Kushiel's Chosen

Obediently, I followed him through the salon to Ysandre's side, where a small knot of folk were gathered. The bronze-haired young woman I had seen earlier turned, giving him the kiss of greeting as if it had been days, and not minutes, since she had seen him. Scarce taller than I, she was some five years older and very beautiful.



"Cousin Barquiel," she said in a naturally sultry voice, linking her arm with his and looking at me with interest. "Who have you brought me?"



Barquiel L'Envers favored me with his white smile, gazing down at me with those lovely violet eyes; like the Queen's, like the woman whose fingers wrapped familiarly around his arm. "Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève," he said, sounding amused. "Nicola L'Envers y Aragon."



I made a curtsy without thinking, the response automatic upon hearing the names of two of the Great Houses of Terre d'Ange and Aragonia jointly linked.



"Impressive, isn't it?" Nicola had the same unreadable smile as the Duc. "Too bad my husband is a minor lordling, and a drunkard at that. But one does what one can for one's House, even if one is a minor offshoot." Releasing Barquiel's arm, she took a step toward me, standing a little closer than courtesy dictated. I felt the familiar dizziness of being in the presence of a patron, and her violet gaze held awareness of it. "Still," she said softly, "I think I might haY6 an interesting time here at court, should I choose to stay a while." Patting my cheek, she moved away in Ysandre's direction.



I watched as Marmion Shahrizai struggled to choose between entertaining the Queen, and engaging the interest of this new-found cousin Nicola, who treated him so coolly. No mistake about it, what I had seen during the concert. She was playing him, and playing him well. I turned to look at Barquiel L'Envers.



"What can I say?" He smiled and shrugged, opening his arms. "House L'Envers is an ambitious one, and I made a bad marriage for Nicola some years ago. It gained me ties to the House of Aragon, but she's not prospered by it. Her husband is a fool. Who can blame her, if she wishes to try her luck at home now that Ysandre is Queen?"



The first and greatest lesson we learn in Cereus House is silence. I looked at Barquiel L'Envers and did not answer, until his smile faltered.



"Anafiel Delaunay didn't do you any favors when he trained you to spy, little anguissette," he said in a low voice, and no one would mistake him now for anything but a deadly opponent. "He died through dabbling in the affairs of state when he shouldn't. Don't you make the same mistake."



I made my voice mild. "My lord Delaunay was murdered by traitors plotting to overthrow the throne, your grace. Do you threaten me with the same?"



L'Envers laughed harshly, wagging his finger at me. "Don't even think it, Phèdre. I have a great deal of forbearance for you, for what you've done, but it only goes so far. There are questions unanswered in my mind, and I hope, for your sake, you don't hold the answers." With that, he made me a curt, dismissive bow and stalked away, dangerous as a hunting leopard.



Staring after him, I thought of the questions unanswered in my own mind.



SEVENTEEN



You're sure." Joscelin frowned at me.



"I'd stake my life on it. He's terrified."



"Well," he reflected. "If Lord Marmion Shahrizai conspired to free Melisande, why should he fear her?"



"He wouldn't." Chin in hand, Fortun sat staring at the two-story plan of Troyes-le-Mont spread and weighted on the table; markings indicating Melisande's room, the postern gate, the guards' positions. "Because he didn't." He looked up at me. "Does it make sense any other way?"



"No." I shook my head.



"Then why did he kill his sister?" Fortun contemplated the map again as if it held answers. "That guardsman Branion, I tell you, my lady, he was sure of it. Remy and Ti-Philippe made no mistake about it."



Joscelin and I exchanged a glance.



"There are two possibilities," I said, holding up a forefinger. "One, your guardsman is mistaken, Fortun. And since this is the simplest explanation, it is the likeliest. But two ..." I held up a second finger, "... 'Twas the other way 'round. Marmion killed Persia because she helped Melisande escape."



"So?" Fortun frowned, puzzling it through. "If she did, and he learned it, why kill her? He gained the Queen's trust by betraying Melisande's allies, for Elua's sake. Why let this coin slip through his fingers? To kill his sister? He's torn House Shahrizai apart, with the rumor of it! Unless ..." He glanced up at us. "Unless he had no proof, that's why."



"No." Joscelin leaned forward, folding his arms over his knees. He looked at me like in the old days, when our survival depended on our ability to think and act together as one. "That's only part. You're right, he's no proof of it, but there's still somewhat more. Marmion or Persia, either one, the same premise holds true. The guard at the postern gate would have given challenge. There's still the unknown ally, the trusted one. Whatever Marmion learned, if he threatened Persia with it, she would have threatened back, with somewhat he feared."



"Melisande," said Fortun.



"He's scared of Melisande now," I observed. "It can't be that. It's got to be someone whose reach is closer. Someone Ysandre trusts implicitly, whose mere word would be enough to condemn him. If Persia threatened him with that... well, mayhap."



"If he knew who it was," Joscelin said simply, "he could tell the Queen."



"But if he didn't," Fortun observed, "he'd be left with the choice of calling her bluff, or-"



"Or killing her," I finished. "He doesn't know. If he did, he'd not suspect me. And he does, believe me. He warned me at the Masque, and he turned grey seeing me talking with Severio. I don't think he's playacting. He's feared for his life."



"How does he know Melisande is in La Serenissima?" Joscelin asked reasonably. "We only do because ..." He eyed me sidelong. "That damnable cloak."



"Which means a patron," I murmured. "If I knew which one, I promise, this would be much simpler. Well, if Marmion confronted Persia, who knows what she told him? Enough to know that Melisande is well protected, here and in La Serenissima. Enough to threaten him, so that he was moved to kill her. But not enough for proof."



"Why would Marmion suspect his sister?" Fortun asked.



I pressed my temples and stared at the plan of the fortress until it swam in my vision. There, marked with her initials, were Melisande's quarters on the second floor. So little space in Troyes-le-Mont, we all slept two and three to a room, except for Melisande. Ysandre had allowed her that much, on what was to be her final night on this earth: A room of her own. Thelesis de Mornay's voice echoed in my memory, repeating the words she had recorded when she interviewed Ghislain de Somerville about that night. Bynow, my father had emerged, and assumed command unthinking. He wasted no time in ordering a detachment to the second floor, to Melisande Shahrizai 's chamber where she was confined. There, he found her guards slain; one with a dagger to the ribs, and the other with his throat cut. The chamber itself was empty.



A piece of the puzzle fell into place, with a satisfying sense of tightness and surety I'd nearly forgotten.



"She never left Melisande's room," I said, lifting my head.



"You think ... ?" Joscelin stared at me. "Melisande."



"Yes," I said. "Remember Selig's steading? People see what they expect. You put a wolf-pelt over your head and muttered a few words of Skaldi, and Selig's folk saw one of the White Brethren. It would take less than that for the guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont to see Melisande as Persia. The Shahrizai are all cast from the same die. They saw a daughter of House Shahrizai enter alone, and they saw her leave. They saw what they expected."



"Well, but how would Marmion guess it?" Fortun asked.



I shrugged. "Look to the wolf-pelt. Whatever his sister wore into that chamber, she didn't have it afterward. They rode into Troyes-le-Mont cloaked and hooded. I'd be willing to hazard a guess that Persia Shahrizai somewhere mislaid that garment, and her brother Marmion took note of it. He's not stupid, no matter if he's a match for Melisande or not. He'd guess well enough to confront his sister with it." I stirred. "Elua! We need to talk to those guardsmen. Did the lads have any luck at the barracks?"



Fortun pulled a glum face. "No one who served that night was with de Somerville in Camlach, my lady, but most of his men are quartered in outlying L'Agnace. Do you want us to pay a call?" His face brightened at the prospect.



"I think so," I said decisively. "I need to hear from Phanuel Buonard, who found the slain guard at the postern, and anyone else on duty that night. Anyone! Unless I miss my guess, Melisande was at large from three bells onward, and Persia simply slipped back to her own quarters when the alarm sounded, before anyone thought to check Melisande's rooms. Whoever thought they saw Persia in that time, saw Melisande. Ghislain de Somerville made no report of it, but someone must have seen!"



"Who killed the guards at Melisande's door, then?" Joscelin asked softly. "Did she do it herself, then, with never a sound to alert the guard at the stair?" He placed a finger on the map of the fortress, raising his eyebrows. "Is she so skilled with a dagger, think you? Or was it the unknown ally?"



"I don't know," I murmured. "Melisande uses people well; it is her gift. I have never known her to dirty her own hands." I met his eyes. "What do you think?"



Gazing at the plan, he bit his lip. "I think," he said slowly, "I think it was someone very skilled with a dagger, to dispatch two of Percy de Somerville's hand-picked guardsmen without a sound. If I were you..." His voice shook; he cleared his throat and steadied it, holding my gaze. "If I were you, my lady, I would ask who among the Cassiline Brethren attended Ysandre de la Courcel during the siege of Troyes-le-Mont. Because ... because that is a possibility so impossible we never even considered it. But there were Cassilines there. And we are human."



Fortun sucked in a hissing breath. "Cassilines! If I were posted on guard by Admiral Rousse, in the old days ... my lady, I'd never think to question a Cassiline! I don't know as I'd even mark one's passing."



"They carried intelligence," I said, sick at remembering. "The length and breadth of the nation, working on Ysandre's behalf. Lord Rinforte, the Prefect, pledged as much, because no one would ever suspect the Cassiline Brotherhood of politicking." I saw the same sickness reflected in Joscelin's eyes. "Joscelìn, you were one of them. Is there any Cassiline, for any reason, who would support Melisande?"



"No." He sank his face into his hands. "I don't know. The training, oh, Phèdre! It goes bone-deep. But stranger... stranger things have happened, I suppose."



"I will try to find out," I said gently. "But will you write to the Prefect, and ask him? All I need are the names. We will do the rest."



Joscelin raised his stricken face. "I'll ask," he whispered. "You said ... do you remember? Even if..." He made his voice stronger. "Even if it is so, you said you didn't think the same person killed the guard at the postern gate, do you remember?"



"Yes." My heart ached for him. "It may be ... it may be another blind alley, Joscelin," I said slowly, not pointing out the fact that he himself had been first to disabuse me of the notion. "But we need to know."



"I will ask," he whispered.



Fortun had resumed staring at the plan of Troyes-le-Mont, a formidable scowl on his face. "The question remains," he said. "Why?"



None of us could answer.



True to his word, Joscelin wrote to the Prefect of the Cassiline Brotherhood, though I knew it cost him to go begging for information not rightly his to the man who had condemned him as a vow-breaker. Whether for spite or other concerns, no answer was forthcoming.



Remy and Ti-Philippe rode to Champs-de-Guerre, where the Royal Army was quartered, with funds enough for a three-day carouse. This they did to the fullest degree, returning to the City of Elua with aching heads, empty pockets and no more knowledge than before. The guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont had as good as vanished.



I checked with Thelesis de Mornay, who had no record of the Cassiline Brothers attendant on Ysandre during the siege; indeed, she looked at me with mild surprise, having never considered the matter. At length, I found an opportunity to query Ysandre herself, broaching it in a sidelong manner.



The Queen frowned, pale brows knitting. "Honestly, I don't recall. There have always been Cassilines about, ever since I was a child; I don't think I ever saw my father without a pair of them hovering in the background. One comes to forget their presence. Lord Ignace d'Avicenne was Secretary of the. Presence, he might remember. Or you could ask the Royal Archivist. May I ask why?"



Her tone changed, with that last question; Ysandre de la Courcel was nobody's fool, and most certainly not mine. I murmured something inadequate about Joscelin having an interest in the matter. Ysandre was sensitive enough to the troubles in our relationship not to pursue it, but her gaze rested thoughtfully on me. And beyond her, just out of earshot, I saw that same interest mirrored in another pair of violet eyes.



Nicola L'Envers y Aragon, whose presence at court troubled me.



Taking leave of the Queen, I went to bespeak Lord Ignace d'Avicenne, and found him old and feeble in his wits. He had been Ganelon's Secretary of the Presence; Ysandre had allowed him to retire gracefully after the war. He remembered the names of every nursemaid he'd had as a child, and not a one of the Cassiline Brethren who'd attended the Queen.