Kushiel's Chosen

I woke gagging, breathed in the night air of La Serenissima, dank and foetid with canal water, and went back to sleep.



In the morning I found waiting a summons to sing for the Doge.



THIRTY-EIGHT



The Doge's private quarters were as hot and cloistered as the Room of the Shield in which he held his formal audiences. Braziers burned in every room, and the windows were hung with dense velvet drapery that kept out sunlight and air.



For all that, Cesare Stregazza huddled in his robes of state, a woolen wrap edged in gold fringe thrown over his shoulders. Servants in Stregazzan livery came and went, bringing sweets, mulled wine with spices, the small lap-harp I requested, charcoal for the braziers, fresh candles, a pitcher of water drawn cool from the well, and their faces gleamed with sweat in the stifling quarters. Indeed, they made little effort to hide their discomfort and banged objects around with ill grace. A D'Angeline would have died of shame, to provide such poor service to a sovereign.



I did my best to conceal my embarrassment, and played sweetly on the harp, singing a couple of familiar country lays. It is not a great gift of mine, but my voice holds true and no one leaves the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers without learning to sing and play with some measure of skill. The Doge listened, his hands clasped together beneath his woolen wrap, and the hooded old eyes in that quivering face watched his ill-mannered servants with a dark, ironic gleam.



Me, he praised, and requested that I continue. I sang a haunting Alban air that I had learned from Drustan mab Necthana's sisters, alternating weaving threads of soprano and contralto as best I could. Truly, it called for a man's tenor in the mix, but I reckoned no one in La Serenissima would notice. Emboldened, I followed it with a humorous D'Angeline tune usually sung in rounds during a game of kottabos, about a wager between a courtesan and three suitors. The Doge laughed aloud as I sang the different roles, and I marked how his trembling diminished as he relaxed. Even the servants ceased their rude blundering about to listen, smiling at the sense of it though they did not know the words, and when they resumed their chores, it was with a greater measure of care.



When I had done, I paused for a sip of water.



Cesare Stregazza leaned back, watching my face. "Leave us, please," he said to the servants. When they had gone, he turned back to me. "Sing me the song that lulled the Master of the Straits, little Contessa."



I glanced up, briefly surprised. The Doge knew more of me than I had known. I bowed my head in acquiescence, took up the harp once more, and sang. It is a hearth-song of the Skaldi, a song such as their women sing, and I learned it among them, during that long, cold winter I spent as a slave in Gunter's steading. There are Skaldic war-songs the world has heard, of battle and glory and blood and iron. This was a gentler, homelier tune, about the sorrow of the women waiting by the hearth-side and the death of a young warrior-husband, of mourning come too soon and children unborn while the snow falls unending and the wolf howls outside the door.



I had not sung it since the day we first crossed the Straits, although I had written down the words for Thelesis de Mornay. I laid the harp aside when I finished.



"Brava," Cesare Stregazza said softly. "Well done, my lady." He lifted his cup of mulled wine and sipped it, and his hand scarce trembled at all. "Five songs, sung in three tongues; three lands you have travelled, and Caerdicca Unitas a fourth. Ysandre de la Courcel had scarce warmed her precarious throne when she chose you to send to Alba, and Marco's spies would have it that she's cast you out for girlish spite?"



"My lord Doge," I said deferentially. "Her majesty did not... cast me out. 'Tis a small misunderstanding, no more."



His wrinkled lips curved in a wry smile. "Oh, aye, is it? My son is a canny man, but he's never sat a throne of state. You are the best kind of weapon there is, Phèdre nó Delaunay; the kind that appears but a charming adornment. No sitting monarch with a measure of sense would leave you lying about for some enemy's hand to pick up, no, and it is my impression that Ysandre de la Courcel has a great deal of sense."



I raised my eyebrows. "My lord does me too much credit."



"Then give me some, Contessa," he snapped. "I've not held this throne by being an idiot, and I'll not hold it much longer if I can't use the tools that come to hand." Almost as if in response, the wine-cup he yet held began to tremble fiercely, hot liquid spilling over the rim. I rose with alacrity to take it from him and set it gently on the marble-topped side table. "You see, even my body betrays me, making bad puns at my dignity's expense," Cesare said dryly, clasping his aged hands together once more. "But I shall at least have the opportunity to test the accuracy of my measurement of Ysandre de la Courcel. Today I learned that your Queen has agreed to make the progressus regalis come autumn. And if my enemies have their way, she will be in La Serenissima in time to observe the election of a new Doge, that mutual pledges may be exchanged."



There was a great deal of information in those words. I sat back down on the hassock where I had been playing, and took too long thinking how best to respond.



"Ah, yes, indeed," he said, eyeing me. "What to say? We must gamble here, you and I. I have only one option open to me, and I have chosen it. I have chosen to believe that Ysandre de la Courcel has no part in this conspiracy against me, and thus is my only likely ally." The Doge shrugged his hunched shoulders. "And I have chosen to believe that you are the Queen's woman, and loyal. If I am wrong, in the name of your Blessed Elua, walk out the door now and tell my enemies I am wise to them, little Contessa, and let us make an end to it."



"And have you no spies yet loyal, to follow me and betray the conspirators if I did?" I inquired, provoking a wily smile. "My lord, if you gave me too much credit before, you give me too little now." I shook my head. "Why are you sure there is a conspiracy?"



"Child, there is always a conspiracy," Cesare said irritably, twisting the great gold signet ring on his right hand. "Do you see that?" I had seen it before, felt its impress against my cheek. The Crown of Asherat. I gazed at it again and nodded. "While he rules La Serenissima," he continued, "the Doge is called the Beloved of Asherat-of-the-Sea. This, this, all of this ..." he gestured at his scarlet cap, his robes, the trappings of the room, "... these are the symbols of state. But this ..." he held up his trembling hand, the gleaming band of gold, "... this is the symbol of that wedding.



And none but the bridegroom knows what it means to wear it."



I looked from the ring to his face, questioning.



"Come now, little D'Angeline, with celestial blood in your veins and a god's mark on you," he chided me. "Do you not know better? The sacred marriage is consummated in death. The immortal bride does not set her mortal beloved free to live a few more doddering years. And yet, that is exactly what Her priestess told me. Either I have lived my life a lie, or someone has bribed the Oracle."



This time, he misgauged my silence; I was not pondering my reply, but remembering. It was Delaunay's fault, who trained me too well. My life would be simpler had he not taught me such things, that I recalled immediately the dark room in the Temple and old Bianca's querulous voice, the smell of beeswax and pomegranates. Well, and why not, I've given counsel to a thousand and a thousand before, and never missed a day, except the one I had the grippe, when His Grace sought advice. "My lord," I said soberly, meeting his eyes. "I believe you are right."



"Of course I am!" The Doge was snappish again, but I knew well enough to ignore it. "I'm right about all of it, aren't I?"



"Mayhap." I chose my words carefully. "I know her majesty well enough to know that Ysandre de la Courcel would have no part in plotting against a sitting monarch, and you will not err in trusting her word. Whether or not she will serve as your ally ..." I shrugged. "My lord, why not make peace with Prince Benedicte? You place my Queen in an awkward position, if you do not. He is her great-uncle, and stands yet next in line to the throne until she gets an heir of her own. Your son Ricciardo thinks he would listen to reason, did you but approach him."



"Ricciardo." Cesare Stregazza scowled. "He thinks to set himself at Benedicte's ear, and win his support for his own bid. With Sestieri Scholae and Angelus alike supporting him, he might even do it, the serpent. But he dare not approach Benedicte without my blessing, lest I cut him off at the knees-or Marco. He could do it, if he could make that wife of his hear reason. He might do it yet, and claim my throne in the bargain. No." He shook his head. "There is no one I dare trust, little Contessa, to win Prince Benedicte's support for my sake. I sent for him; he ignored my summons. If I approach him myself, I lose all credibility. If I threaten him with violence, I declare against House Courcel and risk severing ties with Terre d'Ange itself. With the support of Alba and Aragon, Terre d'Ange could close the west to Serenissiman trade. No. But your Queen, she can forge a peace. And with her support and Prince Benedicte's, I have leverage to declare the elections null and expose treachery in the very Temple of Asherat. Without it..." He shrugged. "I step down, or die."



"And you think I can persuade the Queen to agree to this," I said.



"Yes." The Doge folded his hands in his lap and gave his canny smile. "I think you can. And I think you might. Because it involves blasphemy, does it not? And Asherat-of-the-Sea, in her wisdom and mercy, has seen fit to make this known to you, a god's chosen. You gave your promise to sing for me, Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève. I have named my song. Will you sing it?"



"I might," I said evenly. "What do you offer me, my lord?"



His smile broadened. "What does every good singer require? My silence. Whatever you pursue on your Queen's behalf, I leave you free to follow it. Until I know of a surety who plots against me, I shall remain a doddering old fool, with occasional moments of clarity. Let my children and grandchildren see you a charming adornment; I will not reveal you a weapon."



I regarded him thoughtfully. "Someone in your Palace gave shelter to the Lady Melisande Shahrizai, my lord. Someone with access to your wife's astrologer, who, by the way, took his own life rather than reveal what he knew. If you had that knowledge, we might have a bargain."



"If I had that knowledge, I'd use it." The Doge returned my regard with a hooded stare. "Rudely though he asked, I have given the Queen's representative Benedicte de la Courcel every support in uncovering D'Angeline traitors. It is not my fault he failed. All I ask is your Queen's support in my effort to do the same among my folk-within my walls, and not hers. Do I have your pledge?"



"Yes, my lord." I could not see that he had left me an out. "I will report honestly to my Queen what I know, and represent your request fairly. No more can I do."



"No more do I ask," he said equably. Nodding, Cesare Stregazza began to work at the clasp on a great collar of pearls he wore, that overlay the neckline of his crimson robes. His trembling fingers failed him and he made to ring a bell to summon his servants, then paused, thinking better of it. "Here, child, help me with this."



I rose obediently and went to his side, undoing the clasp easily; it is a portion of the training one undergoes as a Servant of Naamah, removing all items of clothing and jewelry with grace. Strung on gold wire, the pearls slithered over my hand in a broad, sinuous band, and I proffered them to the Doge.



"No." He shook his head, fine wisps of hair flying below his crimson cap. "That is for you, little Contessa. A patron's gift, is it not? See, I know something of the customs of your people. Say that your singing has pleased me, and I would honor your Naamah. Mayhap she will look kindly on the Beloved of Asherat-of-the-Sea." He raised one shaking hand to caress my face. "I might honor her differently, were I a younger man. Then again, perhaps it is well. Asherat is a jealous goddess, and I think you a dangerous obsession for any mortal man."



"My lord is too kind," I said a trifle wryly; I daresay the truth of his words cut close. "Thank you."



So it was that I came to walk out of the Doge's Palace wearing a royal ransom in pearls clasped about my neck, and heard for the first time in that place murmuring speculation in my wake that did not die after a single comment.



It made me uncomfortable in La Serenissima as it never did at home in Terre d'Ange.



Which is why, instead of going directly back to my rented lodgings, I did something instead that may or may not have been foolish, though it had no bearing on our quest. Fortun had accompanied me that day, and I bid him order the boatman to take us to the courtesan's quarter in La Serenissima.



The man stared at Fortun and then at me, and questioned Fortun once, uncertain he had understood his D'Angeline-accented Caerdicci. Joscelin would never have let me do it in the first place, and Remy or Ti-Philippe would have made a bawdy jest of it. Fortun merely persisted, for which I was grateful.



Shaking his head, the boatman took us a little way down the Great Canal, then turned off into the lesser waterways. Gradually, the houses grew smaller and meaner, poor wooden constructions. If my sense of direction was any good, we were not far from where Magister Acco had lodged. Presently we glided beneath a rickety footbridge and came to a quarter where the doors of the houses were painted a bright red, and there were a good many moorings with gondoli and even a gilded bissone tied at dock.



Women in cheaply dyed attire leaned languidly on the balconies above us, calling lewdly to Fortun, promising him such pleasures as his highborn lady-which I presumed was myself-would never deliver. Several of them, noting his D'Angeline features, offered to service him for free, and one of their number, teetering on high pattens along the muddy walk bordering the canal, leered and flipped her skirts up at him, exposing herself. From within the narrow houses, we heard the sounds of shouting, laughter and drunken revelry. I thought of the ordered elegance and pride of the Thirteen Houses of the Night Court, and could have wept.