Kushiel's Chosen

smiling.
    "Thank you, my lord," I greeted the Serenissiman, inclining my head and giving him my hand to aid me onto the bissone. "You know my name, but I confess, I am at a disadvantage."
    "Benito Dandi." He grinned and swept another bow. "You would not come to my birthday party, my lady, but I confess, the mere sight of you is a gift nonetheless precious for its tardiness! I thought Severio was boasting, but it seems he spoke the truth."
    "For once," one of his fellows added impishly, pretending to stagger when I glanced at him. "Ah! It's true! She wounds me with her blood-pricked gaze!"
    I could not help it; I laughed. Serenissimans do not worship Elua and his Companions, but they know our religion well by virtue of a long-standing D'Angeline presence in the city. Obviously, Severio's boasting had added to the lore. Another of the Immortali dropped his oar and fell to the bottom of the boat. "Bells and chimes!" he groaned, rolling and clapping his hands over his ears. "The D'Angelines seek to invade us with beauty and destroy us from within; Baal-Jupiter, forgive me, I worship the sound of my enemy's voice!"
    It was enough of a spectacle to gather an audience, figures appearing on the balconies of neighboring houses, gazing down with amusement.
    "My lady," Joscelin said in a flat tone. "You have an audience with the Doge."
    "Ah." Benito Dandi eyed him warily. "The chaperone. You'll have to leave those arms with the guards ere you enter the Palace, fair Sir Gloom. Well, never mind us, Contessa; we're an unruly lot, but the fastest rowers on the water, and only the Immortali are fit to carry you! Summon your pretty squawking grey-crow aboard, and yon maidenfaced boy, and we'll be at Old Shaky's doorstep before you can blink!"
    I raised my eyebrows at Joscelin and Ti-Philippe, waiting to see if they would balk at the insults, but both gave way-Joscelin with stiff dignity, and Ti-Philippe with a glint in his eye that told me he would take full advantage of their erroneous perceptions. Yon maidenfaced boy, I thought, would fill his pockets at the Immortali's expense once their play turned to dicing.
    We were off to see the Doge, whom the scions of the Hundred Worthy Families, I had just learned, called Old Shaky. It didn't augur well for the level of respect he commanded.
    Along the way, folk in passing craft and on the bridges and quais cried out greetings to the Immortali, who shouted in response. Admiration, aspiration, adversity; I heard it all, in the ringing shouts. There was no small curiosity about me, and I took care to keep my features serene, even when Benito Dandi shouted my name to a group of his fellow Immortali atop the Rive Alto bridge.
    Not until we passed the bustling center of the Campo Grande did my unsolicited escort sober, under the unamused gaze of the Dogal Guard. Benito Dandi handed me ashore, and I brushed off my gown, a rich blue satin inset with velvet panels; Serenissiman blue, the color is called. It had a fretted silver girdle with jet beads and a caul to match; somber, nearly. Except for the elegance of the fit.
    I looked away as the Guard confiscated Joscelin's arms.
    The Immortali trailed behind, laughing and jesting as a pair of guardsmen escorted us along the serried colonnade, through alternating patterns of light and shadow, and thence through the old triumphal arch into the inner courtyard, where statues of ancient Tiberian statesmen and heroes stood in niches along the facade of the building and a marble well stood in the center of the courtyard. We mounted the broad stairway, flanked by tall statues of Asherat-of-the-Sea and Baal-Jupiter, and were met at the top by Severio Stregazza.
    "Phèdre!" His voice caught echoes in the courtyard. Smiling, he bowed and greeted me in my own tongue. "My lady Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève, welcome to La Serenissima."
    I curtsied, and answered in Caerdicci. "Well met, Prince Severio."
    The Immortali elbowed each other and made jests, while the guardsmen remained stoic; for his part, Severio glowed with pleasure. I had not forgotten that his own attendants acknowledged him as noble-born, not royal-but I was D'Angeline, and by our reckoning, he was of the lineage of House Courcel and a Prince of the Blood.
    In Terre d'Ange, the evidence of his Caerdicci heritage had set him apart. 'Twas different, seeing Severio here, where his D'Angeline blood dealt him a measure of grace lacking in his comrades. He took my arm, leaning to murmur in my ear.