Kushiel's Chosen

the more. No one living had done it.
    Placing a candied rose petal on my tongue, I let it melt in a wash of sweetness. "I will," I promised. "What news have I missed?"
    "Ah, well!" Her eyes danced. "Despite the Cruarch's visit this summer, it grows obvious that the Queen is not with child. Now that winter stares us in the teeth, speculation mounts as to whether or not she will take a lover; and if so, whom."
    "Does it indeed?" I murmured. "Do you think she will?" We were D'Angeline. Love as thou wilt. She would not have been the first, nor the last.
    "No," Cecilie said decisively, shaking her head before sipping her wine. "Ysandre was raised as a pawn on the playing field of marital alliance; she knows how to play the game and commit to none. Any mind, I hear she is committed to him. If House Courcel provides an heir, he or she will be half Picti."
    It was true; I had reason to know it. Against all odds, the marriage of the Queen of Terre d'Ange and the Cruarch of Alba was a love match-and the Strait that divided them was nigh as deep as the one between Joscelin and me.
    "Still," Cecilie continued, "it is open season on the position of Queen's paramour, and contenders abound."
    "If Ysandre is not troubled, I'll not trouble myself." I took up the wine-jug and refilled our glasses. "What of the Skaldi? Have the borders been quiet?"
    "As the grave." There was satisfaction in her tone. "Somerville was awarded a duchy, you know; sovereign in L'Agnace. No one disputes it. The Royal Army's been approved to stand down, now. Camaelines hold the border."
    "D'Aiglemort's men?" I glanced up, surprised. Cecilie nodded.
    "The Unforgiven, they call themselves," she said softly. "They bear black shields."
    We were both silent a moment, remembering. Only a few of the Allies of Camlach had survived the battle of Troyes-le-Mont, where the Skaldi warlord Waldemar Selig had united his people, leading an invasion against Terre d'Ange. He had had reason to believe he would prevail, encouraged in his endeavors by Melisande Shahrizai, who played a deep-laid game. I know, for she sold me into slavery among the Skaldi when I learned her plan. I do not think she meant me to survive. I did, though. In the deepest winter of Skaldia, I survived to become Selig's mistress, and I learned his plan, escaping in time to warn Ysandre. It was enough, by the nearest of margins. Ysandre sent me to Alba, and I brought the Cruarch's army to my country's aid. In the end, only Melisande escaped unscathed.
    I could have done none of it without Joscelin.
    The Allies of Camlach had been vassals of the traitorous Duc Isidore d'Aiglemort, Melisande's ally, whose fatal conspiracy had opened the door for the Skaldic invasion and
    nearly brought ruin on the nation. Isidore d'Aiglemort is dead now, and he died a hero at the end.
    I was there, watching from the parapet, when he led the charge against Waldemar Selig's army. It was the Allies of Camlach who had driven a wedge into the massed Skaldi, and d'Aiglemort himself who slew Selig. He didn't live to tell of it; not many men of Camlach had survived that charge. Those who had lived had vowed themselves to driving the invading Skaldi far beyond D'Angeline borders.
    The Unforgiven. It was a disturbing name.
    "Did you hear?" Cecilie changed the subject, poring over the tray of dainties. "Prince Benedicte has remarried."
    "No!"
    "Oh, yes." She looked amused. "Do you suppose the passions of the flesh wither with age, my dear?"
    "But he must be ..."
    "Only sixty-aught," Cecilie said complacently. "And twelve years a widower. Ganelon was his elder, by a considerable amount. He took a Camaeline lass to wife, whose family was slain in the war. Tourande, Tourais, something like that. They're expecting a child, come spring. I didn't tell you?"
    "No," I said absently. "What does it betoken, for the throne?"
    "Naught that I know of." She nibbled at a bit of marchepain. "As Ganelon's brother, Benedicte is still formally next in line, but he has two daughters to succeed him, although I understand Thérèse is imprisoned for her part in Isabel L'Envers' death."
    "And Barquiel L'Envers?"
    "The Duc L'Envers." Cecilie set her piece of marchepain down unfinished. "If you're wary of anyone, be wary of him, Phèdre. Ysandre is thick with her uncle-and I do not say it is wrong, for blood calls to blood. But House L'Envers was ever ambitious, and he was your lord's enemy, you know. Ysandre may be Isabel's daughter, but she bears Rolande's