Kushiel's Chosen

sick. "When you are gone," I echoed, repressing my rising gorge. "And when will that be? Autumn, mayhap, when Ysandre leaves the royal army in the hands of Percy de Somerville and makes the progressus, riding into a Serenissiman trap?" Melisande didn't answer, and 1 laughed hollowly. "You were condemned as a traitor, my lady. Do you think the D'Angeline people will forget so easily?"
    "People believe what they are told." Her expression remained serene. " 'Twas your word condemned me. Already, Ysandre has disavowed you, through your own cleverness. If you are found traitor as well for conspiring against D' Angeline trade interests, few will doubt it when they are told you lied."
    "1 didn't conspire against D'Angeline trade interests."
    "No?" Melisande raised her brows. "But Marco Stregazza will swear you did."
    "Ah." 1 glanced out the window at the churning grey sea beyond the cliff's verge. "And did he suborn the corruption of Asherat's Oracle as well? I have endured her grief for many days now. I would not like to face her wrath."
    "No." Her tone was complacent. "He wouldn't have dared; that was Marie-Celeste's idea. I am not fool enough to mock Asherat-of-the-Sea. Her temple gave me sanctuary, and I am grateful for it. If her means suit my ends, so much the better, but I do not risk blasphemy. No D'Angeline would, nor true Serenissiman. Marie-Celeste straddles two worlds, and fears answering to the gods of neither," she added. "You do not sound surprised."
    "I have had some time to think, my lady," I said dryly, looking back at her. "What choice is this you offer?"
    "For now, your choice of prisons. This one..." Melisande gestured at the stone walls, the straw pallet and empty bucket, "... or mine." The words hung in the air between us, and she smiled slightly. "You would make a good traitor, Phèdre. But you would make an exquisite penitent on my behalf."
    I stood balanced on my stool, curiously light-headed. "And what do you propose to do, my lady?" I asked, hearing my own voice strange and unfamiliar, as blithe as hers had been when she teased me about the gulls. "Break me to your will like a fractious colt?"
    Melisande smiled gently. "Yes."
    I swallowed and looked away.
    Too close and too small, this cell of mine, to contain the both of us. The vast wide world was too small. It is a weakness, Kushiel's Dart. The scarlet mote that marked my eye was but a manifestation of the true flaw within, the wound that penetrated to the marrow of my soul. What Melisande offered; Elua, the promise was sweet to me! To struggle no more against my very nature but surrender to it wholeheartedly, offering it up with both hands to the one person, the only person, who had always, always known the true essence of what I was.
    As I knew hers.
    Melisande wanted something of me.
    Heart and mind raced alike, as I stood trembling before her. My hand rose unthinking to seek out the bare hollow at my throat where her diamond had hung for so long, the leash she had set upon me to see how far I would run. "Joscelin," I whispered. "You can't find him."
    Her eyelids flickered, ever so slightly.
    I laughed aloud, having nothing to lose. "And TiPhilippe? Don't tell me! What makes you think I would know where to find them, my lady? Joscelin Verreuil left me, for committing the dire crime of seducing him. If Philippe evaded your guardsmen ... how can I guess? Marco's men would do better than I, if Benedicte can't find him."
    "He jumped into the canal, actually." Melisande's voice was surprisingly even. "From the balcony. It seems Rousse's sailor-lads swim like fish. Marco is of the mind that he's dying of the ague, if he yet lives. The canals are known for pestilence. La Serenissima is well-cordoned, they'll not leave it by water or land, nor send word either. Even if they did, they know too little to undo our plans. Still, too little is too much. But we will speak more of this later." She came close, too close, smiling, and reached up to lay one hand against my cheek. "Think on my offer."
    Her touch was cool, and yet it burned me like fire. I closed my eyes, shaking like a leaf in a storm. I could smell her scent, a faint musk overlaid with spices. 1 wanted to fall to my knees, wanted to turn my head, taking her fingers into my mouth.
    I didn't.
    "Think on it," Melisande repeated, withdrawing her touch. "I'll be back."

FORTY-THREE
    An offer.
    A dangerous offer.
    After Melisande had left, I sat huddled on my pallet, arms wrapped around my knees,