Kushiel's Chosen (37 page)
dazzle
me with speed! As to Naamah's Service, I have given my answer. For the other..." I touched his cheek with my fingertips and smiled, "... if you would court me, why then, 'tis romance, and a different game altogether! You will not win the hand of the Comtesse de Montrève by the same means that you gain the services of Phèdre nó Delaunay. I have heard that Serenissiman men are among the most romantic in the world. I would hope that means somewhat more than grappling in the marketplace."
And such veils! Gauze silk, I have seen aplenty; I have worn it in my guise as Mara, and I have worn it too in the Service of Naamah, where the Pasha and the Hareem Girl is a common fantasy for male patrons. These veils were not gauze, but the finest silver mesh, glittering in the sun and strung with clear beads of glass that caught the light and flashed. It was, in all truth, a lovely conceit, and would it not have been blasphemous, I've no doubt that it would have been taken up as a fashion in Terre d'Ange long ago.
I glanced up to see several of the Immortali surrounding an innocuous-looking man in commoner's garb, a yellow cap atop his dark hair. "I meant no offense," he said, a touch of uneasy defiance in his voice. "I do not worship Asherat-of-the-Sea. By our commandments, it is unlawful for me to lower my gaze before false idols and prophets."
Until then, I hadn't known him for a Yeshuite; then, I did. I didn't know yet that Serenissiman law required all followers of Yeshua to identify themselves with yellow caps, but I knew the accent—and I knew their sacred pre cepts. The Rebbe had made sure of that; I could quote Mo ishe's Tablets verbatim.
"And by
our
commandments," the Immortali said men acingly, "you should have your eyes put out!" He drew his belt-knife and nodded to his companions. "Grab him!"
The crowd scattered back, abandoning the Yeshuite; the Immortali charged. They got so far as to snatch the cap from his hair, and I heard, ringingly, the sound of two daggers clearing their sheathes in precise simultaneity.
"My lady." Ti-Philippe appeared at my side and spoke in irritated D'Angeline. "It is Southfort all over again, and I do not wish to die for that idiot's heroics, but if you ask me to, I will."
It was over in seconds, the Immortali giving way good- naturedly, forgetting their quarrel; two of them clapped Joscelin on the shoulder, which he bore with frigid tolerance. Ti-Philippe retrieved the Yeshuite's cap and brought it to me. I made my way over and spoke to the poor man. "Are you all right?" I asked in Caerdicci, handing him his cap.
"Yes, thank you." He replied absently in the same tongue, settling the yellow cap atop his curls, his gaze fixed intently on Joscelin. He lacked the traditional sidelocks, I noted, and his hands clenched into fists with the undissipated force of his anger. One of the schismatics, I thought; even so, his interest in Joscelin was peculiar. All the more so when he murmured beneath his breath in Habiru, "And he shall carve out the way before you, and his blades shall shine like a star in his hands."
"And miss such a glorious opportunity?" The leader of the Perpetui smiled and drew a short truncheon from his belt. "I think not."
And with that, he swung hard at the head of Severio, who ducked with an oath and planted a punch in his midsection. The Perpetui leader grunted, and in short order, fists and bats were flying, and the crowd was scattering anew. I saw some of the strolling lovers watching, one of the young women clapping her hands in glee at the entertainment. A horde of Perpetui descended on Severio, scion of their Sestieri's greatest enemy; he struggled against them, shielding his head. Pietro Contini had caught his breath and was roaring for blood. The Immortali flung themselves into the fray, and I heard Ti-Philippe's voice call out my name like a paean as my chevaliers waded into battle. "Phè-dre! Phèdre!"
He
need not have worried. Cursing in a most un-Cassiline fashion, Joscelin stood guard before his stall, and fought without drawing his daggers. One spinning kick to the head of a would-be assailant sent one of the Perpetui staggering away, and an unceremonious chop with a vambraced forearm caused another to measure his length on the paving stones of the Great Square; after that, they stayed well away.
that"
Ti-Philippe enthused later, lying with head tilted back in the Immortali's bissone, "was a good fight!"
There were bruises and lumps all around, and I was not even certain who had won. The Irnmortali could not have been in better spirits. "Your men look like girls, Contessa," Benito Dandi said to me, "but they fight like tigers. Like ten tigers! No wonder Lord Marco has not tried to settle with the Little Court by force."
"Benito," Severio murmured futilely. "We should not talk politics."
"My lord," I addressed him. "At Midwinterfest, you were fearful that your father would lose Prince Benedicte's sup port, and with it his bid for the Doge's Seat, should election prove imminent. Well, and from what I hear, the first has proved true, and the latter is likely. What has come to pass?"
Severio sighed, but he answered candidly; I had guessed aright, he had no secrets from the Irnmortali. "Benedicte's son by the Tourais woman was bora this spring," he said bluntly. "And my grandfather named him heir to all his D'Angeline titles and holdings. My mother ..." he searched for words, "... took exception, and they have not spoken since. You see, my father was counting on the leverage that gave him, to influence the Consiglio Maggiore. Without the promise of D'Angeline support..." He shrugged. "His election to the Sestieri Dogal is secure, but the Consiglio might just decide that a naval commander could do more for La Serenissima."
"Why not make peace with Prince Benedicte?" I asked. "It seems to me your father has little to lose, and much to gain."
"My mother will not swallow the insult, that her own father should cut her off, and he is adamant in leaving his D'Angeline properties to this, this ... puling infant, this Imriel de la Courcel, they named him." Severio made a wry face. "My half-uncle, as it were. Mother has not spoken to Grandfather since the day he announced it. And she has a right to her anger," he added reluctantly. "By Serenissiman law, my grandfather cannot name a woman his successor. Mother cannot inherit the Little Court."
The question, happily for me, came from Ti- Philippe, struggling to a sitting position, kerchief clamped to his nose. If he'd not asked it, I would have, and just as incredulously. "What do you mean he can't appoint a woman his heir?"
"It is Serenissiman law," Severio repeated patiently. "He could cede it to my father's custody in her name, but he is loathe to do it since Dominic's betrayal. Don't worry, though." He caught up my hand and toyed with my fingers, smiling. "Grandfather will come 'round in the end. Sestieri Angelus has no viable candidate; he must endorse someone, or lose all influence in La Serenissima. If Father cannot per suade Mother to swallow her pride and beg forgiveness, then perhaps a D'Angeline love-match will do the trick."
And if it does not, I thought, smiling back at Severio, mayhap a D'Angeline malcontent dropping Alban trade in Marco Stregazza's lap will do the same, Well, my young lord, you are not so canny as your parents, but you play well into their scheme. And this is all very interesting, but it does not answer me one thing.
Where in the seven hells is Melisande Shahrizai?
"Fortun," I said gravely. "Of you, I ask the hardest chore. I have dropped word into the ears of Marco and Marie-Celeste Stregazza, and I am minded to see if it spins out any thread that might lead to Melisande. It may be too late, indeed, but I would be pleased if you would keep an eye on the Doge's Palace, and follow any Stregazzan retainers where they might go."
"Of a surety, my lady," Fortun said quietly. I had chosen him because I knew I could rely on him, for obedience and discretion alike.
Anyone seeking to bring down the Little Court might well be her ally."