Kushiel's Chosen

matter settled. "Ramiro likes to be tied. My husband," she added, catching my puzzled glance. "But it's not nearly so pleasing a sight. You're a great deal more fun, and considerably more skilled. Besides, I never have the slightest interest in knowing what he's thinking. And when you come to it, he's probably cost me more than you."
    I had to ask. "My lady ... you didn't tie Lord Marmion, did you?"
    "No." She laughed. "I can play Valerian as well as Mandrake, if I have to. Anything, to get out of Aragonia for a time," A non-D'Angeline wouldn't have known what she meant; I did. They are the houses of pain, in the Night Court. Where Valerian receives, Mandrake gives. "I'd rather the latter, but..." She shrugged. "I am interested by variety. And the Shahrizai are ... well, you know."
    I knew. "I wondered," I said aloud.
    "Yes, well." Nicola looked down, frowned, and met my eyes. "I'm quite sure he killed his sister," she said softly. "Why do you suppose he would do that, if he were innocent?"
    I could have dissembled; I thought about it, an expression of shock at the ready. In the end, I didn't. "She wasn't," I said bluntly. "I think she played a part in Melisande's escape, and Marmion knew it. His mistake was confronting her. He didn't know who her ally was; I think she threatened him, and he killed her rather than call her bluff. Now he's well and truly isolated himself. He's right, to be frightened; I don't blame him for that. But he's an idiot to think it's me. I don't hold that kind of sway."
    "Mmm." Nicola looked speculative. "I don't know about that. Ysandre rallied her nation for invasion and civil war, on your bare word-if Marmion thinks she'd trust your condemnation, he may not be wrong. Nonetheless ..." She chuckled. "You and cousin Barquiel, all at cross-purposes, suspecting each other. It's Anafiel Delaunay all over again, with him! Just think, if they'd made peace earlier. All they ever wanted was the same thing; Ysandre de la Courcel on the throne."
    "Mayhap," I said slowly. "But there was blood between them, bad blood. Edmée de Rocaille was a friend of Delaunay's. And not even the Duc denies his sister Isabel was responsible for her death."
    It was an old story, that one; a portion of the puzzle Hyacinthe and I had spent so many hours piecing together. I was not even born when Edmée de Rocaille died, who was betrothed to Prince Rolande. A hunting accident, it was said-but the girth of her saddle had been cut, and Edmée had a bitter rival in Isabel L'Envers, who bore no love for the Prince's poet-consort, Anafiel Delaunay. Edmée de Rocaille had been his friend since childhood. Although it cost him the favor of the court and nearly Rolande's regard, my lord Delaunay wrote a deadly satire about Isabel L'Envers, blackening her name. Since then, he and her brother Barquiel had been dire enemies. I was but a babe in arms when Rolande was slain in battle. As for Isabel, whom Rolande had wed in the end, I remembered her death; I'd been a child, in Cereus House.
    It meant as little to Nicola as to me: She shrugged. "And your Delaunay's verses named Isabel a murderess on everyone's tongue," she concluded. "Well and so, it's naught to do with you, Phèdre, nor with me. What would you say, if I offered to help you? What would you have me do?"
    It was tempting; Elua, it was tempting! "Why?"
    "Because." Nicola frowned. "Because you're damnably good at what you do, so good that I daresay no one else within fifty leagues of the City even knows you're doing it. When this is over, Barquiel will ship me back to Aragonia, whether I will it or no, and my only hope of gaining stature lies in intrigue. That, and the fact that my cousin Ysandre de la Courcel retains her seat on the throne of Terre d'Ange. Is that reason enough?" She smiled, then, that heavy-lidded smile. "Besides, it may afford another occasion for dalliance. And that would please me for its own sake. So tell me, what might I do?"
    I had been thinking, all the while she spoke. "Do you know the Marquise Solaine Belfours?"
    'Tall and haughty? Secretary of the Privy Seal?" Nicola laughed. "I know her. Why?"
    "I need occasion to question her, without her suspecting. If you were to hold a fête and invite us both ..."
    "I can do that." Nicola cocked her head at me and jingled the purse with my erstwhile patron's fee. "With this. Will you tell me why?"
    "No." I shook my head.
    "Well, then." She glanced at the white cords, such simple objects, lying in limp and