Kushiel's Chosen

could have done it at any time! Why now?"
    "I don't know." I made my voice gentle. "Melisande blackmailed Percy de Somerville; mayhap he did the same to de Rocaille, or she did. He hid his name a-purpose, to be sure; the timing suits her needs, and the diversion his; the other Cassilines on guard will be distracted. Mayhap he was waiting for the same thing as Prince Benedicte, a true-born D'Angeline heir-and one untainted by L'Envers blood-to inherit. Mayhap I'm wrong, after all. 'Tis only a guess."
    "No," he said dully. "All the pieces are there. It makes too much sense, Phèdre. A riot for distraction, yes; but what assassin could be sure to break through the Queen's guard, Cassilines included? This way, it is certain. And Benedicte and Melisande and Marco... as you said, all the world would see their hands were clean."
    Perversely, I found myself arguing against it, willing it for Joscelin's sake not to be. "Still, it would be suicide on his part."
    He gave a short laugh, raking his hands through his hair. "Yes," he said simply. "If David de Rocaille no Rinforte is considering killing the Queen of Terre d'Ange, he is preparing to die." I had no words left, and merely knelt, wrapping my arms around him. After a moment, Joscelin shuddered, hands rising to grip mine. "And if that is the case," he whispered, "I will oblige him. All right. Let me go, and I'll see if Teppo has pen and ink to spare."
    In a short time, he brought the young Yeshuite, a fine-featured lad whose hands bore calluses and inkstains alike. Teppo stammered out a greeting, laying before me a wealth of scholar's supplies; inkpot and quill, and some good pieces of foolscap. I penned a swift note to Allegra Stregazza. "My lady, you aided me once in kindness with an introduction to your mother's friend. I tell you in turn that Marco Stregazza conspires with Benedicte de la Courcel against your lord, his brother Ricciardo, rousing the Scholae to blacken his name. Let him order those guildsmen who are loyal to keep the peace in the Campo Grande during the investiture ceremony; for if he does not, he will be named a conspirator in the death of a Queen. This I swear is true."
    I didn't sign it; Allegra Stregazza would know well enough who I was, and if the letter was intercepted, she could yet deny it, for all the good it did her. And Teppo, who rolled the letter carefully between two scrolls, reverence in his inkstained fingers, he would go himself; he insisted on it.
    Another frail barque, I thought, watching him go, wending his way through the underbrush; another ship of hope, bearing my words. I wondered if the letters I had sent to the Lady of Marsilikos and the Duc L'Envers had arrived, and if they had acted upon them.
    There was little time for contemplation, for a commotion had erupted in the encampment. Blades clashed and shouts rang out, a mix of Illyrian, Caerdicci and Habiru.
    "Name of Elua," Joscelin muttered. "What now?"
    I should have guessed, if I'd thought on it. Kazan's men were putting Joscelin's Yeshuites to the test. We arrived at the center of the camp to find Stajeo and Micah circling one another. Such will happen, when men who are strangers to one another hone their weapons together. The Illyrian had his buckler and short sword, his guard a trifle high and a broad smile on his face. Micah ben Ximon held two daggers in the Cassiline fashion, watchful and wary, his steps tracing the forms Joscelin had drilled into him with no small measure of competency.
    "Kazan," I sighed. "This is foolishness."
    He came over to stand beside Joscelin and me, shrugging carelessly. "So you say, you, but my men, they will not like it, to fight beside untrained boys with knives in their hands, no. If he is worthy, let him prove it, eh, and we will all fight better for it."
    "Joscelin." I turned to him in appeal.
    "Micah can handle himself," he said absently, watching. "He's very good, for coming to it so late. See?"
    As we watched, Micah feinted with the left-hand dagger; with a cunning move, Stajeo made to bring the edge of his buckler down hard on his arm. The Yeshuite whirled swiftly, somehow moving beneath the blow to end with the tip of his right-hand dagger pointed at the Illyrian's belly.
    Kazan whistled through his teeth. The other Illyrians laughed and applauded, and Stajeo stepped back with a sour look on his face, putting up his sword in acknowledgement of surrender. Micah gave a quick Cassiline bow and sheathed his daggers.
    "They will