Kushiel's Chosen

a noble-born D'Angeline refugee from the Camaeline hills. Husband, father, even her brother, all killed in the first wave of Selig's invasion. Her family had a quit-claim on House Courcel. Somewhat to do with her father taking arms at Benedicte's side in some ancient battle against the Skaldi."
    "The Battle of Three Princes," I murmured; I had cause to know it well. My lord Delaunay's beloved, the dauphin Rolande de la Courcel, had died in it.
    "That's the one." Severio drank off the rest of his wine. "She's all right, I suppose; it's not her fault. She even took the Veil of Asherat, to thank the Gracious Lady of the Sea for offering sanctuary where Elua and his Companions failed her." He gloated a little, saying it. "But whatever store of courage she had, I'm afraid she used in fleeing the Skaldi. I'm sorry for her losses, but all the same, she wed the old man, and now there's rumor in the Little Court that he's prepared to throw over the rest of us for a true-born heir. An heir untainted by base-born Stregazza blood, that is." He looked bitterly into his empty glass. "Did you know we trace our line back to Marcellus Aurelius Strega?"
    "An honorable lineage, to be sure," I said automatically. "Your ancestors would be proud. Severio, if your father stands to inherit the Doge's throne, what do the machinations of the Little Court matter?"
    "The office of the Doge is an elected one," he said simply. "For a lifetime, aye, but the succession is never sure. If my father is not elected and Prince Benedicte withdraws his patronage from the Stregazza, well, I'm just another Serenissiman lordling scrabbling for position. I'll be little better
    off than Thérèse and Dominic's four children, with their father slain and their mother imprisoned. Benedicte countenanced that, you know. My own cousins, and no hope of a future among the lot.”
    It gave me a chill to hear it. I was responsible for that, Alcuin and I.
    "Surely you have some inkling of how the election will fall out?" I asked him.
    Severio shrugged. "My father is well loved among the clubs of our Sestieri, my lady, but it is no guarantee, and less for me. He must needs court the approval of Prince Benedicte, and that has been a shaky thing since Dominic and Thérèse's treachery was exposed. Meanwhile, my uncle Ricciardo plots against him, rousing the craft-guilds. It is important, therefore, that I win some regard for my family on this visit. D'Angeline trade-favor has prospered La Serenissima." He refilled his wineglass, looking rueful. "I've not made a good job of it, thus far. And a good portion of the funds my father allotted me to win favor among the nobles, well..." Gazing at me, Severio cleared his throat and flushed. "My father was very generous, but I do not know that he will consider his monies well spent."
    When I took his meaning, I laughed out loud. "You bought me with your father's goodwill purse?"
    "Ah, well. Not the whole of it, no." He fidgeted with a fold of his tunic. "A goodly portion," he admitted.
    "Severio." I leaned forward, my eyes dancing. "Do you realize there's naught else you could have done with that money that would impress D'Angeline nobles more? They were laying odds on who my first patron would be! In one grand gesture, you have acquired a status no D'Angeline will ever hold. It is not my place to advise you, but believe me, if you make it known, you will be admired and envied by the Palace entire."
    His face lit up, making him look younger and handsomer. "You truly think so?"
    "I know it." I did, too. The stakes were different, when I was Delaunay's anguissette, a delightfully decadent secret to be shared among peers with certain vices. The Comtesse de Montrève was a hotly sought prize.
    "Why did you choose me?" A thought struck him, and he frowned. "Was it only the money? I thought it would be. That's why I made the offer so high."
    "No." I gazed at his scowling face and smiled. "I liked your anger."
    "Did you really?" Reaching for me, he drew me onto his lap so that I straddled him and began to open my robe, hands laying claim to my flesh. "Do you like me still, now that I am not so angry?" he asked curiously, tugging his toga half-off. The blunt head of his rising phallus probed between my nether lips as his hands, inside my robe, slid up my welted back.
    "Yes, my lord," I managed to gasp before he entered me, his nails digging into my skin.
    Young men.

SIXTEEN
    Severio Stregazza took my advice, although I did not hear the