And Delaunay treated her as an equal, and trusted her. When Joscelin and I escaped from Skaldia and made our return to the City, only to find ourselves condemned in ab sentia of Delaunay's murder, it was Thelesis who aided us in secrecy and won us an audience with Ysandre. I trusted her with my life, then, and I would again.
"Here." She turned to her footman, dressed in the livery of House Courcel, and nodded. He held out a large wooden box. "I brought a gift."
"You didn't have to do that," I protested. Thelesis smiled.
"I did, though," she said. "Wait and see."
We adjourned to the sitting room, and Gemma brought glasses of cordial. Thelesis sipped hers and coughed once, delicately.
"Your health still troubles you?" I asked sympathetically. She had caught the fever, that Bitterest Winter, that killed so many.
"It will pass." She pressed her hand briefly to her chest. "Go on and open it."
The box sat on the low table before us. I pried the lid loose and peered inside, pulling out wads of cotton batting to find it concealed a small marble bust. Lifting it out, my hands trembled. I held the bust aloft and gazed at it.
It was Anafiel Delaunay.
The sculptor had caught him in the prime of his thirties, in all his austere beauty; the proud features, a faint wryness to his beautiful mouth, irony and tenderness mingled in his eyes and the thick cable of his braid coiling forward over one shoulder. Not the same, of course, in its marble starkness; Delaunay's eyes had been hazel, shot with topaz, his hair a rich auburn. But the face, ah, Elua! It was him.
"Thank you," I murmured, my voice shaking; grief, un expected, hit me like a blow to the stomach. "Thank you, oh, Thelesis, Blessed Elua, I miss him, I miss him so much!" She looked at me with concern, and I tried to shake my head, waving it off. "Don't worry, it's not... I love this, truly, it's beautiful, and you are the kindest friend, it's only that I miss him, and I thought I was done with grieving, but seeing this ... and Alcuin, and Hyacinthe, and now Joscelin ..." I tried to laugh. It caught in my throat, thick with tears. "Now Joscelin wants to leave me to follow his own path, and thinks even of becoming a Yeshuite, oh, Elua, I just..."
"Phèdre." Thelesis took the bust gently, setting it on the table and waited quietly throughout the sudden onslaught of sobs that wracked me. "It's all right. It's all right to mourn. I miss him too, and he was only my friend, not my lord and mentor." It didn't matter what she said; she might have said anything in that soothing voice of hers.
"I'm so sorry." I had buried my face in my hands. I lifted it, blinking at her through tears. "Truly, this is the most wonderful thing anyone has ever given me, and I repay you like this." I said it politely, though I couldn't help sniffling.
"I'm glad you like it. I commissioned it from a sculptor who knew him well, once." She touched the bust, stroking it with a rueful touch. "He had an effect on people, Anafiel Delaunay did."
I nodded, scrubbing at my tear-stained face. "He did that."
"Yes." Thelesis regarded me with her quiet gaze. "Phèdre." One word, naming me. It is a poet's gift, to go to the heart of things in a word. "Why?"
With anyone else, I might have dissembled; I had done it already with Cecilie, and indeed, with Ysandre de la Cour cel herself. But Thelesis was a poet, and those dark eyes saw through to the bone. If not for illness, she would have gone to Alba in my stead. I owed her truth, at least.
"Wait," I said, and went to fetch my
sangoire
cloak. Re turning, I gave it to her, a bundle of velvet folds the color of blood at midnight. "Do you remember this?"
"Your cloak." Her head bowed over it. "I remember."
"It saved my life, in a way." I found I was pacing, and made myself sit. "Ysandre's man-at-arms remembered it too, the day Delaunay was killed; an
anguissette
in a
sangoire
cloak and a member of the Cassiline Brotherhood, seeking an audience with the Princess. It proved our story. But I never saw it, after that day. I took it off in Melisande Shahrizai's quarters, where she poured me a glass of cor dial." Remembering my own, I picked up my glass and drank, grimacing. "I woke up in a canvas-covered wagon, halfway to the Skaldi border, wrapped in woolen blankets and no cloak in sight." There had been considerable more between, but Thelesis had no need to know it. It involved Melisande, and the razor-sharp blades they call flechettes, and a good deal of me screaming. Everything but my
signale
and Quintilius Rousse's message for Delaunay. I have dreams about it still, and Elua help me, some of them are exquisite. "I got it back this autumn."
"How?" Thelesis asked carefully.
"Gonzago de Escabares." I rested my chin on my hands and gazed at the bust of Delaunay. "A friend of his met a woman in La Serenissima; a beautiful woman. She gave him a parcel to carry for his friend, who was going to meet the Comtesse de Montrève." I gestured at the cloak. "That was the whole of it."
"Melisande." She breathed the word. "Phèdre, have you told the Queen?"
I shook my head. "No one, except Joscelin and my boys. They know. I asked Ysandre when she received me, if she'd
heard of Melisande's doings. She has sent word to every major city from Aragonia to Caerdicca Unitas, and no one has seen her. Benedicte de la Courcel is in La Serenissima, Ysandre is sure he'd clap her in chains if she showed her face. Nothing.”
"Benedicte de la Courcel," Thelesis said tartly, "has a D'Angeline child-bride and is preparing to become a father again in his dotage. By all accounts, he'd not notice if Mel isande kicked him in the shins."
"Mayhap." I shrugged, "Be as that may, she's hidden her self well. But one thing I know, and that is that someone helped her walk out of Troyes-le-Mont alive. And whoever it was, it was someone powerful enough that none of the guardsmen posted that night even questioned him. Or her. The guard at the postern gate was killed by a dagger to the heart. Whoever did it, got close enough to do it unchallen ged." I spread my hands. "You weren't there, Thelesis. I was. I can count the number of people that would have included on my fingers. And this cloak?" I plucked at it. "That's Melisande's message, the opening gambit in her game. Whoever it was, I have a chance of finding them out."
The Queen's Poet looked sick. "You have to tell Ysandre. If not her, then at least... at least tell Caspar. He would help."
"No." I said it softly. "He's one of the ones I count, The lesis."
"Caspar?"
She looked incredulous; well she might. Gas par Trevalion, the Comte de Forcay, was one of the few people Delaunay had trusted unquestioningly. He'd even stood surety for Gaspar when the net fell on House Trevalion.
"Caspar," I said relentlessly. "Thelesis, whoever it is, they
fought
on our side, don't you see? It had to be someone we trusted, beyond thought. Those guards, they wouldn't have let the Duc de Morhban through unchallenged, sovereign of Kusheth or no. Promise me you'll say nothing. Not to Gas par, nor Ysandre ... not to anyone. Whoever it is, if they know what I'm about, it will silence them, sure as death."
"So you think," she said wonderingly, "you truly think that they will hand it to you, as a Servant of Naamah, in careless pillow talk."
"No." I shook my head. "I am not as foolish as that, I promise you. But I think the threads are there, and if I am lucky—Naamah willing, and Kushiel—they may let a loose end dangle, that I might discern the pattern they are weav ing. It is a long chance, I grant you. But it is a chance, and the only one I have. Melisande plays fair, by her own rules. If the chance were not there..." I hoisted a fold of the cloak, ". .. she would not have sent the challenge."
"I think you are mad." Only Thelesis de Mornay could have made the words gentle. "Madder than Delaunay, and I thought he was mad for honoring that ridiculous vow to Rolande de la Courcel." Well she might, for Delaunay had suffered a great deal from the enmity of Rolande's wife, Isabel L'Envers; but my lord Delaunay kept his promises. Now all of them are dead, and it is the living who must bear the cost. Thelesis dumped the
sangoìre
cloak back into my lap, and sighed. "But I will honor your request just the same, because you are Delaunay's pupil, and you bear the mark of Kushiel's Dart, and it is in no poet's interest to cross the will of the immortals. Still, I wish you would reconsider it. The Duc L'Envers, at the least, has no interest in seeing Ysandre dethroned."
"Barquiel L'Envers," I said, "is high on my list of sus pects."
Thelesis de Mornay laughed ruefully. "Anafiel," she said, addressing the bust of Delaunay, "you should have been made King's Poet in my stead, and left this one to the mercies of Valerian House." If I had not gone to serve Delaunay, it is true, Valerian would have bought my marque. It is their specialty, to provide adepts who find pleasure in pain. But they did not find me. Delaunay did. "Well, so," Thelesis said, changing the subject. "What is this about Joscelin Verreuil joining the Followers of Yeshua?"
I am not ashamed to admit that I poured the story out to her, and she listened unjudging, as only a truly good friend may do. When I was done, she pressed my hand in sym pathy.
"He is in pain," she said gently, "and you have wounded him deeply, meaning or not. His choice is his own, Phèdre, and you cannot make it for him. Allow him this space, then, to choose. When the One God sent his messengers to sum mon Elua back, it was Cassiel handed him the dagger to make his reply. But I have never heard Elua asked it of him."
She was right, and I could not speak against it. I fiddled with my cloak instead, folding its luxurious mass. "Do you think it's true?" I asked presently. "That Yeshua has the power to redeem sin?"
"I don't know," Thelesis said thoughtfully. "The ways of gods are strange, and Yeshuites do not reckon sin as we do, any more than Cassilines. I cannot say. The Hellenes claim the descendents of the House of Minos have the ability to cleanse a man of a blood-curse; it is a gift of Zagreus, after they atoned for ... well, you know the story." I did, for I bore the ill-starred name of a Queen of that line. "But I have heard, too, that few mortals can bear the process at less than the cost of their wits."
I shuddered; it was a frightening thought. "Well, Elua grant that neither of us need find out. I will heed your advice, and give Joscelin leave to choose. So a priest foretold for him, once, that he would ever stand at the crossroads, and choose and choose again. But I am fearful, that this Rebbe presents him with a third path."
"All paths are present, always," Thelesis de Mornay said philosophically, "and we can but choose among them." She stood. "Phèdre, thank you for your hospitality, and for your..." she smiled, "... for your trust. I will honor it, with the promise you have asked. Promise me in turn that you will have a care, and divulge to Ysandre aught that you learn." She raised her eyebrows. "I take it that you do not suspect her, at least?"
"No." I laughed. "Not Ysandre. Other than myself, and probably Joscelin, Ysandre de la Courcel is the one person I am sure had no interest in seeing Melisande freed. And if I'd not been there, I'd likely suspect myself as well. Thelesis, thank you." I rose to embrace her. "I'm sorry to have made a fool of myself. Truly, I will cherish this gift beyond words.”
"You are welcome." She returned my embrace. "Phèdre, please know that you have a standing invitation to call upon me at the Palace. For any reason."
"I will," I promised, escorting her to the door.
When she had gone, I returned to my sitting room, gazing at the bust of Delaunay. Ah, my lord, I wondered, what would you tell me if you could speak?
Beautiful and silent, his marble face kept its oblique, se cret smile.
I was on my own.
NINE
The fabric for my costume had arrived, and a courier had sent word from Favrielle nó Eglantine that I was to come for a fitting. One matter, however, pertaining to the Queen's Masque remained unsettled.
"I would like you to come," I said to Joscelin, "but if you want to maintain your vigil, I will understand."
We had made peace, after a fashion; he had brought me a silent offering of apology, a beautifully wrought plinth of black marble on which Delaunay's bust now stood. Where he had gotten the monies for such a thing, I did not know, nor did I ask. Later I learned that he had pawned a jeweled dagger for it, a gift of Ysandre.
"I think it might be best if you took one of the lads," Joscelin murmured. "I don't... It's been a long time since I held Elua's vigil on the Longest Night, Phèdre, and I think I am better suited for it than sharing
joie
with nobles right now." He gave a faint smile, to remove any hurtfulness from his words. "Let Fortun escort you; he's more sense than the other two."
"All right." I stooped to kiss his brow on my way out; he shivered under it.
So it was that Fortun accompanied me to Eglantine House, where Favrielle eyed him with approval. "Asmodel," she said, measuring the breadth of his shoulders with the span of her arm. "One of the seven courtiers of hell, who served un der Kushiel. We'll put him in a black velvet doublet and hose, and a great bronze key on a chain about his neck. A simple horned domino, I think; black satin. A fitting attendant for Mara. Noreis!" Raising her voice, she beckoned to a tailor. No adept, he hastened to obey. "Will you see to it? Something elegant, not this season's forsaken nonsense."
