Kushiel's Chosen

things, and had taken notation for her when I related the long tale of my adventures. 'Twas for her work on the Ysandrine Cycle, I had assumed, only partially correct. Thelesis' dark, lovely eyes glowed with pleasure as her surprise was revealed-Gilles Lamiz was working on his own, more modest offering, too.
    'Twas a poem based upon my exploits, and those of my companions.
    It was not a bad effort and he recited it well, in a clear tenor voice that owed its richness to his mentor's training. I rested my chin in my palm and listened, amazed to hear my own deeds recounted thusly, if not wholly as I remembered them. Young Gilles had listened well and captured the grieving madness of La Dolorosa, but he omitted the stench and tedium. My retort to Melisande Shahrizai's offer resounded with dignity, and not the skull-splitting reality of the desperate defiance I recalled. I thought the magnificent daring of Joscelin's attack on the black isle was well rendered, and Ti-Philippe's heroic marshaling of their scarce-trained Yeshuite allies to hold the tower, but both of them laughed afterward, saying there was a considerable measure of panic and terror that went unmentioned.
    So it went, and I must own, it sounded a good deal more impressive when set into verse. The sea-flight, the kríavbhog and the storms were all fearful, which was no more than the truth. Kazan Atrabiades came off as rather dashing, which made me smile; it would have pleased him, I think. In Gilles' version, Demetrios Asterius, the Archon of Phaistos, rendered his aid out of adoration for my beauty. I reckoned that did poor justice to his shrewd trader's wiles, but the D'Angeline nobles around the table glanced at me from the corners of their eyes and nodded sagely, more than willing to believe it true.
    One tale missing was that of the thetalos, for that I had not told, even to Thelesis de Mornay. It is a mystery, and of such things one cannot speak to the uninitiated; it sufficed to say that there was a ritual, and Kazan Atrabiades of Epidauro was cleansed of blood-guilt.
    Gilles Lamiz' poem ended in the Temple of Asherat, with my proclamation from the Oracle's balcony and Joscelin's heart-stopping duel with the Cassiline traitor David de Ro-caille. I daresay the latter read well enough without embellishment, and even Joscelin did not argue with it. Although all the realm knows his name because of it, it is not a deed in which he takes pride. No longer do two Cassiline Brothers attend the ruler of Terre d'Ange at all times. Ysandre broke with seven centuries' tradition after La Serenissima and Brys nó Rinforte's defection on the battlefield, dismissing them from her service.
    It is an irony that the Cassiline Brotherhood swelled in popularity after Gilles Lamiz' poem became famous, peers demanding Cassiline guards, families who had abandoned the tradition for generations sending their middle sons to foster with the Brethren. Joscelin only smiles wryly when people speak to him of it, and changes the subject.
    There was applause when Gilles Lamiz finished; a great, resounding deal of it, and much of it aimed my way. I felt myself flush hotly. The young poet bowed repeatedly, and Thelesis de Mornay beamed with pride. Ysandre raised her hand for silence, swiftly obeyed.
    "As you have heard their deeds," she said clearly, "so do we gather to honor them."
    Rising to stand as Queen, flanked on one side by Drustan mab Necthana and the other by Barquiel L'Envers, she called first Philippe, my chevalier Ti-Philippe, presenting to him the Medal of Valor, a heavy gold medallion embossed with Camael's sword and the lily of Elua, strung on a thick, green ribbon. Tears sprang to my eyes as I watched the last of Phèdre's Boys kneel before Ysandre, unwontedly sober, fingering the dense medal as she bid him rise.
    Afterward, she summoned Joscelin, and whether he welcomed it or no, my heart ached with pride to see his grave beauty as he gave his Cassiline bow, so much a part of him no one dared question it, and knelt to the Queen. To him too she gave the Medal of Valor, receiving it from the hand of Barquiel L'Envers, who served still as Royal Commander; and somewhat else beside. "It is an ancient tradition for a ruling Queen to appoint a Champion to do battle in her name," Ysandre declared, lifting a finely wrought wreath of vines from a pillow proffered by a waiting servant. "I have not done so, Joscelin Verreuil, but I give thanks to Blessed Elua for choosing you to