Kushiel's Chosen

this one."
    I gave up on the knots. "My lady, the fault is mine, and I will remand your patron-fee. My laughter was inappropriate and inexcusable, and I can only beg your forgiveness.”
    Nicola looked at me a long time without speaking, her gaze thoughtful. "You did suspect him, didn't you? Cousin Barquiel."
    "Yes." I didn't add that I was not entirely convinced of his innocence. If there was anyone on my list clever enough to throw off suspicion by turning the tables, it was Barquiel L'Envers.
    "Why not Marmion?"
    "I did, for a while. But..." I shook my head, forgetting the ropes, and drew in my breath sharply at the resulting friction. "You're right, though," I said when I recovered myself. "He's truly afraid." I shifted, trying in vain to ease the cord's tension. "Nicola, I swear to you, on Elua's name, I did not conspire to free Melisande Shahrizai."
    Her purple gaze continued to regard me. "Do you know who did?"
    "No." In one reckless phrase, I cast the dice. "Not yet."
    Why I risked trusting her with that much, I cannot say; it was born in part out of my abiding frustration and loneliness, of that much I am sure. Then too, it is a matter of pride to me that I have never yet misjudged a patron. Whatever her motives, Nicola was that-she'd had me well in hand indeed, before mentioning Melisande's name. I watched her full lips curve in a smile.
    "I knew it would be interesting," she said softly, caressing the flogger, "crossing wits with you, Phèdre nó Delaunay. It is worth the price of losing, to see how it is done." Nicola circled me, letting the lashes trail over my skin, making me shudder. "This is what your patrons see, isn't it?" she mused. "This beautiful, abject flesh, trembling in supplication. Forgetting all the while..." pausing, she raised my chin with her fingertips, "... that behind those great dark eyes, shining with tears, lies a subtle, calculating mind. It's so, isn't it?"
    "Yes," I whispered, trembling.
    "I like to see you cry." Cupping my cheek, Nicola brushed her thumb along my eyelashes, then licked the glistening, salty wetness from her skin; Elua, I could have died! She truly was good. House L'Envers was Naamah's lineage, but there must be Kusheline blood in there somewhere. I'd always wondered why their arms featured the bridge over the river of Hell. It was a good thing it was sufficiently diffused in Ysandre; House Courcel was descended in a straight line from Blessed Elua. "But," Nicola said, jerking my attention back to her, "I will always wonder what else you are thinking when you do."
    In truth, I did not think a great deal after that; not then, and not for a time to come. I daresay Nicola got her fee's worth after all. It is a considerably difficult thing, to thoroughly please a patron when one is constrained to suffer unbearable pleasure at the slightest movement-and it is harder, too, to please women than men, who are simpler to gratify. On this, Naamah's Servants agree; one is trained half again as long for it in the Night Court. Well, I have never disgraced my training, with man or woman, and I did not that day. But there were a few times when I had to pause, writhing in my bonds, and Nicola's laughter rang in my ears. She punished me with the flogger, then, which only made it worse.
    So it is, with patrons of mine. Naught pleases them so well as the exercise of power; and by virtue of Kushiel's Dart, I am the perfect instrument for their desires.
    "Take it." Nicola laughed and pushed the purse back across the table. "You earned it, in the end. I have no complaints of you, Phèdre; and it's Barquiel's money, after all."
    "I know." I smiled, but shook my head. "No, my lady. If I have made amends for my misstep, I am pleased. But I cannot in conscience take this fee."
    Toying with the purse-strings, she frowned. "You know I contracted you under false circumstances."
    "Well." I shrugged. "That may be, but I am Naamah's Servant still, and in her service, I erred. Naamah cares naught for politics and espionage. I cannot accept this fee."
    "You really mean that?" She sounded surprised; I nodded.
    "Well, I would scarce say you failed her!" Nicola smiled, her eyes heavy-lidded. "Nonetheless, if I keep it, I will have your patron-fee still. Would you accept, if I offered?"
    I glanced involuntarily at the silken cords lying coiled and harmless on the carpet. "Yes," I said, my voice rough-edged with desire. "You do ... you do tie a skillful knot."
    "Good." Nicola took back the purse, the