Kushiel's Chosen

involve any current or likely patrons of mine where her son's safety was concerned. I had seen the passion that flashed in her eyes when Ysandre had challenged her care for the babe. No, Melisande would not risk the boy, not even for the sake of our deep-laid game; and if Naamah desired her Servant's return, let her summon me herself.
    Thus did the winter pass, and the realm slowly healed from the second shock of betrayal in as many years. Parliament was convened out of season, and a trial held for Percy de Somerville. I had to testify, as did Ti-Philippe, who had heard the words of Phanuel Buonard's widow; the conclusion was foregone, as one of de Somerville's lieutenants had already made a full confession in the military hearings presided over by Barquiel L'Envers. I have heard some dubious comments about the Due L'Envers' method of questioning, but no complaints were filed, and the majority of the army command was exonerated. I held my tongue; Barquiel L'Envers had earned my forbearance. Like his chief lieutenant, Percy de Somerville was convicted of high treason and sentenced to death, given his choice of means. A good soldier to the end, the onetime Royal Commander fell on his sword.
    The City did not grieve for him as it had for Baudoin de Trevalion, another hero of the realm who had died the same way. That plot had died stillborn, aborted by Melisande's schemes; this one had hatched in full, and the memory of the Royal Army surrounding the City of Elua was too fresh. Still, I do not think anyone rejoiced, either. For my part, I was merely glad it was over.
    Early spring I spent immersing myself in my resumed studies in Habiru lore, patiently retracing the steps I had begun a year earlier. I had not forgotten my Prince of Travellers, or given up hope of finding a key to his freedom. I bought some Illyrian books as well, mindful that I did not lose that skill, and practiced by composing a letter to Kazan Atrabiades. Quintilius Rousse would be sailing to Epidauro when the weather cleared, carrying an emissary to discuss trade negotiations. Ysandre had not forgotten her promise, either; and Rousse would be sailing on to Kriti afterward, bearing a very generous gift for the Archon of Phaistos. I wrote letters to Demetrios Asterius also, and his cousin Pasiphae, Kore of the Temenos, whom I thought of often.
    When the last of spring's gales had blown themselves out, the shipping routes were open. Rousse's fleet departed from Marsilikos ... and once more, riders from Azzalle vied to be the first at the Palace with the news that the flagship of the Cruarch of Alba had been sighted on the Strait, Ysandre's face brightened at the news, and when she declared it was time at last for a celebration, I agreed wholeheartedly.
    "We have had the winter to remember and sorrow, my lady," I said. "It is spring, and a time for joy. I can think of no better reason for celebration than my lord Drustan's return."
    "Which we shall do, in abundance, but there is one reason yet lacking, near-cousin." Ysandre looked at me with quizzical amusement; I fear I bewildered her at times, though she loved me well enough. We were very different people, Ysandre and I. "Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève, it has not escaped my awareness that I owe my life and my throne to you, you and your companions. I have been awaiting a fitting time to make formal acknowledgment of your deeds. Did you truly think I would let it pass without a fête?"
    "Actually," I said, "I did."

EIGHTY-THREE
    "But what is she planning to do?" Joscelin demanded.
    "I don't know!" I retorted, irritated. "She won't say. Make a speech and toast us in front of the assembled peers of the realm, I imagine. Don't laugh." I pointed at Ti-Philippe, returned this spring from Montrève. "You're included in this, chevalier."
    "Oh, I wouldn't miss it." He raised his eyebrows and grinned. "I want to see the faces of those of your patrons in attendance when they learn the whole of what you've done. I don't think many of them truly reckoned they were bedding a genuine tales-of-the-poets heroine."
    To his credit, Joscelin merely responded by shying a grape at Philippe's head; Ti-Philippe dodged it, laughing. A great deal had changed between them since La Serenissima. I thought on Ti-Philippe's words, which held a certain truth. 'Tis a strange thing, to be lauded by one's peers, when a number of them have known one naked and pleading. I never set out to be aught but a courtesan. It is an odd quirk