Kushiel's Chosen

lady," I whispered. "You know what we seek. Is there any price not named that you will accept?"
    I had not planned it, this offer; if I had thought on it, I would have faltered. And yet it was a bargain that had lain on the table between us since those dreadful days and nights when I languished in the prisons of the black isle.
    They treated her as royalty, here in the Temple of Asherat-and how not, for she was, noble-born, with a courtier's deadly skill and a mother bereft of her son besides. I had spent many a dark night on La Dolorosa; I knew the extent of Asherat-of-the-Sea's grief. I knew what it meant to those who served the goddess. They would shelter her, for so long as she desired. And they would accommodate her, if she wanted me. Not a small price, no; but mayhap worth it, if it bought peace.
    It would bring an end, at last, to the chain of blood-guilt I had seen my life's course forging in the cavern of the thetalos.
    There was that.
    Slowly, regretfully, Melisande Shahrizai shook her head, setting the blue-black curtain of her hair rippling down her back. "No," she said softly. "Not for this. Not for my son."
    I heard Joscelin release a long-pent breath and I straightened, turning to face my Queen. "You have asked." My composed voice sounded like a stranger's to me. "You have been answered, your majesty. Will you hear my counsel?"
    "I would," Ysandre said.
    "Go home, your majesty," I said simply. "There is a game being played out whether you will it or no, and naught to be won here. Percy de Somerville moves against your throne, even now awaiting word that flies to him on winged hooves. Go home, and defend it."
    Ysandre heard me out expressionlessly, and nodded once, rising. "My offer stands," she said to Melisande. "For now. Remember that I have made it." And without waiting for a response, she swept out of the salon, members of her retinue falling in behind her. Melisande remained standing, watching her go, thoughtful behind her gleaming veil.
    I gazed at her one last time before I turned to follow my Queen, and what she was thinking, I could not say. Even in defeat, Melisande was unhumbled. Wrenching my gaze away, I followed the departing retinue, and Joscelin's hand rested on my elbow, guiding me when my feet stumbled, anchoring me, his love the dagger by which I fixed the compass of my heart.
    In the Temple proper, Lord Amaury Trente railed against the newly annointed Priestess of the Crown, she who had spoken in defense of Melisande's claim of sanctuary and stood now in the place of her predecessor. "Her life is forfeit by D'Angeline law!" he shouted, venting futile anger. "How can you defend such a one, whose honeyed tongue has shed more blood than a warrior's blade?"
    Although she was young enough to tremble, she was old enough to stand her ground, raising her chin. "Only those who transgress against the Goddess may we punish, and that we have done in accordance with Her laws. Asherat's regard favors the cobra as well as the lion, my lord. By what authority do you claim otherwise?"
    Caught up in my own turmoil, I turned away without awaiting his answer, nearly fetching up against another priestess. This one I knew, old Bianca with her milk-white eyes. Joscelin, hard on my heels, plowed into me from behind as I halted.
    "Ah," the ancient woman said, satisfaction in her tone as she raised her hand to feel at my features. "Elua's child, who did his Mother's bidding and cleansed Her household. Truly, you bear Their fingerprints on your soul, child!" She chuckled to herself, "The gods themselves cannot keep Their hands off you. And your faithful shadow, bound to you in light and darkness. Shall I tell your fortune, since you have stood in the place of the Oracle and wrought ours?"
    Shivering under her touch, I welcomed the solidity of Joscelin's presence behind me. "Keep your pomegranates, old mother! Let the gods choose some other vessel for a change, and look to their own. I have done my share."
    "Neither the fruits of the soil nor the flesh are needed to tell your fate," Bianca said complacently, withered fingertips resting on my skin. "Serve true, and remember what others have named you; ten years' respite shall be yours if you do." Her hand fell away and she blinked like a child, sightless and bewildered. "Thus I am vouchsafed to say, and no more."
    "Thank you," I whispered; what else was I to say? Stooping-for age had wizened her so that her head reached no higher than my chin-I embraced her,