Kushiel's Chosen

joie to be drunk this night. Will you call upon me before you leave the City of Elua? It would please me greatly to offer you my hospitality ere you return home.”
    "I would be honored," Gaspar promised, bowing.
    By this time, joie and wine flowed freely and the fête had reached the height of gaiety. I cannot begin to count the number of lords and ladies of the realm with whom I danced, bantered and flirted, nor the number of inquiries, discreet and overt, I received. I heeded the advice I had given Fortun, and made promises to none. It was a good hour before my diligent chevalier found his way back to my side, looking somewhat disheveled for his absence.
    "My lady," he greeted me, a touch out of breath. "It seems the interest you incite rubs off on your companions!"
    I laughed, and smoothed his rumpled hair. "Whose clutches did you escape, Fortun?"
    "A gentleman does not tell," he replied, grinning. "Let me say only that there are some few D'Angeline nobles who think their suits may be heard clearer if I plead for them. They are laying bets on who will be your first patron, my lady."
    "Let them," I said with satisfaction. "For now, do you think you might secure us a place at the banquet table?"
    "Consider it done."
    No formal dinner is served on the Longest Night, but the Queen's table was heaped high at all times and a steady stream of servants came and went, bearing away the empty trays and platters and bringing an endless array of foods. Plates and silver clinked and rattled, gleaming by candlelight, and guests ate and chattered incessantly, lifting wineglasses, dipping fingers in bowls of rosewater to rinse. I dined on pheasant glazed with honey and thyme, so tender and sweet it near melted in my mouth; I daresay Fortun sampled five dishes to my every one. There was a contingent of Cruithne at the table, representatives of Drustan mab Necthana, and we had a lively time conversing once they discovered I was in their midst, for many of them were awkward still with the D'Angeline tongue, and I had not forgotten my sometime role as translator.
    It was during one such conversation that the musicians struck up a lively Caerdicci tune, and I felt a presence at my shoulder. Turning, I gazed up to see Severio Stregazza.
    "Comtesse." He bowed curtly and extended his hand. "Will you dance?"
    "It would be my great pleasure." Taking his hand, I rose gracefully and followed to join him on the dancing floor.
    For all that I had boasted of my skill, the Serenissiman led awkwardly, and I was hard put to follow him in such a manner as to conceal it. Still, I managed-we are taught to do no less, in Cereus House. The long nose of his mask bumped against my bare shoulder, and his gaze burned through the eyeholes.
    "I heard the King of the Dalriada went to war for one night in your arms," he said abruptly. "Is it true?"
    "Yes, my lord." Anticipating a swift turn, I followed. "After a fashion." It was no more and no less than the truth; I did not deem it necessary to mention that Eamonn mac Conor had gone to such lengths out of jealousy of his sister as much as desire for me. Eamonn is dead now, slain on the field of Troyes-le-Mont, and at any rate, he would rather have the latter believed than the former, I think.
    "Terre d'Ange is at peace." He steered us through a crowd, then out. "What cost, then, for a Prince of La Serenissima?"
    "My lord," I said mildly, raising my head to meet his gaze. "I have set no price, save what Naamah's honor demands. When the Longest Night has passed, I will entertain offers, and we shall see. But this much, I will say." I smiled, and felt his heat rise at it. "Naamah's interests were ever... eclectic. And you are the only Serenissiman prince in attendance upon my debut returning to her service."
    Severio's arms, holding me, tensed, though he did naught but nod. When the Caerdicci air was ended, he released me with a stiff bow, and stalked away. I would hear from him. I had no doubt of it.
    The pause following the end of the tune stretched into silence, growing slowly apparent to the crowd. The musicians in their mountain grotto took up their instruments and slipped away. One by one, the revelers fell back from the dance floor. In the silence, the tocsin began to beat. The horologists had proclaimed the hour, and Night's Crier made his way through the hall, sounding his brazen gong with a steady beat. I felt a touch at my arm as Fortun joined me, glancing swiftly at me. On the far side of the