"It will be a risk just crossing the border," Jocelin mur mured to me that night, as we lay together in the small soldiers' tent allotted to us; there was a sufficiency of those, too. "With four hundred men? It wouldn't take much for de Somerville to lay a trap.”
"De Somerville doesn't know she's alive," I reminded him. "Though I wouldn't put it past Melisande to have thought of it anyway."
"No." He propped himself up on one elbow, regarding me in the faint light our campfires cast through the oiled silk of the tent. "Would you truly have gone with her, if she had asked it?"
I heard the change in his voice; we hadn't talked about it since that fruitless meeting in the Temple of Asherat. There had been little privacy and less time. I laid my hand on his warm chest, feeling his strong heart beat beneath it. "I don't know," I said truthfully. "Joscelin, it would have made an end to it and laid the foundation for peace. For that... may hap, yes."
There was more to it, for it had to with what happened on Kriti; I had seen the darkness of my own soul, and I could never close my eyes to it. And I am an
anguissette,
when all is said and done. For these things, I lacked words. One cannot speak of mysteries. Still, Joscelin had been a priest in his own right—and he knew me.
He was silent for a moment, winding a lock of my hair about his fingers. "The Yeshuites promise it," he said at length. "Complete absolution. I thought about it. In the end..." He smiled wryly. "In the end, I chose as I will always choose. It frightens me to think that one day she will ask, and you do not know what you'll choose."
"When you threatened her, Melisande named a price you would not pay," I said. "I set one that she will not. She would play the game of thrones with Kushiel himself; she was willing to risk sacrificing all her plans to do it. Not her son. The child is a double-edged weapon, Joscelin. It is knowledge, and worth having."
"Phèdre nó Delaunay," he whispered, drawing me closer, "does your mind never cease?"
"Sometimes," I admitted. "If you—"
I didn't need to tell him that, either, for although it too is a mystery in its own right, it is Naamah's mystery and its knowledge is vouchsafed to all lovers if they will but accept it. In the old days, we would have quarrelled bitterly over what had happened in the Temple. Now, Joscelin heeded Naamah's wisdom rather than Cassiel's logic, and silenced me with a kiss, setting about doing those things which caused my mind to cease working altogether.
On the second day, we reached Pavento and were met outside the city walls by an honor guard sent by the Principe, Gregorio Livinius. While an encampment was set up in the fertile fields surrounding the city, Ysandre and a hand- picked company of nobles—which included me—were es corted inside.
It is a pleasant city, Pavento, although I saw little enough of it. We rode straightaway to the palace of the Principe, wrought of grey stone quarried from the mountains to the north, but softened by brightly-woven tapestries; they are famous, in Pavento, for their dyes.
Gregorio Livinius was a robust, energetic man in his mid-forties. He had been eager to secure ties with Ysandre, hop ing to better his city's fortunes through increased trade with Terre d'Ange. It had fallen off in the years of Skaldic raid ing threatening the overland routes, but since the defeat of Waldemar Selig, the Skaldi had withdrawn their aggressions.
It was to our fortune that Principe Gregorio remained ea ger to support this fresh alliance, although he bargained hard for the price of his aid. Most of what he demanded, Ysandre gave unhesitatingly. In exchange, he would provide stores for our journey and open the city to her entourage, giving safe haven to nigh onto two hundred folk—"Anyone who cannot hold a sword," Ysandre said grimly.
There were exceptions, of course; as the Secretary of the Presence, the Lady Denise Grosmaine was bound to accom pany the Queen, and some few of the grooms, attendants and cooks were reckoned vital, as was the chirurgeon.
And there was me, although I was not reckoned vital.
In the end, it was sheer pleading that swayed her; two others among her ladies-in-waiting accompanied her, too, for she could scarce refuse their pleas having heeded mine.
Ysandre would fain have left us all. Fewer to endanger; fewer to protect.
"My lady," I begged, kneeling before her. "I have been deceived, imprisoned, bludgeoned, near-drowned, abducted, storm-lost, driven nigh out of my wits and held at knifepoint. If you grant me nothing else,
let me go home!"
"Phèdre," Ysandre sighed. "The more I try to set you out of harm's way, the deeper in it I find you. All right. Like as not, you'd only turn up with an army of brigands at your back if I tried to leave you. You may come." She cast an acerbic eye at the high-spirited Baronesse Marie de Flairs, already moving to add her plea to mine, and the Lady Vivienne Neldor a step behind her. "Elua, enough! My lord Cassiline, will you take responsibility for their safety?"
At her side, Brys nó Rinforte looked queasy; but it was Joscelin the Queen had meant. He took a step forward, bow ing deeply with crossed vambraces. I had washed most of the dye from his hair at the Little Court, and trimmed the ends so that he looked somewhat presentable. "Your majesty," he said calmly. "I will."
So it was decided, and Joscelin Verreuil placed in com mand of those men-at-arms attendant on the Queen's ladies. If I feared they would balk at it, I was wrong, for his battle in the Temple with David de Rocaille was already spoken of in hushed murmurs. Ti-Philippe bore it with amusement when he learned of Joscelin's appointment. The days of animosity were long gone between them, replaced by bonds of mutual respect.
Ysandre asked no military aid of Principe Gregorio, and if Lord Trente bridled at it, he held his tongue; Pavento was small, and had few troops to spare. His hopes were pinned on Milazza, and the argument remained open between them.
The other piece of good news to come from our sojourn there was that Melisande's couriers had not stopped to spread word of Ysandre's supposed assassination. 'Twould have slowed their course, but it would have made ours more difficult in turn, taking the time to lay the rumors to rest and convince potential allies that our position remained tenable. As it was, Ysandre needed to offer no explanation save that rumor of a minor rebellion at home had reached her ears, necessitating a speedy return.
That was the good news.
The bad news was that Principe Gregorio had received notice that a pair of D'Angeline riders had been found slain on the road slightly west of Pavento, apparently the victims of robbers. Although they had been stripped of their be longings and apparel, we knew them by description—Royal Couriers, the both of them.
Plans within plans and traps within traps; Melisande had anticipated well. No one bore word ahead of us save her hand-picked couriers.
And their lead had lengthened to a good five days.
SEVENTY-NINE
We left Pavento in haste, unburdened of wagons and carriages, pushing our mounts as fast as we dared go. In con sultation with the Master of Horse, Lord Trente had determined that we were better off conserving our own animals than seeking fresh mounts for four hundred and some riders.
There was no longer any hope of averting treachery. Whatever would happen, would happen; Melisande's cour iers would deliver word to Percy de Somerville well ahead of our return. If the Kritian ship had arrived safely, Roxanne de Mereliot had a full report of de Somerville's betrayal— what she could do about it, I could not say, save pass on my warning to Barquiel L'Envers and other known allies of the Queen, and mayhap begin preparing for war. Quintilius Rousse would lend his aid, but there was little enough the Navy could do on land.
It was no simple matter, for de Somerville held the Royal Army at his command, and was the sovereign Duc of L'Agnace as well. Without proof—and a considerable force at their disposal—they could not arrest him out of hand. And if Ghislain was with him, it meant Azzalle was in re bellion. With Azzalle threatening Namarre's borders, Barquiel would have no support from his own province; indeed, with the news of Ysandre's death, he would find little aid forthcoming from any quarter. The City of Elua would be islanded in the heart of de Somerville's forces.
Of course, if the Kritian ship had not arrived, he would be dead.
The reality of the threat awaiting us upon our return had come home with the death of the two Royal Couriers. At best, we faced a nation on the brink of civil war. We made good speed across the Caerdicci peninsula during that wild journey, and a mood of grim determination united our company.
Many years later, I learned that there are stories still told of the ride of Ysandre de la Courcel's company along the old northern route in Caerdicca Unitas. It was in truth a sight to behold. The Queen's Guard wore gleaming armor with silver inlay, and surcoats of deep-blue with the swan insignia of House Courcel; a dozen and more pennants fluttered in the breeze above us, marking the noble Houses that rode with Ysandre, and the gold lily of Elua on a field of green above them all. 'Twas where we passed without pause that rumor grew, telling of a fell company with a dire light shining on their faces, riding fey and terrible without need for sustenance or sleep, and the beautiful Queen who led them ever onward, onward.
I daresay I laughed when I heard these tales; the com monfolk do not tell them where we made camp for the night, the Bursar bartering with shrewd farmers for use of their fields and streams while four hundred weary and saddle-sore D'Angeline soldiers waited impatiently for orders to dis mount, cursing the packhorses milling about and fouling their lead-lines. And yet there is a truth to it, after all.
It took us a week's time to reach Milazza, and our sup plies from Pavento held out long enough. Amaury Trente misliked our bypassing cities along the route, forsaking the possibility of raising a Caerdicci army; that much was clear. He had great hopes of Milazza, which lies closest to the inland D'Angeline border of all the great city-states.
Ysandre remained adamant.
"No," she said succinctly. "Whatever else I do, I will
not
bring a foreign army onto D'Angeline soil, Amaury."
He disheveled his hair, frustrated. By midday tomorrow, we would reach Milazza, and he had counted on convincing the Queen ere now. "Majesty, with a thousand additional men, you can march safely into Eisande—and the Duke of Milazza can spare them, easily. In Blessed Elua's name, will you not hear reason?"
"Reason this, my lord Trente," Ysandre said in an im placable voice. "Percy de Somerville cannot hope to sway the whole of the Royal Army and the people of Terre d'Ange against me unless he makes them believe me a trai tor. A Caerdicci army would give him that proof."
"He doesn't even know you're alive!" Amaury shouted, clutching his hair.
"But he will," Ysandre said softly. "He will hear the re ports and he will know, though he may deny it and name me an imposter. Shall I be so naive, to assume de Somerville has not planned for the contingency of failure?"
Amaury Trente sighed and dropped his hand to rest on the map spread on the camp-table beside the central fire where Ysandre held her war council. "All right," he said. "All right. Then let us at least make haste to Liguria, and travel by ship to Marsilikos, where we will find safe harbor and allies aplenty."
"My lord Trente." Ti-Philippe cleared his throat apolo getically at his glare. "Forgive me, but I have been a sailor all my life, and I tell you this; it is perilous late in the season to make that crossing. You will be hard-pressed to find suf ficient ships willing to make the journey."
I shuddered inwardly at the thought of yet another dan gerous sea voyage, and held my tongue. Amaury pounded his fist, making the map jump.
"Is there no other way?" he demanded. "Surely, there must be some means of crossing onto D'Angeline soil that is both feasible and acceptable, Ysandre!"
The Queen's face was set and stubborn in the firelight, and I knew that she would hear no arguments that did not involve riding straight for the City of Elua to set matters aright. Edging around her advisors, I gazed at the map beneath Amaury's clenched fist.
Remember what others have named you...
"My lady," I said. "There is a way, if you will hear it."
Ysandre gave me a sharp look and inclined her head. "I am listening, Phèdre."
"If we travel north from Milazza and cross the border here, in the foothills," I said, tracing a path with one finger, "we enter Camlach, under the warding of the Unforgiven. See, here lies the garrison of Southfort."
"Camlach!" Amaury Trente said in disgust. "The Black Shields have betrayed the Queen once already, Comtesse. What makes you think they will be less swift than de Some rville's forces to do it again?"
"I will stand surety for it with my life, my lord," I said steadily. "Whatever politics de Somerville has played with them, the Unforgiven have sworn an oath unto the death to redeem the sin of that betrayal. And because they have sworn to the way of expiation ..." I cleared my throat, "... they have sworn to obey my lord Kushiel and his chosen."
Beside me, Joscelin stirred, remembering. Ysandre looked hard at me.
"You would offer your sovereign Queen and rightful ruler of Terre d'Ange the protection of soldiers sworn to obey an
anguissette?"
she inquired dryly. I felt color rise to my cheeks.
"My lady—" I began in a faint voice.
