Kushiel's Chosen

that Ysandre de la Courcel has a great deal of sense."
    I raised my eyebrows. "My lord does me too much credit."
    "Then give me some, Contessa," he snapped. "I've not held this throne by being an idiot, and I'll not hold it much longer if I can't use the tools that come to hand." Almost as if in response, the wine-cup he yet held began to tremble fiercely, hot liquid spilling over the rim. I rose with alacrity to take it from him and set it gently on the marble-topped side table. "You see, even my body betrays me, making bad puns at my dignity's expense," Cesare said dryly, clasping his aged hands together once more. "But I shall at least have the opportunity to test the accuracy of my measurement of Ysandre de la Courcel. Today I learned that your Queen has agreed to make the progressus regalis come autumn. And if my enemies have their way, she will be in La Serenissima in time to observe the election of a new Doge, that mutual pledges may be exchanged."
    There was a great deal of information in those words. I sat back down on the hassock where I had been playing, and took too long thinking how best to respond.
    "Ah, yes, indeed," he said, eyeing me. "What to say? We must gamble here, you and I. I have only one option open to me, and I have chosen it. I have chosen to believe that Ysandre de la Courcel has no part in this conspiracy against me, and thus is my only likely ally." The Doge shrugged his hunched shoulders. "And I have chosen to believe that you are the Queen's woman, and loyal. If I am wrong, in the name of your Blessed Elua, walk out the door now and tell my enemies I am wise to them, little Contessa, and let us make an end to it."
    "And have you no spies yet loyal, to follow me and betray the conspirators if I did?" I inquired, provoking a wily smile. "My lord, if you gave me too much credit before, you give me too little now." I shook my head. "Why are you sure there is a conspiracy?"
    "Child, there is always a conspiracy," Cesare said irritably, twisting the great gold signet ring on his right hand. "Do you see that?" I had seen it before, felt its impress against my cheek. The Crown of Asherat. I gazed at it again and nodded. "While he rules La Serenissima," he continued, "the Doge is called the Beloved of Asherat-of-the-Sea. This, this, all of this ..." he gestured at his scarlet cap, his robes, the trappings of the room, "... these are the symbols of state. But this ..." he held up his trembling hand, the gleaming band of gold, "... this is the symbol of that wedding.
    And none but the bridegroom knows what it means to wear it."
    I looked from the ring to his face, questioning.
    "Come now, little D'Angeline, with celestial blood in your veins and a god's mark on you," he chided me. "Do you not know better? The sacred marriage is consummated in death. The immortal bride does not set her mortal beloved free to live a few more doddering years. And yet, that is exactly what Her priestess told me. Either I have lived my life a lie, or someone has bribed the Oracle."
    This time, he misgauged my silence; I was not pondering my reply, but remembering. It was Delaunay's fault, who trained me too well. My life would be simpler had he not taught me such things, that I recalled immediately the dark room in the Temple and old Bianca's querulous voice, the smell of beeswax and pomegranates. Well, and why not, I've given counsel to a thousand and a thousand before, and never missed a day, except the one I had the grippe, when His Grace sought advice. "My lord," I said soberly, meeting his eyes. "I believe you are right."
    "Of course I am!" The Doge was snappish again, but I knew well enough to ignore it. "I'm right about all of it, aren't I?"
    "Mayhap." I chose my words carefully. "I know her majesty well enough to know that Ysandre de la Courcel would have no part in plotting against a sitting monarch, and you will not err in trusting her word. Whether or not she will serve as your ally ..." I shrugged. "My lord, why not make peace with Prince Benedicte? You place my Queen in an awkward position, if you do not. He is her great-uncle, and stands yet next in line to the throne until she gets an heir of her own. Your son Ricciardo thinks he would listen to reason, did you but approach him."
    "Ricciardo." Cesare Stregazza scowled. "He thinks to set himself at Benedicte's ear, and win his support for his own bid. With Sestieri Scholae and Angelus alike supporting him, he might even do it, the serpent. But he dare