Kushiel's Chosen

Delaunay?"
    "I'm not going to wed Severio Stregazza," I said irritably. "I've no mind to wed anyone."
    "You let him court you." Joscelin got up from the table and walked to the window overlooking the balcony. "Is it because he can give you what you desire?" he asked, his voice muffled.
    "No." I sat gazing at his back, broad-shouldered and graceful, bisected by the cabled length of his wheat-gold braid. Kushiel's gift is cruel; I have never, ever, found any man so beautiful to me as Joscelin Verreuil, and no man has ever caused me such pain. One does not, I suppose, reign over hell without a well-developed sense of irony. There were no living anguissettes with whom I could compare notes, but surely, I thought, Kushiel must be pleased with this arrangement. Nothing else could have ground my heart so fine. "Joscelin, it is because that is the game Marco Stregazza and his wife Marie-Celeste de la Courcel Stregazza have decreed, and I see no way out of it but to play along and stall, if I wish to learn anything."
    Back to me, he shuddered, but when he spoke, his voice was hard. "And if there is nothing to learn?"
    "If there is not, then there is not," I said equitably. "There is another option where this talk of marriage is concerned, and you know it as well as I. If I were to declare you my consort, by D'Angeline law, that is binding. So it was before, and even the Queen acknowledged it. The Stregazza will abide by that without ill-will, they know the ways of Terre d'Ange. It is you who have closed that door, not I.”
    " I can't!" This time, the shudder that wracked him was profound. Clenching his fists, Joscelin turned to stare at me, wild-eyed. "To think of you, on your knees to the likes of that, that overgrown juvenile, Phèdre, it sickens me! And don't tell me you weren't, because I know you, I know you were. It was all the talk of the City, how for twenty thousand ducats Phèdre nó Delaunay made a man of the grandson of Prince Benedicte and the Doge of La Serenissima!"
    I do not anger easily, but somehow, Joscelin Verreuil has ever had the trick of it. I stared back at him coldly, and answered colder. "A pity," I said contemptuously, "I could not do the same for you."
    It was enough and more to send him storming out of our rented house, and I sat as coolly as if the broken shards of my heart were not grinding each other to bits and watched him go, knowing, of a surety, where he went. Ten centuries later, the blood of Yeshua ben Yosef was claiming its due. And he shall carve out the way before you, and his blades shall shine like a star in his hands. Joscelin had heard it, and so had I; what were the whims of a single Servant of Naamah against the will of an entire people?
    Whatever they believed of him, it was true, I thought; when Joscelin made ready to defend with his daggers bared and crossed, they really did shine like a star in his hands.
    "My lady," Leonora said tremulously; she had caught the tail end of our exchange. Though we had spoken in D'Angeline, the sense of it needed no translation. "There is, um, another message from my lord Severio Stregazza."
    She proffered his letter on a silver salver; I took it impatiently and cracked the wax seal, scanning the contents. Severio, it seemed, thought I might be amused by touring the Temple of Asherat; indeed, he had taken the liberty of arranging an audience with the Sovereign Priestess at an hour past noon.
    Well, as it happened, I did find the notion amusing; moreover, I found it intriguing. I have ever been curious about the faith of other peoples, and this was a chance to experience it firsthand; and, too, I was curious about this Oracle.
    At any rate, it was better than moping alone in my chambers. Beginning to know my ways, Leonora had brought a pen and inkwell, and I dipped the pen recklessly, scrawling ì hasty reply-although, I must add, only an astute observer would have known my mood and the speed with which I answered.
    When the appointed hour arrived, I descended the stairs from my balcony unaccompanied. Severio did not fail to note it, rising to his feet and rocking the craft; a simple gondola today, and not the gilded bissone. Only a few of his Immortali were in attendance. "No Cassiline chaperone?" he cried, spreading his arms. "My lady, your trust heartens me!"
    "Be worthy of it, my lord," I said, stepping into the vessel. "I have placed my honor in the keeping of the Immortali; I pray they will not fail me."
    "Not a chance," retorted Benito