Kushiel's Chosen

chamber," I said thoughtfully. "They knew he was her cousin; they'd have let him in to speak with her on the eve of her death. They did me. Joscelin." I turned to him. "Ysandre questioned the Shahrizai. There was talk about that, at least; they were under a lot of suspicion. Didn't one visit Melisande that night? After... after I did?"
    He tore off a hunk of bread, frowning. "Yes. But it was Persia, not Marmion. She needed to beg Melisande's forgiveness, she said." He shrugged. "I don't know if it's true. But she did leave, and well before daybreak. The guard at the stairs backed her story, or Ysandre would never have let it go. He saw her coming and going." Joscelin paused, then added, "Ghislain de Somerville said he saw her leave the audience hall in tears, after Ysandre was done questioning her. He said it was the only time he'd ever seen one of House Shahrizai cry.”
    "But not Marmion." Deep in thought, I rapped my spoon against my empty stew bowl. "Well. Even if he did visit Melisande, the guard at the postern gate would have challenged him. So if he was involved ..."
    "There still had to be someone else," Fortun said, finishing my thought. "Someone the guard would have trusted."
    "Yes." I set down my spoon. "Which gives us a new question: Who is in league with Lord Marmion Shahrizai, and why? And the answer to those questions ..." I smiled, "... lies in my purview."
    "Phèdre," Joscelin murmured, gazing into his wineglass. "Have a care with the Shahrizai."
    "He's not Melisande." I did not need to add that Marmion Shahrizai was as the pale moon beside the blazing sun next to his cousin. Joscelin knew it. Poets wrote odes to Melisande Shahrizai, although I never heard one that did her justice. They still sing them; they just change the names. Even inadequate verses were too beautiful to sacrifice to politics.
    "No." He gave me a hard look. "But a viper is no less dangerous for being small. And if Marmion Shahrizai arranged the death of his own sister, he'll scruple at naught."
    "I'll be careful."
    "Ysandre favors him," Ti-Philippe announced. "So the guards say. He makes her laugh."
    Well he might; from time out of mind, House Shahrizai has produced deadly skillful courtiers. None of them have ever held the throne-nor even the sovereign duchy of Kusheth-but they have amassed tremendous amounts of wealth, and a network of influence rivaled by none. If Marmion was in league with Melisande, then he had sacrificed some of his allies in gaining Ysandre's trust. If any survived, they must be nervous.
    "Well," I mused aloud. "If the Captain of the Guard allows it, maintain contact with these disgruntled Shahrizai retainers, and learn what you may. More than ever, it's important that we find the men on guard that night at Troyes-le-Mont.”
    "Yes, my lady!" Grinning, Remy gave me a crisp salute. "We didn't do too badly, though, did we?"
    "No," I said. "Not badly at all. Except for the fighting part."
    "My lady!" Ti-Philippe protested. "He said we were lackeys to a-"
    "Stop," I said mildly, cutting him off. The words died in his mouth. "Philippe, you have pledged your service to an anguissette and a Servant of Naamah. If the jests you hear are no worse than the ones you have made yourself, then you will be quiet and swallow them."
    Muttering, he subsided into some semblance of acquiescence.
    "What if they are worse?" Remy inquired.
    "They couldn't be," I answered him dryly.
    It may seem at times as if a riddle has been chased to ground, all possibilities exhausted, all avenues of inquiry covered. So it seemed to me that night, but in the morning, a new thought struck me. Thelesis de Mornay, the Queen's Poet, had interviewed many of the survivors of Troyes-le-Mont, taking copious notes for her epic of the Ysandrine Cycle. Mayhap there was somewhat in her notes that might prove useful.
    I voiced my suggestion to Joscelin as he came in from his morning's exercises, and he nodded agreement. "It's worth a try, at any rate." He smiled. "I missed her visit, the other day. I'd not mind seeing her."
    We arrived at the Palace at midday, and were swiftly granted audience. Thelesis' rooms in the Palace were spacious and well-appointed, with an elegant mural of Eisheth at her harp on the eastern wall and a lovely bronze statue of the Tiberian poet Catiline. For all of that, they were a mess, strewn about with books stacked in teetering piles, carelessly heaped scrolls and half-scratched parchments. Truly, a working poet's