Kushiel's Chosen

Remy's lips, then slithered away, skipping out of reach and doing a handspring out of pure high spirits.
    Remy watched him wonderingly. "Truly, were you like that as a child of the Night Court, my lady?"
    "No." I shook my head. "It would have been reckoned brazen, in Cereus House." Night-Blooming Cereus prides itself on offering beauty of a most ephemeral nature; I was taught delicacy of conduct, there. "My lord Delaunay made me learn tumbling, though," I added, "and Hyacinthe taught me some sleight of hand."
    "You can turn handsprings?" Remy asked it straight-faced, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye with the scarcest hint of amusement.
    "And pick locks." I daresay he didn't believe me; it made me laugh. "Come. I need to visit my factor, to see if he'll advance me a loan. I've just signed a contract I can't pay, chevalier, and I need to do somewhat about it."
    My factor in the City of Elua was a man named Jacques Brenin. I'd been referred to him by no less than the Chancellor of the Exchequer himself, and his reputation was stainless. Unfortunately, the very stringency that made him an irreproachably honest agent rendered him reluctant to make me the loan I requested.
    "My lady," he said, clearing his throat, "I can only advance funds for goods vouched in kind. I cannot indulge in speculation against your... probable income ... as a Servant of Naamah any more than I can next spring's shearing. Certainly there are factors willing to do so, but I tell you, I do not advise it. If you wish to pledge a portion of the acreage of Montrève as surety, or the house in the City ..."
    "No," I said firmly. "I will not barter with my lord Delaunay's inheritance, nor the roof that houses my retainers. In conscience, I cannot do so."
    Jacques Brenin spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "If you are not willing to take these risks ..."
    "Messire Brenin." I cut him off. "I do offer goods in kind." Slow and deliberate, I rose from my chair and began to unlace my bodice. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue and stared as I slid the sleeves from my shoulders and let my gown fall to my hips, turning as I did so.
    I had seen, in the mirrors at Eglantine House; I did not need to see to know how my bare skin glowed in the dim lamplight of my factor's office. And rising from the dimples at the small of my back to the final at my nape was my marque, the bold, intricate design etched in black, with crimson accents. It had been inked by Master Robert Tielhard, the greatest marquist of his day.
    My factor swallowed audibly. Without haste, I drew my gown back up and laced my bodice. When I turned around, his face was pale. "You offer your services as surety if you should default on your loan." He kept his voice even with commendable effort.
    "I do." I smiled. "But I do not think I will default."
    "Neither do I," Jacques Brenin muttered, scribbling out a receipt. Licking his lips again, he handed it to me. 'Take this to my treasurer, she will advance you the funds. Repayment within sixty days at a rate of twelve percent. And Elua help your patrons."
    I laughed. "Thank you, Messire Brenin."
    "Don't thank me," he said dryly. "I find myself hoping you default."

SEVEN
    In the days that followed, there was little enough to do in preparing for the Midwinter Masque. I went once to Eglantine House for Favrielle to check her measurements, but the draping proper awaited the arrival of the fabric.
    A good time, then, to meet with the Rebbe.
    It was Joscelin who arranged the meeting; he had become friendly with this grand Yeshuite scholar-Nahum ben Isaac, his name was-insofar as Joscelin became friendly with anyone in those days.
    The day was cold and sharp, and I was glad of the carriage affording protection from the wind. We did not linger in the courtyard, but hurried into the hall.
    Knowing some little bit about Yeshuite sensibilities, thanks first to our friends Taavi and Danele, who gave us succor on our flight from the Allies of Camlach, and latterly to Seth ben Yavin, the young scholar who had tutored me in Montrève, I dressed modestly. It is not my way to flaunt myself as a Servant of Naamah-whatever certain prudish Cassilines may think-but I have my vanity. Nonetheless, I put it aside to meet the Rebbe, donning a gown of brown worsted which I used to wear travelling, and a thick woolen shawl. Well-made, but the sort of stuff a rustic noblewoman might don for commonwear. With a woolen cap on my head, my hair coiled in a