Kushiel's Avatar

to save them all.
    Even my freedom had been bought. That was Melisande’s doing.
    And the diamond ... the diamond had been her gift.
    In the end, they passed the measure by a slim margin, as I had gauged they would. The representatives of the street-guild had naught to lose, and the Temple of Naamah had endorsed the measure. It was the Night Court that stood to be inconvenienced ... but not so greatly that its Dowaynes were prepared to stand in opposition to the rest of Naamah’s Servants.
    Especially me, the Queen’s favorite.
    Afterward, I spoke with Bérèngere of Namarre, the priestess of the Great Temple, thanking her for her support in the matter. In a way, I have known her since I was scarce more than a child; she was there, as an acolyte, when I was first dedicated into the Service of Naamah. When I was rededicated, it was she who performed the rites.
    “There is no need,” she said simply, folding her hands inside the full, elegant sleeves of her crimson robe. “The measure was a good one. You have done good things in this cabinet, Phèdre nó Delaunay.”
    “I have tried.” I flushed at the compliment; one does, from a member of the priesthood.
    Bérèngere smiled, her green eyes tilted catlike in their regard. I remembered the taste of honeycake on my tongue, and her kiss; sunlight gilding the pinions of my offering-dove as it beat its wings toward the oculus. “Pride, they have in the Service of Naamah; pride and passion,” she said, watching the Dowaynes of the Night Court leave. “I do not belittle these things, nor begrudge them coin and glory. But the heart of the matter is love.” Her gaze returned to me. “There are a thousand reasons why Naamah chose to lie with strangers, to give and receive pleasure as she did. Devotion, greed, modesty, perfection, solace, genius, atonement, mastery, desire ...” She named the attributes of the Thirteen Houses. “All of them are true, but the chiefest among them is love. Always love.”
    “I know,” I whispered. I did. I have loved all my patrons, at least a little bit. It is not a thing I tell to Joscelin, who would not understand. For all that he was a priest, once, he was Cassiel’s, and such things Cassiel does not comprehend. Naamah’s priestess understood.
    “They forget, in the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers,” she said. “All the great Houses. Cereus, Heliotrope, Valerian, Jasmine ... even Gentian, with their visions. They forget, or comprehend only a piece of the whole. You remember. Always remember.” Bérèngere of Namarre reached out with one slender hand, laying delicate fingertips above my heart. “The true offering is given in love.”
    I shuddered under her touch with fear and desire, almost as if she were a patron. “My lady,” I said, making myself deliver the words calmly. “I have been told my path lies in darkness. What do you see? Is it Naamah’s will that I suffer?”
    She shook her head ruefully, hair the color of apricots shining against the silk of her robe. “I am a priestess and not a seer, Phèdre nó Delaunay. This, I cannot say. Only that your knowledge will serve you true, in the end, if you do not fear the offering.” Withdrawing her touch, she folded her hands once more in her sleeves. “ Love as thou wilt ,” she quoted. “Even Naamah’s Servants follow Blessed Elua, in the end.”
    It was not the most comforting of advice.

Six
    DRUSTAN MAB Necthana came to the City of Elua.
    There was feasting, and fetes; Joscelin and I turned out to meet him, of course, a part of Ysandre’s entourage. And I wore the Companion’s Star upon my breast, and had Ti-Philippe in attendance with Hugues as his wide-eyed guest, and we pelted the Cruarch with rose-petals and sighed, charmed, with the others when the young Princess Alais hurled herself at her father at the gates of the City. She clung about his neck like a monkey, wrapping her legs about his waist, and Drustan smiled, burying his face in his daughter’s hair and walking half the distance to the Palace, despite how his twisted left foot must have pained him.
    Truly, it would have warmed a heart of stone.
    It warmed Ysandre’s heart, I know; and I could not find it in mine to begrudge her. No monarch has risen to the throne of Terre d’Ange under graver circumstances than Ysandre, and none has held it with more courage and compassion. If I seem to damn my lady Queen with faint praise, it is not my intention. I have cause to know, better than any, to