Kushiel's Chosen (44 page)

Read Kushiel's Chosen Online

Authors: Jacqueline Carey

Tags: #High Fantasy

BOOK: Kushiel's Chosen
3.58Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
"And you think I can persuade the Queen to agree to this," I said.

"Yes." The Doge folded his hands in his lap and gave his canny smile. "I think you can. And I think you might. Be cause it involves blasphemy, does it not? And Asherat-of-the-Sea, in her wisdom and mercy, has seen fit to make this known to you, a god's chosen. You gave your promise to sing for me, Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève. I have named my song. Will you sing it?"

"I might," I said evenly. "What do you offer me, my lord?"

His smile broadened. "What does every good singer require? My silence. Whatever you pursue on your Queen's behalf, I leave you free to follow it. Until I know of a surety who plots against me, I shall remain a doddering old fool, with occasional moments of clarity. Let my children and grandchildren see you a charming adornment; I will not re veal you a weapon."

I regarded him thoughtfully. "Someone in your Palace gave shelter to the Lady Melisande Shahrizai, my lord. Someone with access to your wife's astrologer, who, by the way, took his own life rather than reveal what he knew. If you had that knowledge, we might have a bargain."

"If I had that knowledge, I'd use it." The Doge returned my regard with a hooded stare. "Rudely though he asked, I have given the Queen's representative Benedicte de la Courcel every support in uncovering D'Angeline traitors. It is not my fault he failed. All I ask is your Queen's support in my effort to do the same among my folk—within my walls, and not hers. Do I have your pledge?"
"Yes, my lord." I could not see that he had left me an out. "I will report honestly to my Queen what I know, and represent your request fairly. No more can I do."

"No more do I ask," he said equably. Nodding, Cesare Stregazza began to work at the clasp on a great collar of pearls he wore, that overlay the neckline of his crimson robes. His trembling fingers failed him and he made to ring a bell to summon his servants, then paused, thinking better of it. "Here, child, help me with this."

I rose obediently and went to his side, undoing the clasp easily; it is a portion of the training one undergoes as a Servant of Naamah, removing all items of clothing and jew elry with grace. Strung on gold wire, the pearls slithered over my hand in a broad, sinuous band, and I proffered them to the Doge.

"No." He shook his head, fine wisps of hair flying below his crimson cap. "That is for you, little Contessa. A patron's gift, is it not? See, I know something of the customs of your people. Say that your singing has pleased me, and I would honor your Naamah. Mayhap she will look kindly on the Beloved of Asherat-of-the-Sea." He raised one shaking hand to caress my face. "I might honor her differently, were I a younger man. Then again, perhaps it is well. Asherat is a jealous goddess, and I think you a dangerous obsession for any mortal man."

"My lord is too kind," I said a trifle wryly; I daresay the truth of his words cut close. "Thank you."

So it was that I came to walk out of the Doge's Palace wearing a royal ransom in pearls clasped about my neck, and heard for the first time in that place murmuring speculation in my wake that did not die after a single comment.

It made me uncomfortable in La Serenissima as it never did at home in Terre d'Ange.

Which is why, instead of going directly back to my rented lodgings, I did something instead that may or may not have been foolish, though it had no bearing on our quest. Fortun had accompanied me that day, and I bid him order the boat man to take us to the courtesan's quarter in La Serenissima.

The man stared at Fortun and then at me, and questioned Fortun once, uncertain he had understood his D'Angeline- accented Caerdicci. Joscelin would never have let me do it in the first place, and Remy or Ti-Philippe would have made a bawdy jest of it. Fortun merely persisted, for which I was grateful.

Shaking his head, the boatman took us a little way down the Great Canal, then turned off into the lesser waterways. Gradually, the houses grew smaller and meaner, poor wooden constructions. If my sense of direction was any good, we were not far from where Magister Acco had lodged. Presently we glided beneath a rickety footbridge and came to a quarter where the doors of the houses were painted a bright red, and there were a good many moorings with gondoli and even a gilded bissone tied at dock.

Women in cheaply dyed attire leaned languidly on the balconies above us, calling lewdly to Fortun, promising him such pleasures as his highborn lady—which I presumed was myself—would never deliver. Several of them, noting his D'Angeline features, offered to service him for free, and one of their number, teetering on high pattens along the muddy walk bordering the canal, leered and flipped her skirts up at him, exposing herself. From within the narrow houses, we heard the sounds of shouting, laughter and drunken revelry. I thought of the ordered elegance and pride of the Thirteen Houses of the Night Court, and could have wept.

"Enough, my lady?" Fortun asked me; he looked rather ill himself. The Doge had guessed well when he guessed that the subornation of the Oracle of Asherat would perturb me. Little could he have known how much more blasphemous this spectacle would appear to D'Angeline eyes. I wondered that Prince Benedicte could have stood it as long as he did, and understood better why he secluded himself in the Little Court.
"Enough," I said firmly. Rolling his eyes, the boatman stuck his long-handled oar into the waters of the canal and turned the gondola. Like the royal scions of Elua, I fled back to the sanctuary of the familiar.

At our rented home, we found the grinning team of Ti- Philippe and Remy, who had spent the day scouting out news of the errant Phanuel Buonard, the simple Namarrese soldier on whom, it seemed, an entire conspiracy devolved. Between my visit to the Doge and the courtesans' quarter, I wanted nothing more than to soak in a long bath, but curiosity compelled me to hear out their news.

"We found him," Ti-Philippe said with satisfaction. "Took a whole day fishing on the lagoon and bribing other fishermen to talk with cheap brandy, my lady, but we landed the bastard, begging your pardon! He's wed into the Pidari, a family of glassblowers—"

"Who," Remy interrupted him, "have a cousin with no knack for the trade, that they reckoned better off casting nets than breaking bottle-necks. And when we told
him
we served a great lady who might be minded to commission an entire leaded-glass window for the Queen of Terre d'Ange herself if the Pidari were willing to show her their studios, why, he fell all over himself to make the introduction!"

Their enthusiasm was contagious, and I could not but laugh. "Well," I said, when I'd regained control of myself. "Her majesty is going to be very surprised to learn what she's committed to today. Can he take us tomorrow?"

Remy shook his head. "He's got to get their consent. Very tight, these glassblowers; trade secrets and all. But he'll take us first thing the day after."

It was at that moment that Joscelin, a day and a half absent, chose to make his return. He stood blinking in the slanting late-afternoon sunlight of the salon, gazing around at the four of us, the maps still spread on the dining table. "What is it?" he asked, frowning. "Have you learned something?"
"You might say that," I said.
THIRTY-NINE
It took some time to explain the last two days' events to Joscelin, though he was quick to grasp their meaning, gazing thoughtfully at Fortun's maps and the markings thereon.
When I was done, our eyes met in that old, familiar silence.

"Percy de Somerville," he said softly.

"He sent them all to La Serenissima." I twined a lock of my hair, still damp from my bath — I'd made him wait that long to hear the news, at least — about my fingers. "But why?"

"L'Envers is clever enough to set him up," Joscelin said reluctantly. "If anyone is."

"By pinning suspicion on himself?" I shook my head. "It's a long reach."

"I know." Joscelin traced the path of a corridor on the map, not meeting my eyes. "And Ghislain? We put our lives in his hands. We put
Drustan's
life in his hands."

"I know." I sighed. "I know, I know! And Ysandre put the life of the entire realm in Percy de Somerville's hands, and he did not fail her. And yet ... oh, Joscelin, I don't know. If I could make sense of it, it would be easier to believe. Something's missing. The pieces don't fit."

"Yes. Still." He looked soberly at me. "We need to go to Benedicte with this, Phèdre. You've done enough. He needs to know. And Ysandre. Whichever it is, whysoever they did it ... if she's planning on making the
progressus, s
he'll be leaving the nation. And unless she's given reason not to, she'll leave Barquiel L'Envers as her regent and Percy de Somerville in command of the Royal Army. Either way ...”

"I know." I propped my chin on folded hands. "Let me talk to this Phanuel Buonard. He's the last link. If we can shed more light on this ... This is big, Joscelin. I don't dare go to Prince Benedicte unless I'm as sure as I can be. Not with this kind of supposition."

After a moment, he gave a reluctant nod. "Buonard, and then straight to the Little Court. Whatever he tells us, even if 'tis naught. Agreed?"

"Agreed." The sound of splashing and laughter in the ca nal outside caught my ear, and I glanced toward the window. Joscelin rose swiftly and went to the balcony, where his appearance was greeted with jeering shouts from below.

He returned, expressionless, holding back the curtains. "Callers for you, my lady."

Twisting my damp hair into a cable over one shoulder, I passed him to enter onto the balcony and gaze down. The Immortali's bissone rocked on the canal below as Severio stood unsteadily, fellow clubsmen leaning on their oars and shouting encouragement. Water rippled and their torches cast wavering reflections across it. In the prow, gilded Asherat's slender arms tilted to and fro with the rocking of the boat, as if the goddess reached to dip her hands in the Great Canal.

"Phèdre, Phèdre, Phèdre!" Severio cried drunkenly. "You made me a promise, and four days have ignored me! Now my heart is like to break! Say you will come tomorrow for the War of the Flowers, or I swear, I will throw myself in the canal this minute and end it all!"

His voice echoed across the water, bouncing off the ele gant houses. Inside windows all along the canal, I saw lamps being kindled. "My lord," I called, "you will wake the whole Sestieri. If I promise to attend, will you go home quietly?"

"For a kiss, I will!" Severio made to take a step forward and the bissone pitched wildly; I daresay he would have gone headlong into the water if a few of the Immortali hadn't caught onto the dagged hem of his doublet, dragging him back and laughing uproariously. "Phèdre, a man's heart and loins could starve on the crumbs you throw me here, where you spread a feast in Terre d'Ange! Pray, one kiss, and I'll be gone till the morrow, I swear it!"
The curtains stirred behind me and I turned to see Joscelin leaning in the shadows of the balcony door. "Do you want me to get rid of them?"

"No," I murmured. Severio and his comrades had begun to sing, loudly and off-key. On another balcony, someone shouted for them to be quiet, and I heard the unmistakable splash of a chamber pot being emptied in their direction, and threats and protests from the Immortali. Even in dim light, I could see the disgust in Joscelin eyes. "He's the best cover I have, Joscelin, and a Doge's grandson. Don't make trouble. All I need is one more day." Wordless, he went inside, and I turned back to the balcony.

"Phèdre, Phèdre, come down!" Severio called, waving his arms. This time, a chorus of shouts along the canal begged him to be silent.

I leaned over the railing. "My lord, you have my word. Now go home, lest I take it back." With that, I stepped back inside, closing the balcony doors firmly and drawing the curtains closed. The shouting lasted a few minutes longer, then dwindled into silence. I looked for Joscelin, but he was gone.

There was no reason for me to break my word on the morrow and naught to be done before we could meet with the family of Phanuel Buonard on the glassblower's isle, so I took part in the War of the Flowers—and in truth, it proved one of the more charming Serenissiman customs I witnessed. 'Tis a mock battle betwixt the sons and daughters of the Hundred Worthy Families, held in a small fortified palace that perches on one of the lesser isles, across a broad waterway from the Temple of Baal-Jupiter.

It meant I was perforce confined to the fortress with the other young women, but for once an atmosphere of such gaiety prevailed that not even I could find the company dull. We were ferried across the way to find that bushels of flow ers—roses, geraniums, gladioli, love-in-a-mist, orchids and violets—provisioned the fortress, as well as eggs blown hoilow and filled with scraps of bright confetti or colored flour. These, it seemed, were our armaments.
At Baal-Jupiter's temple, the young men were given the priests' blessing, and set forth in a vast armada of gondoli to storm the fortress. Like the truce-parties, all enmity was set aside; this was a courting ritual, one of the highlights of the summer. We leaned from the tower windows and watched them come, oars flashing in the sunlight, swift prows cutting the water.
When they arrived, shouting with laughter and high spir its, the gondoli swarmed the base of the tower like a shoal of dark fish and the young men in their doublets and striped hose made a riot of color within them. We leaned from the windows and pelted them with flowers, until the air was filled with a petal-storm. They returned our salvos in kind, tossing nosegays and sweets, sachets and trinkets, begging us to open the sea gate or lower a rope. Severio was there, catching my eye and pleading far more winsomely than he had last night, but it was the daughter of a member of the Consiglio Maggiore who caught a pomander and weakened first, throwing out a rope ladder such as had been provided us, tied with gay ribbons.

At that, the game shifted, and the young men in their gondoli vied for position, that they might make the daring leap to catch the rope ladder. Most fell instead, splashing into the lagoon, to be hauled out by their fellows, and any who gained the ladder became the target of the flour and confetti eggs. The Immortali had allowed Remy and Ti-Philippe to crew with them, and it was their efforts that brought Benito Dandi's gondola in reach of the ladder. Adept sailors, they grinned and held the ladder for him. Despite our best efforts—Giulia Latrigan threw an egg that burst in a profusion of blue flour and coated half his head— Benito gained the tower and claimed a kiss from the first woman he caught, which I made certain was not me.

Other books

Dirty Nails by Regina Bartley
Big Goodbye, The by Lister, Michael
The Wedding Circle by Ashton Lee
Jumping to Conclusions by Christina Jones
Fairy Keeper by Bearce, Amy
How Sweet It Is by Alice Wisler
Brett's Little Headaches by Silver, Jordan
Your Gravity: Part One by L. G. Castillo