Kushiel's Chosen

beneath his beard. "Seth did teach you something, it seems. And yet you do not believe."
    I offered the only answer I had. "Father, I do not believe or disbelieve. I am D'Angeline."
    "Even a D'Angeline may be redeemed." The Rebbe adjusted his prayer shawl. "There is no sin, of the blood nor of the flesh, so great but that the Mashiach's death may not redeem it." He glanced at Joscelin as he said it, and Joscelin did not meet my eyes. "So be it, then. I will teach you, Naamah's Servant, insofar as I am able." I opened my mouth to thank him and he raised a finger, gesturing me to silence. "This I ask. For so long as you choose to live a life of indecency, you will come only when I summon you. You will heed our ways, and speak to no one. Our children shall not lay eyes upon you. Do you agree to these terms?"
    I made to retort, stung, and thought better of it. Hyacinthe's face rose in my memory; alight with merriment, black eyes shining, his teeth flashing in a white grin. Eight hundred years, condemned to a lonely isle. "Yes, father." It bears saying that I can sound very meek when I choose to do so. "I will abide as you say."
    "Good." The Rebbe clapped his hands. "Then for the next week, you will study the Be'resheith, the first book of the Tanakh. We will begin, as it is written, 'In the beginning.' And when I summon you, you may be sure, I will question you." His glare returned. "In Habiru! Do not speak to me of this language you call Yeshuite, is that clear?"
    "Yes," I murmured. "Thank you, father."
    "Barukh hatah Yeshua a'Mashiach, lo ha'lam," the Rebbe intoned, and waved his hand. "Now go away. And wear something decent, when you return."
    Outside, Joscelin looked sidelong at me and fidgeted with the carriage-team's harness. It was quiet in the courtyard, no children in sight, Elua be thanked. I did not want to give offense on the heels of our agreement. "He is a very great man, Phèdre," Joscelin said with restraint. "He does not mean to insult you."
    "And I am a living insult to all that he holds holy," I replied calmly. "I understand, Joscelin. I will do my best not to tax him with it. If he can help us find a way to free Hyacinthe, that is all that matters. Unless you fear I will intervene in your redemption."
    It was hurtful, my last words, and I knew it. He shuddered as if they pained him. "I am not seeking redemption," he said, his voice low and savage. "It is only that the Rebbe is the first one to tell me that I need neither share Cassiel's damnation nor discard my vows as facilely as if they were naught but some outmoded convention!"
    "Joscelin!" I took a step back, startled. "I never said that!"
    "No. I know. But you have thought it." He shuddered again, turning away to needlessly check the harness buckles. "Get in the carriage," he said, his voice muffled. "I'll drive you home."
    It was a long ride home, and quiet and lonely in my carriage.

EIGHT
    It was on the following day that Thelesis de Mornay called upon me, and I greeted her visit with unfeigned delight. The Queen's Poet was an unprepossessing woman with features that might almost have been homely, were it not for her luminous dark eyes and musical voice. When she spoke, one heard only beauty.
    "Phèdre." Thelesis embraced me with a smile, eyes aglow. "I'm sorry I've not had a chance to see you sooner. Forgive me for coming unannounced."
    "Forgive you? I can't think of anyone I'd rather see," I said, squeezing her hand. It was true. Once, when I thought I was suffering the gravest sorrow of my life, Thelesis had drawn me out of it; it had been nothing more than childish jealousy, I know now, but I have always treasured her kindness and tact.
    And Delaunay treated her as an equal, and trusted her. When Joscelin and I escaped from Skaldia and made our return to the City, only to find ourselves condemned in absentia of Delaunay's murder, it was Thelesis who aided us in secrecy and won us an audience with Ysandre. I trusted her with my life, then, and I would again.
    "Here." She turned to her footman, dressed in the livery of House Courcel, and nodded. He held out a large wooden box. "I brought a gift."
    "You didn't have to do that," I protested. Thelesis smiled.
    "I did, though," she said. "Wait and see."
    We adjourned to the sitting room, and Gemma brought glasses of cordial. Thelesis sipped hers and coughed once, delicately.
    "Your health still troubles you?" I asked sympathetically. She had caught the fever, that Bitterest Winter, that killed