Kushiel's Chosen

no one has seen her. Benedicte de la Courcel is in La Serenissima, Ysandre is sure he'd clap her in chains if she showed her face. Nothing.”
    "Benedicte de la Courcel," Thelesis said tartly, "has a D'Angeline child-bride and is preparing to become a father again in his dotage. By all accounts, he'd not notice if Melisande kicked him in the shins."
    "Mayhap." I shrugged, "Be as that may, she's hidden herself well. But one thing I know, and that is that someone helped her walk out of Troyes-le-Mont alive. And whoever it was, it was someone powerful enough that none of the guardsmen posted that night even questioned him. Or her. The guard at the postern gate was killed by a dagger to the heart. Whoever did it, got close enough to do it unchallenged." I spread my hands. "You weren't there, Thelesis. I was. I can count the number of people that would have included on my fingers. And this cloak?" I plucked at it. "That's Melisande's message, the opening gambit in her game. Whoever it was, I have a chance of finding them out."
    The Queen's Poet looked sick. "You have to tell Ysandre. If not her, then at least... at least tell Caspar. He would help."
    "No." I said it softly. "He's one of the ones I count, Thelesis."
    "Caspar?" She looked incredulous; well she might. Gaspar Trevalion, the Comte de Forcay, was one of the few people Delaunay had trusted unquestioningly. He'd even stood surety for Gaspar when the net fell on House Trevalion.
    "Caspar," I said relentlessly. "Thelesis, whoever it is, they fought on our side, don't you see? It had to be someone we trusted, beyond thought. Those guards, they wouldn't have let the Duc de Morhban through unchallenged, sovereign of Kusheth or no. Promise me you'll say nothing. Not to Gaspar, nor Ysandre ... not to anyone. Whoever it is, if they know what I'm about, it will silence them, sure as death."
    "So you think," she said wonderingly, "you truly think that they will hand it to you, as a Servant of Naamah, in careless pillow talk."
    "No." I shook my head. "I am not as foolish as that, I promise you. But I think the threads are there, and if I am lucky-Naamah willing, and Kushiel-they may let a loose end dangle, that I might discern the pattern they are weaving. It is a long chance, I grant you. But it is a chance, and the only one I have. Melisande plays fair, by her own rules. If the chance were not there..." I hoisted a fold of the cloak, ". .. she would not have sent the challenge."
    "I think you are mad." Only Thelesis de Mornay could have made the words gentle. "Madder than Delaunay, and I thought he was mad for honoring that ridiculous vow to Rolande de la Courcel." Well she might, for Delaunay had suffered a great deal from the enmity of Rolande's wife, Isabel L'Envers; but my lord Delaunay kept his promises. Now all of them are dead, and it is the living who must bear the cost. Thelesis dumped the sangoìre cloak back into my lap, and sighed. "But I will honor your request just the same, because you are Delaunay's pupil, and you bear the mark of Kushiel's Dart, and it is in no poet's interest to cross the will of the immortals. Still, I wish you would reconsider it. The Duc L'Envers, at the least, has no interest in seeing Ysandre dethroned."
    "Barquiel L'Envers," I said, "is high on my list of suspects."
    Thelesis de Mornay laughed ruefully. "Anafiel," she said, addressing the bust of Delaunay, "you should have been made King's Poet in my stead, and left this one to the mercies of Valerian House." If I had not gone to serve Delaunay, it is true, Valerian would have bought my marque. It is their specialty, to provide adepts who find pleasure in pain. But they did not find me. Delaunay did. "Well, so," Thelesis said, changing the subject. "What is this about Joscelin Verreuil joining the Followers of Yeshua?"
    I am not ashamed to admit that I poured the story out to her, and she listened unjudging, as only a truly good friend may do. When I was done, she pressed my hand in sympathy.
    "He is in pain," she said gently, "and you have wounded him deeply, meaning or not. His choice is his own, Phèdre, and you cannot make it for him. Allow him this space, then, to choose. When the One God sent his messengers to summon Elua back, it was Cassiel handed him the dagger to make his reply. But I have never heard Elua asked it of him."
    She was right, and I could not speak against it. I fiddled with my cloak instead, folding its luxurious mass. "Do you think it's true?" I asked