Kushiel's Chosen

my existence. With a pang, I remembered Tito licking his fingers, devouring the evidence of his kindness.
    As it transpired, Joscelin had not assailed La Dolorosa wholly on his own; Ti-Philippe and the four Yeshuites-who had begged to go, wanting to test their blades and new-won skill-had aided him, securing the watchtower and their retreat. But all had gone for naught when I plummeted over the cliff, and after a fruitless search, they made their way back to La Serenissima, adopting the ragged disguises they wore still and electing to wait for Ysandre's arrival.
    "I didn't know what else to do," Joscelin admitted wearily, scrubbing at his tangled hair. "Mayhap 'twas a mistake to return, for it's well-nigh impossible to get out and worse since the riots began. But all I could think was that if we failed, if we missed the progressus and ended up chasing over half of Caerdicca Unitas ..." He shook his head. "At least we knew Ysandre was coming here. If it hadn't been for your message, we'd be on our way to the Little Court by now. It's a risk, still, but we stand a chance. I don't know how many of the guard have turned, but de Somerville's men don't dare act as openly with the Queen's entourage in residence. If I can hold them off long enough ... mayhap Ti-Philippe can reach Ysandre with word of de Somerville's betrayal. I didn't dare, when it was only Prince Benedicte, but Ysandre will know from whence the message came."
    I stared at him, cold with shock. I had lived with it so long I had forgotten, beginning my story in the middle, at La Dolorosa. "You don't know," I whispered. "Oh, Joscelin! Blessed Elua have mercy ..."
    "What?" he asked, frowning. "What is it?"
    A peal of wild laughter escaped from me; I pressed my hands against my face. "Melisande," I gasped. "That's who Prince Benedicts wed. Melisande Shahrizai."
    "What?" Joscelin's voice was high and strained; next to him, Ti-Philippe went white. The Illyrians and the Yeshuites stared uncomprehending, lost to the politics of it.
    "Oh, yes," I said simply. "That's what I was met with at my audience at the Little Court. Benedicte de la Courcel's pious war-bride who fled her homeland to claim sanctuary in the Temple of Asherat."
    "Does he know?" Joscelin asked in a sickened tone. "Surely he would not..."
    "He knows." I looked at him with pity, remembering my own horror. "Joscelin, he gave the order for Remy and Fortun's deaths. He wants a true-born D'Angeline heir on the throne. Melisande could give him that.. . and put the Royal Commander and his army in his hand. She's done both. He knows."
    Ti-Philippe cursed steadily and methodically. Joscelin rose to his feet, pacing restlessly, unable to contain his fury at the betrayal. "We thought the guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont took you," he said aloud. "We thought the summons was a ruse, that there was a plot operating in the Little Court that Benedicte was insensible of. Elua! Phèdre, do you know how many times I thought of trying to gain access to him? If I hadn't chosen to wait for the Queen's arrival..." He stopped, realization dawning across his face. "They're going to kill her, aren't they?"
    "Yes," I said. Our eyes met in silence.
    "Do you know where, and when, and how?"
    "I think so." I swallowed. If I were wrong ... "Or at least where and when. It will be in the Temple of Asherat, at the ceremony of investiture. These riots ..." I shook my head.
    "They're being staged. You met Ricciardo Stregazza, Joscelin; he's not behind them, I'd stake my life on it. It has to be done out in the open, where the world can see that neither Benedicte nor Melisande nor Marco Stregazza had a hand in it. That's the only place it could be done convincingly, and they've allies in the Temple. 'Twas a false prophecy bid the Doge to step down."
    "And gave Melisande Shahrizai sanctuary," Joscelin said grimly.
    "No," I said. "That was fairly done, as far as I know. It is Marie-Celeste Stregazza who suborned the Temple. And I have sworn a promise to Asherat-of-the-Sea to cleanse her worship of corruption. It will be there, Joscelin. Tomorrow."
    He sat down and set his head in his hands.
    "So we will go there, eh?" Kazan's voice broke the silence, cheerful and fierce. Lounging at his ease, propped on one elbow, he glanced around the seated company. "Seven men may die, or eight or nine, yes, but here we are almost twenty, we. I saw this temple from the ship, I. Twenty men is enough, maybe, to take the door and hold it for a little