Kushiel's Chosen

Court was not far enough for that. So he ran to me." She lifted her chin defiantly; she was pretty, beneath her grief, in a Serenissiman fashion. "He thought Isla Vitrari was far enough," she added sadly. "But it was not."
    "No," I murmured. "Signora, your husband was the first to discover a terrible deed, at the fortress of Troyes-le-Mont where the last battle against the Skaldi was fought, and I think mayhap that memory is what he fled. Did he ever speak of it to you?"
    She nodded, looking into the distance. "Yes." Her voice was a faint thread of sound. "He told me, once. He thought... he thought the man was sleeping and jested with him, as guards will do. And then he saw blood on his tunic, and his eyes open and unmoving." Serena Buonard shook her head. "No more than that. Only dawn breaking grey in the east, and the scent of apples ripening on the morning breeze."
    "Apples." I breathed the word, my heart cold in my breast. Troyes-le-Mont stood on a plain near the foothills of Camlach, scourged by the Skaldi for ten leagues in every direction.
    There were no apples ripening in Troyes-le-Mont, that summer or ever.
    What happened after that blurs in my memory, between the horror and guilt. I promised, extravagantly, to see justice brought to the killers of Phanuel Buonard. Pale and shocked, Fortun and TiPhilippe seconded me. I daresay none of us believed it, before. I fumbled for my purse, untying it from my girdle and giving it whole into Serena's hands. It was heavy with gold solidi, and even through her grief, her eyes widened at it. I made promises to return at a better time regarding my Queen's commission.
    All of that done, we departed, discarding solemnity for haste the instant we were out of sight. In the harbor, Remy met us, grim-faced. Serena Buonard was right. D'Angeline guardsmen had landed last night, bribing the harbormaster's second assistant.
    "They should have hidden their tracks better," I said quietly. "Fiorello, take us back."
    He did, with all haste, looking rather ill himself. I had to beg coin of Fortun to pay him, having given all of mine to Serena. We paused at our rented house only long enough to don suitable court attire and because, although I did not say it, I was hoping against hope that Joscelin had returned.
    He hadn't.
    "My lady," Leonora said reverently, bringing me a missive on a salver. "This came while you were gone."
    An apology from Severio, mayhap; I glanced at it dismissively, and saw the seal. It was the swan of House Courcel. I cracked the seal and opened the thick vellum, reading.
    Better and better; Madame d'Arbos had been as good as her word. It was an invitation to an audience with Prince Benedicte and his wife, for that very afternoon. I murmured a prayer of thanks to Blessed Elua for making my way easier.
    The hardest thing was what I asked my chevaliers, gathering them around. "Prince Benedicte has granted me an audience," I said, raising the letter. "Our work is half done for us. And I would fain have you all at my side, for you have earned it, and 'tis a dire thing we do. But..." I hesitated "... if any one of you is willing to stay, I would be grateful for it. If... if Joscelin were to return, he should know of this."
    They glanced at each other, all three. I saw Fortun, steady as ever, willing to assume the burden; Remy, ridden with guilt for having sent him to me, opened his mouth. But it was TiPhilippe who stepped forward first.
    "I'll stay, my lady," he said solidly, meeting my eyes. "I'm no good for this business, after all. Better lying and gambling than telling hard truths, and better for drinking and brawling than making a leg to royalty. I'll stay, and dun Sir Cassiline's hide for abandoning you if he comes back." "Thank you," I whispered, taking his face in both hands and planting a kiss on him. "Thank you, Philippe!"
    " 'Tis naught," he muttered, blushing. "When we go after the guardsmen what did for poor Phanuel, then I want in, my lady!"
    "And you shall have it," I promised. I smoothed my gown with both hands, making certain it lay properly; the apricot silk with gold brocade I had worn my first day in La Serenissima, accented now by the great collar of the Doge's pearls. "Shall we go?"
    "After you, my lady." Fortun swept a bow, grave and ceremonial.
    I drew a deep breath, and we set out for the Little Court to denounce a peer of the realm.
    Few things I have done in my life-climbing the rafters in Waldemar Selig's steading to spy on his war plans,