Kushiel's Chosen

"No," Cecilie sighed. "Nor will the Queen. Do you plan to maintain a salon?"



"No." I smiled. "I never did, in Delaunay's service. My ... patrons ... prefer to set their own terms, on their own territory. I am an anguissette, after all."



"Well, if anyone can restore the lustre to Naamah's service, it's you, child." She cocked her head. "You'll at least need the services of a proper attendant. Have you a seamstress in mind? If you've not, I've word of a lass in Eglantine House who might do." I shook my head. "Have you registered with the Guild yet? You'll need to do that, now that you've made your marque. Oh, Phèdre!" Cecilie clapped her hands together, eyes sparkling. "We've so much to do!"



THREE



1 found the scholars' hall. The yeshiva."



We had not spoken of it on the ride back from Cecilie's; Joscelin had not offered, and I pushed him on little these



days. Pouring more tea, I raised my brows and waited.



"I met the Rebbe." He cleared his throat and sipped at his tea. "He's... a rather formidable figure. He reminded me of the Prefect."



"Did you speak to him of studying there?”



"I mentioned it." Joscelin set his cup down. "He thought I was interested in converting," he said dryly. "Mayhap I should consider it."



The Cassiline Brotherhood had a peculiar relationship to the followers of Yeshua; in many ways, they held the same beliefs. I felt a creeping sense of alarm, which I hid. "You didn't tell him about Hyacinthe, then."



"No." Rising, Joscelin wandered the study, running his hand over the newly built shelves and cubbyholes. "I thought it best to wait. Phèdre, do you really think there's a key?"



"I don't know," I answered honestly. "But I have to look."



Somewhere, far to the west, on a lonely island, my Prince of Travellers spun out his days in apprenticeship to the Master of the Straits, condemned to serve out the terms of Rahab's curse. It was a sacrifice he had made for us all, a bitter bargain. If he had not, the Alban army would never have succeeded in crossing the Straits, and the Skaldi would have conquered Terre d'Ange. But, oh! It was a cruel price to pay. For so long as the One God punished the disobedience of his angel Rahab, the curse would endure; and as the Master of the Straits had said, the One God's memory was long.



Elua disobeyed the commandment of the One God, but he and his Companions were aided by our Mother Earth, in whose womb he was begotten. Silent these many long centuries, She did not seem inclined to intervene once more- and this affair was none of Hers. No, if there was an answer, a means of breaking an angel's geis, it lay in the ancient doctrines of the Yeshuites.



It had been done, I knew; there were tales of heroes who had defied the will of the One God's emissaries, outwitting them with guile and scholarship. But those were in the days when angels walked the earth and the gods spoke directly to their people. Now the gods kept their counsel, and only we lesser-born mortals, whose bloodlines bore faint traces of ichor, were left to the stewardship of the land.



Still, I would try.



"Well, I will speak to him, if he will hear me."



"He'll be amused at the novelty." Joscelin's tone was dry again. "A D'Angeline courtesan speaking Yeshuite. He had a hard enough time hearing it from me."



I have a gift for languages, but that wasn't what he meant. I closed my eyes against the pain; Joscelin's, mine, piercing at the core and welling outward in misery. Elua, but it was sweet! The pain of the flesh is naught to the pain of the soul. I bit the inside of my lower lip, willing the tide of it to subside, horrified in some part of me that I could take pleasure in it. Melisande's face swam in memory behind my closed lids, sublimely amused. True scion of Kushiel's line, she would have understood it as no other.



"Remy found a carriage." Joscelin changed the subject. "I sent him to Emile, from Hyacinthe's old crew. He still has the stable in Night's Doorstep."



"How much did he spend?"



He shrugged. "He got it for a song, he said, but it's in dreadful shape. They think they can repair it. Fortun's grandfather was a wheelwright."



I ran my hands through my hair, disheveling the mass of sable curls. I didn't care for this penny-counting, necessary though it was. My father had been a spendthrift, which was how I came to be bond-sold to Cereus House as a child; it made me wary of debt. Still, I didn't have to like it. Joscelin watched me out of the corner of his eye. "How long, do they think? I should send word to Ysandre."



"Three days, mayhap. Less if they've naught else to do." He made an abrupt movement, gathering the tea tray. "It's late. I will see you in the morning, my lady."



There were barbs on the words, his formal address. I endured them in silence and watched him go, leaving me alone with the remorseless pleasure of my pain.



It took only two days to restore the carriage to a presentable shape, sufficient to arrive at the Palace in a style befitting the Comtesse de Montrève. I sent word to Ysandre, and had a reply by royal courier that afternoon, granting an audience on the morrow. He stood waiting while I read it, elegant in blue Courcel livery, and bowed graciously when I told him to tell the Queen I would be honored to attend. There was a trace of curiosity in his eyes, but he didn't let it show in his manner.



That there were stories about me, I knew full well. Thelesis de Mornay had included my tale in earliest drafts of the Ysandrine Cycle, the epic poem documenting Ysandre's tumultuous ascension to the throne in the midst of war. There were other stories, too, passed about by word of mouth. Most of my patrons were discreet, but not all.



So be it. There is no shame in being a Servant of Naamah, nor an anguissette. We are D'Angeline, and we revere such things. Other nations reckon us soft for it; the Skaldi found otherwise. But too, it is as I have said-our blood has grown thick with mortality, and one such as I, marked by a celestial hand, was a rarity.



It is not a thing, I may say, in which I take pride; I grew up in Cereus House, where the crimson mote in my eye marked me not as Kushiel's chosen, but merely as one flawed beyond the canons of the Night Court. It was Delaunay who changed that, and named me for what I was. And in truth, I have no special gift beyond the transmutation of pain, which has been as much curse as boon to me. If I am skilled at language and logic, it is because I was well taught; Alcuin, who was a student with me, was better. It is only a quirk of fate that left me alive to exercise them, while he and Delaunay perished. Not a day passes but that I remember it. I would give up all that I have gained to change that past. Since I cannot, I do the best I can, and pray it does honor to their memories.



It was strange to have the Queen's Guard bow at the Palace gates, to be met by liveried servants and enter the halls with an entire entourage in tow. If Joscelin was grave, Phèdre's Boys were on their best behavior, trying hard to look dignified. I didn't worry about Fortun, sober by nature, but Remy and Ti-Philippe had a talent for mischief.



Ysandre received us in the Hall of Games, a vast, colonnaded salon where the Palace nobles liked to gather for gaming and conversation. I spotted her with two of her ladies-in-waiting, pausing to observe an intense game of rhythmomachy. Her own Cassiline guard, two Brothers clad in ashen-grey, stood a discreet distance away. Not young, either of them, but their straight backs defied age. Few of the Great Houses follow the old traditions any more, sending their middle sons to serve Cassiel.



"The Comtesse Phèdre no Delaunay de Montrève!" our escort announced loudly.



Heads turned, a few murmurs sounded. Ysandre de la Courcel came toward me with a smile. "Phèdre," she said, grasping my hands and giving me the kiss of greeting. There was genuine pleasure lighting her violet eyes when she drew back. "Truly, I am happy to see you."



"Your majesty." I curtsied. Ysandre looked much the same; a little older, worn by the cares of the throne, but with the same fair beauty. We were nearly of an age, she and I.



"Joscelin Verreuil." She rested her fingertips on his arm when he finished his sweeping bow. "I trust you have been keeping my near-cousin safe?"



It was Ysandre's jest, to name me thusly. Of a surety, there were ties of neither blood nor marriage between us, but my lord Delaunay, who had taken me into his household, had been dearly beloved of her father Rolande. Indeed, that love had gone deeper than many suspected, and Delaunay had sworn in secret an oath to ward Ysandre's life as his own.



"I protect and serve, your majesty." Joscelin smiled, warmth in his words and not irony. Whatever lay between us, his loyalty to the Queen was undiminished.



"Good." Ysandre looked with amusement at the bowed heads of Remy, Fortun and Ti-Philippe, who had all dropped to one knee before her. "Well met, chevaliers," she said



kindly. "Does your service still suit, or does the sea beckon



you back to my lord Admiral Rousse?"



Remy grinned up at her. "We are well content, your majesty."



"I am pleased to hear it." Ysandre looked back at me.



"Come, Phèdre, tell me how you have been keeping. I am sure your men will find ample entertainment in the Hall of Games, and I am eager to learn what has brought you back to the City of Elua."



If it had been strange to enter the Palace as a peer, stranger still to stroll the Hall at Ysandre's side, her Cassiline guards trailing us. It had been different, after the war, when everything was still in a jumble, Albans and Dalriada everywhere, and my services in constant demand as translator. This measured order was like the Palace of my youth, which I had attended only at the behest of noble patrons.



"Matters proceed well, it seems," I observed to Ysandre.



She smiled wryly. "Well enough. We are fewer than before, I fear, but our alliance with Alba has given us new strength. Drustan will be sorry to have missed you."



"And I him." There had been a strong sympathy between us, the Cruarch of Alba and I.



"Come spring, he'll be back." There was a faint trace of longing in Ysandre's voice; I doubt it would have been evident to anyone not trained to listen for such things. "So tell me, was Montrève too rustic for your liking?"



"Not entirely," I answered honestly. "It is very pleasant. But there is a matter I am pursuing that I cannot follow from the isolation of a country manor." Ysandre looked at me with interest, and I told her of my research into Yeshuite lore, my dream of finding a key to unlock Hyacinthe's prison. I could not help but mark, as we walked, how all eyes in the Hall of Games followed the Queen, and a hum of speculation followed in her wake. Nobles contrived to place themselves in our path, moving aside with a bow or curtsy; I could see the offers plain in their faces, men' and women alike.



Ysandre handled it with an absent grace. "Your Tsingano lad, yes. I wish you luck with it. They are a strange folk, the Yeshuites." She shook her head. "I do not pretend to understand them. We welcome them openly in Terre d'Ange, and they accept our hospitality on sufferance."



"There is no room in their theology for Blessed Elua, my lady. They cannot reconcile our existence, and it troubles them."



"Well." Ysandre's fair brows arched. "They have had some time to grow accustomed to the notion. Have you come to a decision on the other matter?" she asked then, changing the subject. "You are still vowed to Naamah, unless I am mistaken."



"Yes." Unthinking, I twisted a ring I bore on the third finger of my right hand; black pearls, given me as a patron-gift by the Duc de Morhban. I smiled. "If I bare my marque," I said, "you will know my answer, my lady."



Ysandre laughed. "Then I shall have to wait and see." She swept her hand about the Hall. "They will be wondering, you know. They've naught better to do."



"I have heard as much," I said reservedly.



"Majesty." A man's voice spoke, deep and silken; from the comer of my eye, I caught a swirl of black and gold, intricately patterned, as a figure rose from a deep-backed chair. He bowed, then straightened, and I caught my breath. His blue-black hair hung in plaits like tiny chains, and eyes the hue of sapphire were set in a dangerously beautiful face, skin like ivory. He smiled, showing white teeth, and fanned an ornate deck of cards. "You promised me a game of batarde."



I knew him; I had last seen him in the company of his cousin, whom he had betrayed.



"I did, my lord Marmion, but I did not say when," Ysandre replied lightly.



"I shall await the day." His deep blue gaze rested on my face. "My lady Phèdre no Delaunay de Montrève," he said, caressing my name. My knees turned to water. "For a short life, you have a long history with House Shahrizai."



Along with his sister Persia, Marmion Shahrizai betrayed his cousin Melisande, mayhap the most dangerous act any of their House could undertake, giving her unto the custody of Duc Quincel de Morhban, the sovereign Duc of their province of Kusheth. I watched them bring her into Ysandre's impromptu court at the fortress of Troyes-le-Mont, after the battle was won. I was there at the hearing, where Melisande was accused of treason.



I gave the testimony that condemned her.



"My lord Shahrizai." With all the willpower I could summon, I made my voice cool. "Your loyalty to the throne has prospered you."



He laughed, and bowed. "How not, when it has such a lovely occupant?" he said for Ysandre's benefit. "Her majesty is wise beyond years, to recognize that the treachery of one member of a House does not taint all born within it." With one last florid bow, he turned away.