Kushiel's Chosen

silence in the boatman's presence as they laid plans to bring this knowledge to Prince Benedicte's attention. All of the missing guardsmen, it seemed, had spoken the same.
    Only Fortun was silent and withdrawn.
    When we had gained the security of our rented home and secluded ourselves against servants' listening ears, Remy and TiPhilippe recited to me in a litany the guardsmen's testimony. A full half-dozen, each cited by name-and all had seen the same thing. Duc Barquiel L'Envers, escorting Persia Shahrizai. Dizziness threatened again as I wondered how to convince Ysandre, and I had to grip the edge of the table hard to steady myself. I closed my eyes briefly to make the room stop spinning.
    When I opened them, Fortun's somber face caught my eye. "What is it?" I asked him.
    He glanced away, then back at me. "My lady," he said quietly. "You taught me to watch, to listen, for certain things. And there was one thing I could not help but notice." He cleared his throat. "They all told the exact same story."
    "They all saw the same damn thing, man!" TiPhilippe exclaimed, thumping him on the shoulder. "What do you expect?"
    "Look." Fortun ignored him to lean over the map of Troyes-le-Mont, still laid out on the table. "Here, here and here ..." he pointed to positions marked on the ground and second floor, "... here and here, these are the stations of the guardsmen we spoke to among the Unforgiven. All of them saw a half-dozen folk that night-including Persia Shahrizai in the company of a Cassiline Brother. Look at the routes, my lady. If they're telling the truth, it's impossible that these guardsmen of the Little Court wouldn't have seen the same.”
    "Mayhap they lied," I suggested. "We cannot always know."
    Fortun frowned. "The Queen had everyone questioned, including the guard, at length. If two-thirds of the guards on duty saw naught but Barquiel L'Envers and Persia Shahrizai, why did they not come forward then? It would have been suspicious." He sighed and rumpled his hair. "Someone is lying, yes. But I think it is these guardsmen, and not well. They have been poorly coached. I asked them why they took posts in La Serenissima. You heard Raimond; they all gave the same answer. And," he added softly, "they were all sent by the same man."
    My blood ran cold in my veins, and my lips felt stiff as I forced myself to speak. "What are you suggesting?"
    "My lady." Fortun folded his hands on the table, his face grave. "Ghislain de Somerville gave the guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont leave to join the Unforgiven, and those who returned reported to his father Percy. And Lord Percy made sure, very sure, that those men were sent even farther away than Camlach, all the way to La Serenissima. It is passing strange, I think, that he should send Prince Benedicte reinforcements consisting wholly of the missing guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont. As it is passing strange all of them should volunteer."
    The others had fallen silent. We were all silent. I wanted, very much, to dismiss Fortun's conjecture. These displaced guardsmen of the Little Court had given me the answer I had sought for so long, laying it into my hands. I did not like Barquiel L'Envers; had never, ever trusted him. Nor had my lord Delaunay, who had trained me.
    As I had trained Fortun, the best of my chevaliers, who had been there and listened with a critical ear, at my own behest. And if I had any faith in my own training, I could not afford to discount his analysis.
    "Phanuel Buonard," I said. "He is still here, if the guardsmen spoke true. On the glassblowers' isle. We need to question him." And I did not need Fortun to say, remembering all too well on my own, that it was not the veterans of Troyes-le-Mont who had volunteered this information. They had played dumb, to a man, regarding the fate of their own comrade-in-arms. It was the long-term appointees to the Little Court who'd offered the knowledge.
    "I'll see what I might learn," Fortun said quietly.
    I slept ill that night and dreamed, for the first time since my visit to Gentian House. I dreamed of the first time I'd met Percy de Somerville, when the Alban delegation had visited the court of Terre d'Ange. Delaunay had counted him an ally, always, but he'd sent Alcuin to his bed to seal the alliance. Not a true friend, I thought, or Delaunay would not have felt the need. And Alcuin had gone, with never a protest, never letting it show how much he detested Naamah's Service. Percy de Somerville, with whom Delaunay had