Kushiel's Chosen

struggled in vain. Gently, inexorably, the dagger rose, gripped hard in our linked hands, until its point rested beneath my chin, pricking the tender skin.
    "Yes," I breathed, somewhere, distantly, appalled at my own response. Her scent surrounded me, rousing my desire, the warmth of her body devastatingly near. I raised my eyes to hers, feeling the dagger's prick, promise of the final consummation between us. I thought of Anafiel Delaunay, lying in his own gore; of Alcuin, raised as a brother to me. I thought of Fortun and Remy, Phèdre's Boys, slain for their loyalty. And though their shades cried out for vengeance, I could not strike. Not her, not Melisande. In the end, I was what I was, Kushiel's Chosen. Strength was not my weapon; only surrender. Was Melisande's freedom worth Kushiel's torment to her? I tightened my grip on the dagger beneath her hand, raising my other hand to cover hers, forcing the sharp tip hard beneath my chin, willing to complete the terminus begun so long ago on the fields of Troyes-le-Mont. "Will you?"
    It only took a moment's hesitation.
    Melisande hesitated.
    "Immortali!" The name of the nobleman's club rang like a battle cry, and I knew the voice that uttered it; Severio Stregazza, bursting through the gathered ranks of Serenissimans to enter the antechamber with a grinning Ti-Philippe and several of his fellows in tow, swords drawn. "Drop the dagger," Severio said grimly, "and step away from her, Principessa! You have dealt enough poison to my family to last a lifetime; sully it no further."
    At the same moment, a wild-eyed Ricciardo Stregazza convinced the Serenissiman Guard to admit him through the Temple doors, backed by an army of tradesmen....
    ... and somewhere, at the rear of the Temple, a great cry arose as Joscelin Verreuil's sword entered David de Rocaille's flesh, making an end to a battle I have always regretted missing.
    With a gesture of infinite grace, Melisande loosed her grip on the dagger and took a single step backward.
    It left me, terribly obviously, holding a dagger beneath my own chin. I cast it down hastily. Mercenaries and rioters fled, an assassin thwarted, allies rallying, Benedicte defeated and Marco turned. I drew a long, shuddering breath. "Thank you," I said to Severio. "I am in your debt, my lord."
    "Credit your fast-talking chevalier," he said shortly, and then nodded to Ricciardo. "Hello, Uncle. Aren't you supposed to be under house arrest?"
    Ricciardo was breathing hard; I learned later that he'd fought a pitched battle to win past the guards at his estate. "The riot in the Campo Grande is contained," he said, ignoring the question. "And the instigators in custody. Severio, I'm sorry, but they will swear to your father's part in it."
    After a pause, Severio nodded curtly. "You tried to warn me. Thank you." He turned to his fellow Immortali. "Escort my maternal grandfather's wife to his side," he said with loathing. "Let her offer comfort in his agony, since she has brought him to this impasse."
    Melisande said naught to him. I remembered well his bitterness at Benedicte de la Courcel's regard for his half-breed children and grandchildren; 'twas that cruel regard that Melisande had turned, drop by drop, into the poison of treason. She would find no sympathy here. Without a second glance, she went of her own accord.
    Ti-Philippe bent to retrieve Joscelin's dagger, thrusting it in his belt. "My lady," he said to me. "I think it is time we saw our Queen."
    Whatever else was true of him, Cesare Stregazza had the stuff of command in him. By the time we made our way to the center of the Temple, he had established the semblance of order. Marco and Marie-Celeste knelt at his feet, pleading clemency for their part in the conspiracy, claiming they had been deceived by Benedicte and his treacherous wife.
    His withered eyelids flickered; he did not give an inch. "Is it true?" he demanded of Melisande, who stood tall and straight beside the bleeding form of her royal husband.
    "Not in the least, your Grace," she replied calmly. "Your daughter-in-law herself bribed the Priestess of the Crown to ensure the false prophecy and see to it that the rioters were admitted to the Temple. Two votes in the Consiglio Maggiore, I believe was the price. I would not stoop to blasphemy."
    Marie-Celeste Stregazza drew a hissing breath and made some sharp reply; I did not stay to hear it, for I had won through at last to Ysandre's retinue. And there ...
    "Joscelin!" I flung my arms