Kushiel's Chosen

half-veil, I secured with hairpins topped with glittering black jet, and when it was in place, a stranger's face gazed back at me from the mirror. My veiled gaze was lustrous and mysterious, for once not betrayed by the scarlet mote in my left eye. The elaborate coif of my dark hair added an archaic elegance, and my fair skin glowed against the black gauze of the veil. And the gown-I rose, and it swirled around my hips in a crimson glissade.
    "I think that will do," I said softly.
    "My lady." Gemma held up a tangle of scarlet ribbons. "For your wrists."
    I had forgotten, that was the final touch to the costume of Mara; silk ribbons bound about the wrists, hanging gracefully and fluttering. Deft enough now that her nerves had settled, Gemma tied them in place with elegant knots. I caught my breath, feeling them tighten around my wrists. That settled it, then. If there was any truth to old legends, Naamah's child Mara was truly an anguissette. I turned, ribbons trailing, surveying my reflection one last time. From the rear, the entire expanse of my back was bare, ivory skin framed in scarlet silk and bisected by the dramatic black lines and crimson accents of my marque.
    "That will do, indeed." It was Fortun's calm, deep voice. He stood leaning in the doorway, surprisingly elegant in black velvet. The bronze key glinted dully on his chest, emblem of Asmodel's calling, and the black domino made his features mysterious. It peaked in twin horns, piercing the dark locks that fell over his brow. "Are you ready, my lady? Ti-Philippe has the carriage waiting."
    I drew a deep breath. "I am ready."
    He bowed, and held out his arm. "Then let us depart."
    Perched in the driver's seat, Ti-Philippe wore an imp's mask shoved high on his forehead, the better to see. When I emerged on Fortun's arm, he gave a sharp whistle and stamped his feet, making the horses skittish.
    "Enough," I said, laughing. "You're to be on your best behavior tonight."
    "Much like yourself, my lady." With an irrepressible grin, he leapt down to throw open the carriage door. "Though it may mean somewhat different!"
    Fortun handed me into the carriage and followed after, and in short order we were on our way.
    Unaccountably, I found I was nervous. It had been a long time-two years, exactly-since I had appeared in public in the formal role of a Servant of Naamah. A great deal had happened since Melisande Shahrizai had paraded me before the peers of Kusheth on a velvet lead. Thinking on it, I reached instinctively to touch my throat where her diamond had lain. I had been a slave, an ambassador, and inherited a noble title; what I was about now was a far cry from my days as Delaunay's anguissette, where I had naught to do but that which my own nature dictated and to recount the observations of my faculties to my lord Anafiel Delaunay.
    I had no master, no patron to whom to report, and I knew altogether too well the stakes for which I played.
    "My lady." Fortun interrupted my thoughts. "There are bound to be inquiries. How do you wish me to handle them?"
    He was right, of course; every D'Angeline past the age of five knew what it meant to see a Servant of Naamah bare his or her marque publicly. "Tonight," I said, "is the Longest Night, and I am attending the Queen's Midwinter Masque by her invitation as the Comtesse of Montrève. To conduct business, even Naamah's business, on this night would be unseemly, and you would do well to remind them of that-courteously, of course. As of tomorrow, however, if they wish to propose an assignation, they may send around a courier with a written offer."
    Fortun cleared his throat. "Would I be right in assuming that no promises are to be made, as you are highly selective in the assignations you choose, but no one is to be discouraged, as your tastes are notoriously eclectic?"
    "Yes." I smiled. "You would at that."
    "Have you chosen already, my lady?" he asked curiously. "Who will be the first?"
    "No." I brushed my fingers along the edge of the window-curtain. "My lord Delaunay cast out his bait, and fished accordingly. I will do the same. I don't know, in truth, who will bite."
    "What if it's Marmion Shahrizai?"
    "If it's Marmion," I said, "we will see." I ran the curtain through my fingers. Melisande had known me almost eight years before she had contracted me, excepting for Prince Baudoin de Trevalion's pleasure. It nearly drove me mad. I doubted her younger cousin could play her waiting game with the same devastating