Kushiel's Chosen

the stars that his death lay in crossing her. He had taken control of his fate in the only way he saw.
    And I had led him to it.

THIRTY-SIX
    Upon our return home, I found an invitation awaiting me. I had nearly forgotten Ricciardo Stregazza's promise, but he, it seemed, had not. I was invited to visit their country villa two days hence.
    I daresay I might have politely refused, were it not that the invitation itself captured my attention. It was not from Ricciardo, but his wife, Allegra. It had a warm, open sentiment that surprised me, and in the note she spoke of her interest in hearing my perspective on Serenissiman society.
    "Will you answer, my lady?" Fortun asked quietly. His manner was gentle; he had heard the day's tidings from Remy and TiPhilippe.
    "Yes." I sighed. "I should. For all I know, I might learn somewhat."
    "I'll escort you, if it please you." It was a kind offer. He was steadier man the other two, and we both knew it. I wouldn't have replied as I did if I hadn't been weary and disheartened.
    "I want Joscelin." It was a child's response, petulant and sulky; I saw the hurt on his face the moment I spoke, and would have bitten back the words if I could have. "Fortun, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It's only that it's isolated, we'll be on the mainland, among folk I dare not trust, and he's trained best for it."
    "Well, he's not here." Fortun flushed at his own blunt-ness, dropping to kneel beside my couch. "My lady," he murmured. "I know you miss him. I know how you have quarreled, we all do. If I could drag him back to your side by his heels, I swear I would do it."
    I set aside the invitation. "Where is he? Among the Yeshuites?" I saw the answer in his face and gave a short laugh. "You know what he's doing there, don't you?"
    "Yes." Fortun looked away. "My lady," he said, his voice scarcely a whisper. "Forgive me. But you heard the Unforgiven, as well as we. That night in Troyes-le-Mont, there was a Cassiline Brother escorting Persia Shahrizai. I know you would never suspect him, in a thousand years, but he keeps disappearing, and we talked about it, we three. It's not right, with him sworn to protect and serve you. We drew lots, and I got the short straw. I've followed him, more than once."
    I passed my hands blindly over my face. "Joscelin Verreuil may be a poor excuse for a Cassiline, but he'd as soon dance naked for the Khalif of Khebbel-im-Akkad as conspire with Melisande Shahrizai. What's he doing?"
    "Um." Fortun cleared his throat. "He's training Yeshuite lads to Cassiline arms."
    "What?" My voice rose.
    "I told you, he's training them to fight like Cassilines." He glanced about to make certain no servants were near. "I asked about, in the taverns. I found one fellow willing to talk. Seems they've been trying to teach themselves, but it's unlawful for a Yeshuite to bear arms in La Serenissima. They're allowed a single temple; he trains them in the catacombs below."
    "What are they going to do?" I asked wearily. "Storm the Doge's Palace?"
    "No." He shook his head. "Go north, in accordance with some prophecy. There's rumor of a warlord, Hral, Vral, somewhat like that, has converted to the Yeshuite faith, and seeks to forge a single nation among the tribefolk of the northern wastes."
    "Well, I wish them the joy of it," I muttered. "Fortun, forget what I said. I would be very pleased indeed to have you attend me."
    "I'll send him to you when he comes," he said quietly, leaving me.
    What passed between them, I never knew, but it fell out that Joscelin accompanied me to the Villa Gaudio, where Ricciardo and Allegra Stregazza made their home. We travelled from the linked islands of the city proper by boat, forging some little ways up the Brenno River, along which several villas lay. In the true Tiberian style, these were working farms as well as gracious estates, and it surprised me, from what little I knew of him, that Ricciardo Stregazza chose to live on one.
    Joscelin and I spoke little on the journey, except to discuss the death of Magister Acco. Like Remy, he was minded to think that the astrologer had been unstable in his wits and his death none of my fault. Nonetheless, I think it unnerved him somewhat, that I had been so close to a man's death, and my Perfect Companion nowhere in sight.
    Well, and it should, I thought, remembering him coming in from the garden the day I had told him. I protect and serve, he had said. No more, and no less. No matter what anyone said, his vow was