Kushiel's Chosen

beyond the Straits, and I was far, very far, from there.
    And very, very alone.
    I bowed my aching head against the lip of the window. Melisande was right, I'd been a fool to reveal the lengths to which I would go to defy her. All it had got me was a sore head and the fleeting satisfaction of seeing her surprised. It was an idiot's ploy, and not one I'd care to use often. And yet... I had needed to know, for my own sake. I could defy her, if I summoned the will for it.
    Although it took a split skull to break the spell of one kiss.
    And Melisande was capable of much, much more than that.
    I knew; I remembered. I remembered altogether too well. An anguissette is a rare instrument; most of my patrons lacked the art to sound all my strings. Pain and pleasure, yes, of course, but there are others, too. Cruelty, humiliation, dominance ... and compassion and kindness. It took all of these, to make truly exquisite music. That was the part so few understood.
    Affection.
    It was my bane with Melisande, always the potential key to my undoing. No matter how much I hated her-and I hated her a great deal in a great many ways-there was a part of me that did not, nor ever would. Waldemar Selig had been a formidable foe with the advantage of owning me outright, but no matter how many times he mastered me, nor how many ways, I never risked losing myself in him. I had not been at least a little bit in love with him.
    Still and all, now I knew; that sword cut two ways. Melisande cared enough for me to make her vulnerable, at least a bit. Even so had Kushiel cared for the damned in his charge, when he was still the Punisher of God; he loved them so well they received pain as balm and begged not to leave him. So too it made Kushiel vulnerable, for the One God was displeased with him and would have cast him down. But he followed Blessed Elua, who said, love as thou wilt. I wondered if he feared, mighty Kushiel, (his scion of his who burned so brightly. Elua and his Companions did not quarrel among themselves; not for them the jealousy of other gods. No, but each claimed his or her province in Terre d'Ange, and held it solely. Each save Blessed Elua, who ruled without ruling, wandered and loved, and Cassiel, who stood at his side and cared only for Elua.
    The others-Kushiel, Azza, Shemhazai, Naamah, Eisheth and Camael-were they jealous of their immortal thrones, in the Terre d'Ange-that-lies-beyond? It might be so. It was so, among other gods, other places. Standing at the heart of Asherat's grief, I knew that much to be true. Mortals conquer and slay; gods rise and fall. The games we play out on the board of earth echo across the vault of heaven.
    Melisande knew it.
    I bore the mark of Kushiel's Dart.
    My thoughts chased each other around and round. I tried to pray; to Kushiel, to Naamah, who were my immortal patrons; to Blessed Elua, who is lord of us all. But the pounding rage of Asherat's grief scattered my thoughts, driving away the solace of prayer.
    If I were not chosen for somewhat, I would be dead now, as surely as Remy and Fortun. But what? To thwart Melisande by choosing no, denying her the chance to break Kushiel's Dart? Or to face her, and dare win a greater stake?
    She would be cautious; she would be very, very cautious. My chances of defeating her plans were nearly nonexistent.
    Nearly.
    And the deeper game she played? I didn't know. By the • end of my day of grace, I was no wiser. I stared out the window, brooding, while the rays of the setting sun bloodied the waters. I wished that Hyacinthe were here with me now, to speak the dromonde for me. Not that he would; he never would, for me. Out of fear, at first. His mother foretold that I would rue the day I learned the answer I sought, the riddle of Delaunay. She was right, for 'twas the day he died. Afterward, Hyacinthe said he could not see, for the path of my life held too many crossroads. Truly, I stood at a dire one now. still, I wished he were with me. My one true friend, I used to call him. Even Joscelin, bound by his vow, had not proved so true.
    Only love had bound Hyacinthe and me.
    And he would be lost, too, if I told Melisande no. However slim the hope that I might find a way to break his geis, it would die with me here in La Dolorosa. If I said yes ... texts, if you wish, Melisande had said. I could continue. And there was nothing, nothing she could do to Hyacinthe, which gave me a certain grim satisfaction.
    But there was Ti-Philippe ... and Joscelin.
    My