shrewd dock-urchins to aid us with the packhorses. In truth, I was not certain what welcome we would find; I had been too long with my own suspicions, and too short a time a member of the peerage to expect the best. It is something to inspire awe, the Dome of the Lady, towering walls of white marble rising far above the city, gold leaf gleaming atop the dome. Siovalese architects were hired to build it, and there is a story about a lost ship being saved by seeing it shine on the far horizon like a second sun, a hundred leagues at sea.

At any rate, I was soon to be shamed by my own doubts.

The golden Dome reared up against a blue sky as we made our approach, flanked at its base by white minarets. It is a splendid structure, and highly defensible, walled fortifications encircling the peak of the hill. The standard of the Lady of Marsilikos fluttered from the minarets and the crenellated tops of the gate-tower; two golden fish, head to tail, forming a circle on a sea-blue field. It is ancient, too, by our reckoning—Eisheth's sign.

This day, the gates stood open, and a guardsman sounded a long trumpet blast to herald our arrival. They bowed as we rode through, a double line of guards, clad in light shirts of chain-mail over sea-blue livery.