Kushiel's Chosen

leaned on my pommel, glad of a moment's rest, and looked up to find Ysandre gazing at me.
    "It is your plan, Phèdre," she said. "What would you have us do?"
    "Follow him," I replied wearily. "And let me ride at the fore, my lady. I have promised to stand surety for this plan."
    Ysandre paused, and nodded; Amaury Trente's advance guard parted to make a passage. I rode to take my place at the front of the party, with Joscelin at my side, my Cassiline shadow, pausing only to give a few words of instruction to Ti-Philippe and the other men-at-arms who warded Ysandre's ladies.
    So we rode onward.
    It was late afternoon when the scouting party found us, and the sun slanted low and orange through the pines. They had chosen their spot with care; a narrow bottleneck in the stony path, leaving our party strung out in a straggling line behind us. Twenty of them, crossbows at the ready, in well-worn armor with black shields hanging at their sides. I knew how skilled their formations were. A dozen men would suffice to hold us here for the better part of an hour, while the others raced to report; doubtless the garrison had already been turned out and was on its way.
    "Who are you, who have entered unbidden onto D'Angeline soil?" one of the foremost asked, his voice muffled by the visor of his helm. "Name yourselves!"
    I nudged my horse forward, fearfully aware of the barbed quarrel of his crossbow pointed directly at my heart . "My lord guardsman, I am Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève," I said aloud. "I ask safe passage among the Unforgiven for her majesty Ysandre de la Courcel, the Queen of Terre d'Ange.”
    There was no echo of Kushiel's bronze-edged thunder to my words, no hint of scarlet haze to my vision; only my voice, thin and tired in the cold air. Nonetheless, the leader checked, putting up his crossbow. A murmur arose, before and behind. He lifted his visor and rode forward, setting his horse sideways to me as he leaned in the saddle, peering at me. Beside me, Joscelin tensed, his hands edging for his daggers. Low sunlight glanced off his vambraces, and one of the Unforgiven exclaimed.
    "My lady!" The leader of the scouting party's eyes widened; he had seen my dart-stricken gaze. Before I could speak he had dismounted, kneeling in the snow-dusted pine mast. "Kushiel's chosen," he murmured. "We are yours to command."
    Once again, I sat bewildered as, one by one, the Unforgiven dismounted and bowed their heads, kneeling to me, and this second time was no less strange than the first. I turned in the saddle to meet the steady, violet gaze of my Queen, who had chosen to risk her very throne at my word. I turned back to face the Unforgiven.
    "Take us to Southfort," I said. "I have a favor to ask Captain d'Eltoine."

EIGHTY
    Tarren d'Eltoine received us with hospitality and no little awe.
    "Majesty," he said bluntly, going to one knee and bowing his head to Ysandre. "Forgive my surprise, but we did not look to see you alive. I received word two days past that you were slain in La Serenissima, and your uncle the Duc L'Envers had seized the throne and sealed the City."
    Tears of relief stung my eyes. "It's true?" I asked, heedless of protocol. "Barquiel L'Envers holds the City of Elua?"
    D'Eltoine opened his mouth to reply, then glanced at Ysandre, who gave a brief nod. "Rise, Captain, and tell us what you know," she bid him.
    This he did, in the crowded council room of the Southfort garrison, while members of the Queen's party and the Unforgiven alike pressed close to hear the news. "Majesty, I don't vouch for the truth of it, but this is what I was told. Six days ago, Prince Benedicte's couriers brought the news that there had been rioting in La Serenissima, and you had been foully murdered as part of a conspiracy headed by the newly elected Doge's brother, with the aid of a Cassiline traitor. They carried orders to his grace the Duc de Somerville to secure the City's safety, for Prince Benedicte would be following in all haste. Lord Percy immediately began to move his troops from Champs-de-Guerre, and, begging your pardon, majesty, your uncle Barquiel used his authority as Regent to stage a coup and seal the City against him."
    "And now?" Ysandre asked grimly.
    The Unforgiven Captain shrugged, spreading his hands. "L'Envers had a fair number of his own men in the City, and it seems the Palace and City Guards are loyal to him. Enough to hold, for a time. The Royal Army is encamped at the very walls of the City; Lord Percy is