Kushiel's Chosen

on, the dice emerged, as is wont to happen when wine and soldiers are gathered in the same place. I watched Ti-Philippe relieve one of the Unforgiven of a month's pay, chuckling as he threw the winning roll. He looked almost as he had in earlier days, when Remy and Fortun were alive, and it heartened me to see it. I said as much to Joscelin, who agreed.
    "I never reckoned him much more than a brash fool, before," he said soberly. "I thought he entered your service for a lark. But I was wrong, he's steadier than I ever guessed. He was the one kept the Yeshuites together when we attacked La Dolorosa, and he deserves most of the credit for getting us back alive, at that; I was half out of my wits, thinking my attempt to rescue you might have caused your death. It nearly did, too."
    I thought of Melisande's luxurious dungeon beneath the Little Court and shivered. "Saved me from a fate worse than death, more like. Elua knows what would have happened if you hadn't come that night. I don't, and I'm glad of it."
    Ti-Philippe scooped up his winnings, stuffing coins into the bulging purse at his belt. A silver regal tumbled free, rolling across the floor. It glinted in the torchlight like those coins the Bursar had thrown to our Milazzan guides. I bent to retrieve it. 'Twas a new-minted coin, one of the first of Ysandre's regency, depicting her seated in profile with the lily of Elua on the reverse. It was a good likeness; D'Angeline artisans are skilled at such things. I gazed at it, remembering Kazan and his men casting coins bearing the proscribed image and arms of the Ban of Illyria into silver ingots. After having met him, I do not think I would have recognized Vasilii Kolcei from his face on those coins.
    But I would recognize Ysandre de la Courcel from this one. I remembered the Master of Ceremonies preparing for Drastan mab Necthana's entrance into the City, and how I had ridden in a merry party with Nicola L'Envers y Aragon, who handed coins to children along the way and bid them to hail the Cruarch with flowers, while I taught them a greeting in Cruithne.
    "My lady Phèdre." Ti-Philippe gave me an amused bow and held out his hand. "My winnings, if you please."
    "Philippe!" Startled out of my reverie, I glanced at him. "May I keep this for a while?”
    He tossed his dice in one hand, grinning. "Will you play me for it, my lady?"
    I raised my eyebrows and smiled. "If you wish."
    I daresay it was luck as much as anything else that won me the roll, although Kazan's men had taught me well. Ti-Philippe surrendered the coin graciously and the soldiers laughed as I tucked it in my kirtle.
    Joscelín looked quizzically at me. "Phèdre nó Delaunay, what are you about now?" he asked, stroking my hair.
    "Oh, nothing." I leaned against him, enjoying the warmth and solidity of him. "I have an idea, that's all."
    "It seems I've heard those words before," he said wryly.
    In the morning, I sought an audience with Ysandre and her now-joint Captains of War. Amaury Trente clutched his hair and stared at me in disbelief. Ysandre made no response, but looked inquiringly at Tarren d'Eltoine. And d'Eltoine, in turn, paced back and forth in the council chamber, scowling.
    "You know this is insane?" he demanded, fetching up before me.
    "It's merely a thought, my lord," I said, subdued. "It was my understanding that one of the chief difficulties lay in establishing the Queen's identity before de Somerville can brand her an imposter."
    "It is." The Unforgiven Captain closed his eyes. "It's just..."
    "Will it work?" Ysandre asked.
    He opened his eyes. "It might."
    "Open the treasuries." Her voice brooked no argument. "Turn out the guards' purses. As many coins as you have with my likeness, I shall repay at double their worth. Captain, any means of succeeding without bloodshed, I will attempt, including this."
    "As you wish, majesty."
    It was a considerable haul, all told, for the garrisons of Camlach were not poor, and the soldiery had little on which to spend their pay during the cold months. I felt a little sick watching the preparations, for this was wholly mine own idea. If it failed, I could not blame it on the promptings of any god. Then again, if it failed, likely enough we were doomed anyway. A mere six hundred, riding against the whole of the Royal Army, who numbered into the thousands-and no one knew yet whether or not Ghislain de Somerville was involved, or how. The Unforgiven had no news out of Azzalle.
    For all his protests, Lord