Kushiel's Chosen

me as Joscelin aided me carefully aboard.
    I was tired, unwashed and not at all at my best.
    "Asherat!" one of the crew muttered in awe, then grinned, standing up to execute a bow and kiss his fingers. "A star has fallen to earth!" Moving with an alacrity that set the bissone to rocking, the others scurried to arrange the cushions beneath the canopy for greater comfort.
    Joscelin looked unamused; I couldn't have cared less. I settled into the cushions with a sigh of relief. My chevaliers leapt aboard, the steersman pushed off, and we were on our way, gliding over the green waters.
    So it was that I came to be ensconced in an elegant house along the Great Canal, rubbing shoulders with the Hundred Worthy Families. My factor's representative in La Serenissima-whose name was Mafeo Bardoni-might be an unctuous fellow, but he was a skilled businessman, and I never had cause to fault his dealings. If I did not like him, it was no fault of his own; he reminded me overmuch of Vitale Bouvarre, who had been Alcuin's patron, his first and last. 'Twas Bouvarre who gave up the name of Dominic Stregazza as Isabel de la Courcel's killer. He is dead, now, though he tried first to kill Alcuin for his silence.
    Though it was but late afternoon when I gained my lodgings, I ordered first a bath, and then went straightways to bed, and slept for some twelve hours. My sleeping-chamber was directly off the balcony, and 'twas a strange and wondrous thing to awake not knowing where I was, with the shifting light off the waters of the canal playing over the walls of my chamber.
    A pity I had to wake to it alone, I thought.
    My maidservant was a shy young girl named Leonora, who trembled and spilled the tray when she brought me tea and pastries, and blushed every time I looked at her. Still, my garments were unpacked and neatly pressed, and she buttoned my gown adeptly when I dressed. On my first day in La Serenissima, I wore a gown of apricot silk, with a fine gold brocade woven with seed pearls; another of Favrielle nó Eglantine's creations, marked with the simple, elegant lines so deceptively hard to mimic.
    "Please tell Signore Joscelin and the others that I am awake," I said to her in Caerdicci, when I was properly attired and had tucked my hair into a gold mesh caul, donning a pair of dangling pearl earrings. "Oh, and bring me paper and ink, if you would be so kind."
    At this, Leonora's chin rose with a surprised jerk and she gazed at me wide-eyed. "Does my lady wish the services of a secretary?" she asked tentatively.
    "No." I frowned. "My lady wishes to write a letter."
    "Oh!" Blushing once more, Leonora hurried out. I shook my head and waited. Presently she returned, breathless, clutching a sheaf of paper and holding the inkpot gingerly, as if it would bite her. I sat down at a little table near the balcony and penned a note to Severio Stregazza, sealing it with taper wax and the impress of the Montrève insignia.
    I thought of asking one of the house servants to deliver it, and thought better, descending to find Joscelin and my chevaliers assembled in the parlor.
    "Do you think you could find your way to deliver this to Severio Stregazza?" I asked Ti-Philippe, who fair bounded out of his chair.
    "Aye, my lady!" he said promptly.
    I let him go; I let all of them go, Phèdre's Boys, in the end, to take the city's measure. I knew Fortun would oversee the sale of our shipment, and all of them had become adept at scouting the sort of information I needed. It left Joscelin and me alone in the house together.
    When they had gone, he gave me a long, level look. "Now that we are here," he said, "exactly what is it that you propose to do, Phèdre?"
    It was a fair question, and a good one. It was astonishing that he'd waited so long to ask it, and a pity I had no answer. I met his eyes and shrugged. "Wait," I said. "And see."
    Joscelin sighed.
    In the matter of Severio Stregazza, I did not have long to wait. A reply came even before my chevaliers had made their way back to the house, scrawled in Severio's impatient hand. I smiled to read it, remembering how terse his initial proposal to me had been; by contrast, this was a jumbled missive expressing his undying affection, his enormous joy at learning of my presence and, as an afterthought, a pleading invitation that I attend a celebration that night in honor of his friend Benito Dandi's natality.
    "Will you go?" Joscelin asked coolly.
    "No." I shook my head, and sent once more for writing