I learned, later, how it had finished. He had known him self beaten, at the end, and stepped into the killing thrust himself. Better if he had lived to be questioned; I daresay he knew it. Joscelin had asked him how he would answer for his oath. He had answered with his life.
Once Ysandre's Eisandine chirurgeon had done all she could for Prince Benedicte, who was removed on a litter into the Doge's custody, I had a quiet word with her, sending her to the balcony where Kazan and his men lurked unobtrusively, forgotten for the moment. It was Volos who had fallen, a deep gash on his brow splitting it near to the bone. Ti-Philippe had already made a hurried trip through the runnel, ordering the Yeshuites to disperse.
He had less luck with the Illyrians.
I approached Cesare Stregazza, curtsying deeply before him. He was in his glory, restored to a fullness of command he had not enjoyed for many months; his wrinkled, hooded lids flickered to see me, and he looked amused. "So, little spy! You have kept your pledge to me after all. Where is the gift I gave you for it?"
The collar of pearls, I remembered. It had saved my life, in a way, serving to identify me to Joscelin's Yeshuite seek ers. "For that, you must ask the warden of La Dolorosa, your grace. If you would, I crave another boon."
His brow creased with curiosity. "Indeed? Well, it seems I must grant it. What is it you ask?"
I took a deep breath, not entirely unmindful of the effect it had upon him. Joscelin stood behind me, one hand upon my shoulder. "Clemency, your grace, for those allies who aided me in securing your throne. Your son Marco sought their deaths. Violence has been done. I would see them par doned of all wrongdoing.”
"Is that all?" The Doge smiled cunningly. "Then it shall be done."
"You do so swear upon the altar of Asherat?" I asked.
Cesare Stregazza waved his hand, the Dogal Seal glinting gold as he summoned witnesses. "I do so swear, Contessa, in the presence of Asherat-of-the-Sea, that I absolve of wrongdoing in the eyes of La Serenissima all who aided you in thwarting this treachery. Does this satisfy?"
"Yes, your grace." I nodded to Ti-Philippe on the balcony, and in short order Kazan appeared, sauntering down the stairs and crossing the Temple floor, grinning fit to split his face. "This is Kazan Atrabiades of Epidauro, your grace, who stands for his men. They will be grateful for your pardon."
The Doge's wrinkled lips pursed with wry displeasure. "The sea-wolf who has harried our ships these many years," he said sourly. "I know the name. You choose your allies strangely, Contessa. I thought you meant yon bladesmaster here, who gave us such a show."
"Nevertheless," I said. "It required many allies to save your throne, your grace."
He grunted, liking this no better than he had liked up holding Melisande's claim; mayhap less. But for the same reasons, he had to do it. "I have sworn it."
Kazan made him a sweeping bow, still grinning. "Oh mighty Doge, I am grateful, I! My poor mother, she gives you thanks for your mercy, yes, to see her son come home alive."
"Do not strain the limits of that mercy, pirate," Cesare Stregazza said, eyeing him sardonically. "It erases only the past, and not the future."
"Of course, mighty Doge." Kazan's high spirits knew no bounds, standing free and pardoned in the Temple of Ash erat where he'd been given the opportunity to shed Serenissiman blood. "But who knows what the future will bring, eh?"
With Joscelin's aid, I got him out of there before the Doge changed his mind, and made him an introduction to Ysandre de la Courcel, who blinked in startlement at his fearsome appearance. "We are grateful for your aid, Lord Atrabiades," she said formally. "I see by it that Phèdre nó Delaunay has a great deal more to tell me of her adventures."
"It is a long story, yes," Kazan said with considerable understatement. "Majesty, to your ears alone in this place, I tell you that I have acted, I, with the blessing of the Zim Sokali, the Ban of Illyria. You will remember this, I hope, that my poor vassal nation offered aid to powerful Terre d'Ange in its hour of need, eh?"
"Yes." My Queen looked steadily at him, seeing past his fierce, mustached visage, his topknot and his dangling pi rate's eardrops. It was the same clarity of regard that had seen past Drustan mab Necthana's blue-whorled tattoos and clubfoot to envision a King worthy of sharing her throne one day—and worthy of loving. Bearing the weight of a close kin's betrayal, a near-assassination and a realm threatened by siege, Ysandre de la Courcel stood unfaltering and inclined her head to him with dignity and gratitude. "I will remember it, Kazan Atrabiades."
There was a reason, after all, I had risked my life for hers.
Kazan made her a bow before departing, deep and sin cere.
The Illyrians withdrew through the tunnels, quick and ef ficient, two of them carrying Volos between them. The chi rurgeon had assured me that he would live, although the gash looked dreadful and he became nauseated when moved. I did not envy them that trip, though I was glad that they would ensure the Yeshuites had well and truly left, and that they would free the poor eunuch Cervianus. I made Kazan promise he would be freed unharmed, since he could do us no damage now.
We said our farewells then and there; I would seek him out at the Illyrian Ambassador's residence if I could, but I feared we would be departing La Serenissima in swiftness, and my duties to Ysandre would keep me well occupied until then. It had all changed so quickly, now that I was back among D'Angelines, despite our politically precarious position.
'Tis a hard thing, to sever ties forged in powerful circum stance. I thanked each of the men in turn—romantic Epafras, sea-loving Oltukh, the ever-quarreling Stajeo and Tormos, Ushak with his jug-ears and poor Volos, who mus tered a sickly grin—and gave them all the kiss of parting.
And then Kazan looked wryly at me, running a lock of my hair between his fingers. "Stars caught in the night sky, eh, isn't that what that smooth-tongued son of Minos said? It has been a journey, since I plucked you from the waters, Phèdre nó Delaunay. I will not forget you soon, you."
"Nor I you, my lord Atrabiades," I said softly. "Not soon, nor ever."
"So it ends." He dropped his hand and glanced toward the tunnel. "Best I go. If I do not see you again, may your gods keep you safe. They and that tall D'Angeline, eh?" He flashed his irrepressible grin. "Now that I have seen him use his sword, yes, I think maybe it is not impossible!" At that I laughed, and Kazan bent his head to kiss me farewell. Straightening, he took his leave, disappearing into the tunnel without looking back. For a moment, I heard Illyrian voices echoing in the dark passageway, and then they moved onward, fading.
I turned back to the Temple and my own people.
Marco and Marie-Celeste Stregazza had been escorted out by members of the Dogal Guard whose loyalty had never faltered, under the watchful eye of Lorenzo Pescaro, who bore them no love. They were to be confined in their quar ters until such time as the Judiciary Tribunal could meet.
As for the Priestess of the Crown and her two allies among the Elect—Asherat's servants would take care of their own, meting out their own justice. I glanced at her towering effigy and shuddered. I did not think Asherat-of- the-Sea dealt mercifully with those who betrayed her.
But Melisande Shahrizai was under her protection. A bit ter irony, that.
In one quarter of the Temple, Ysandre de la Courcel held an impromptu war council with her Commander of the Guard and the rest of her retinue. Joscelin was there, al though Ti-Philippe was nowhere to be seen; I learned later that he had slipped back to the nameless isle to confirm that the Yeshuites had gotten safely away.
The plan under discussion was the taking of the Little Court and our swift return to Terre d'Ange, for that, I learned was Ysandre's intention: to send her own Royal Couriers hard on the heels of Melisande's emissaries, to secure the Little Court and custody of Benedicte and Melisande's infant son, and thence to proceed in all haste to Terre d'Ange and the City of Elua, lending proof to her couriers' proclamation that she yet lived and dealing with Percy de Somerville's insurrection.
Word had returned, by now, that Melisande's couriers had gotten away clean. With relays already in place, they might gain as much as a day's lead on pursuers.
"It won't be easy if de Somerville's encamped the Royal Army within the walls of the City." Lord Trente's expres sion was grim. "He only needs a few hours to take it by treachery. And once it's done, his men might stand by him even with your return, your majesty, if it's a choice between that or hanging."
"And if we offer clemency to all who were duped?" Ysan dre inquired thoughtfully.
Lord Trente shrugged. "Mayhap. De Somerville will claim 'tis a trick. And without an army at hand, we'll be hard-pressed to get close enough to give the lie to it. They'll be wary; they'll have Barquiel L'Envers' blood on their hands."
I cleared my throat. "My lady ... it may prove otherwise. Elua grant it arrived, I sent a message to your uncle the Duc, bidding him hold the City against all claimants, in cluding Percy de Somerville. If he will heed the password of House L'Envers, he may do it."
Ysandre stared at me. "You did what?"
I repeated my words, adding, "It would have been deliv ered first to the Lady of Marsilikos, by way of a courier-ship from the Archon of Phaistos, my lady."
"Phaistos," Ysandre said blankly. "Phaistos is a city, is it not, on the isle of Kriti?"
"Yes, my lady." I felt a fool, though there was no reason for it. "Do you think he will honor the L'Envers' pass word?"
Ysandre's lips moved soundlessly. "The password," she said at last. "Where did you—no, never mind. Yes. He might. He should. It will make him harder to kill, at any rate." She stood a,little straighter, as if the burden on her shoulders had lessened. "Amaury, how many men will it require to secure the Little Court?"
"A hundred more than we have here," Lord Trente replied promptly.
"Good. We shall ask the Doge. And then," the Queen said, "we shall proceed."
With the situation under control, Cesare Stregazza willingly lent the aid of several squadrons of the Dogal Guard, and it was with these that Ysandre's forces swept the Little Court, securing it from bottom to top. I was there, along with Ysandre's ladies-in-waiting and other noncombatants, because in the end, there was no place in La Serenissima anyone reckoned safer. And we had Joscelin to ward us.
It was a small garrison that held the palace; many had accompanied their lord and lady to the ceremony of inves titure, and were already under guard. Although I saw none of it, some of Benedicte's D'Angelines fought and were slain. It was a clean death, I suppose, which is why they chose it. Others surrendered, placing themselves at Ysandre's mercy rather than submit to the Doge's. These were held in secure quarters in the Little Court, which included a dungeon cell outfitted as a luxurious pleasure-chamber with tapestried walls, plush pillows strewn on thick rugs and a well-stocked flagellary.
I went to see it; I had to, although I could not say why. Joscelin went with me and looked at me without speaking as I stood in the hallway and shivered, watching as a half a dozen guardsmen were herded inside.
"This was meant for me," I said eventually.
"Melisande." He said it quietly; I nodded. "But she sent you to La Dolorosa instead."
"Yes." I gazed at the torchlight gleaming on rich fabrics; soft, pleasurable textures. "In order that this would seem paradise by comparison. And it would have." I touched my bare throat where her diamond had once hung and shivered again. "I'd made up my mind to take her offer, Joscelin. The very night you came. This is what you spared me."
Wisely, he said nothing more, but only took my arm and drew me away.
Once the palace of the Little Court was safely held, a pair of Royal Couriers was dispatched to be carried by swift gondolini to the mainland, where another, smaller portion of the Queen's retinue was encamped and the horses pastured.
Still, the search of Benedicte's palace continued, super vised by Amaury Trente. Even after the Dogal Guardsmen were dismissed with thanks, the search continued until at last Lord Trente reported to Ysandre, now ensconced in Prince Benedicte's throne room.
I had returned from my sojourn to view Melisande' s dun geon and waited attendance on the Queen, along with Jos celin and a handful of other D'Angeline nobles. I saw the taut futility etched in Lord Trente' s face as he made his report, shaking his head.
"I am sorry, your majesty," he said. "But the babe is not here."
SEVENTY-SEVEN
Sometime in the middle of the night, word arrived from the Dogal Palace that Prince Benedicte de la Courcel had died of his injuries.
Ysandre heard out the news with no more than a nod, and what she thought of it, I never knew. It was a mark of her character that she bore out these dreadful betrayals without succumbing to the desire for vengeance. Over furious protest, she had made arrangements for the body of David de Rocaille to be returned home by ship and buried on his family estate.
"He sought my life in exchange for his sister's death," she said implacably. "Let it end here." And insofar as I know, it did, save for those events already in motion.
Ysandre's search for Benedicte and Melisande's son was another such mark of character, although there are those who claimed—and always will be—that she sought the child's life. It was not so. At a little over two years wed, Ysandre and Drustan had not yet conceived. With Prince Benedicte dead and his daughters by his Serenissiman wife disgraced, the lines of succession were clear. Barquiel L'Envers, however much she trusted him, whatever his ambition, had not a drop of Courcel blood in his veins; and House Courcel held the throne of Terre d'Ange.
