Kushiel's Chosen

Elua, but he was good! I would have kissed him, if he'd have let me; as it was, I bit my lip and made a courteous introduction.
    "Oh!" Joscelin said, widening his gorgeous summer-blue eyes at her and swaying on his feet. "You would know, then, my lady of the Privy Seal... my lady, I am writing a treatise on the history of the Cassiline Brotherhood and House Courcel, very interesting stuff, to be sure..." Swaying, he placed one hand clumsily on her arm and peered at her. "Pray, my lady, mayhap you would help me gather information?"
    Solaine Belfours shook him off, profound irritation refleeted in her mien. "Love of Elua, man, ask the Royal Archivist if you've need of that hoary old history.' I've no time for CassieJ's nonsense."
    "Pardon, my lady." Joscelin blundered backward a step, catching my eye for the merest second, a flicker of amusement come and gone so fast I might have imagined it. I would have held on to that flickering instant if I could; caught it and held it tight to me. "A thousand pardons.'"
    Solaine stared after him as he went weaving into the crowd, shaking her head. "I never thought," she said unpleasantly, "that left to your own devices, your taste would run to dumb and pretty, Phèdre. Do yourself a favor, and root around in the archives, if you will, but stay out of politics."
    Nicola was right; my patrons failed, time and again, to pay heed to what I saw, what I witnessed. And I had seen enough to know that the Marquise did not dissemble. Her irritation was unfeigned; howeversomuch I mistrusted her-and I did-there was naught she feared to have uncovered in the Royal Archives or the history of the Cassiline Brotherhood.
    Still, she had been a patron once, and I could not resist pushing. "As my lady bids," I murmured, curtsying; she did, after all, outrank me. "I did not mean to offend."
    "I swear, sometimes, you live to give offense." Solaine Belfours looked sourly at me. "But I will forgive your intervention with Ysandre, if you swear to leave well enough alone. As you say, our interests lie in the same sphere. All the same, you ought to have a care, Phèdre." A curl of contempt shaped her lips. "If you think all of Lyonette de Trevalion's secrets died with her, you're twice the fool I reckoned."
    It was an empty threat, made for the sake of taunting; I'd have staked my reputation on it. I knew Solaine Belfours, and I knew it rubbed her on the raw that Delaunay had played her for a fool, and I the bait on his hook. Still, a threat is a threat, and I noted it well, bethinking myself of Gaspar Trevalion, who had stood surety for her.
    He had disavowed all knowledge and escaped all blame, when Lyonette de Trevalion's plan to put her son Baudoin on the throne was revealed; and indeed, it was my lord Anafiel Delaunay who stood surety for him, then. If Solaine had blackmailed Gaspar into aiding her, surely it was to do with that. I put two pieces together and thought: Gaspar knew. He knew of the plot, and said naught, even to Delaunay. Once, then, Gaspar Trevalion would have been content to see his kinsman Baudoin crowned in Ysandre's stead. His loyalty did not run as deep as my lord Delaunay had believed.
    Satisfied with my conclusions, I made her another curtsy and withdrew, finding Joscelin. He kept up his pretense well, unsteady on his feet with another glass of brandy. "They will be gossiping tomorrow about Phèdre's Cassiline," he murmured. "And Solaine Belfours knows nothing."
    "Well, that in itself is something," I retorted. "And I have never known you to care for gossip."
    Joscelin smiled wryly, swirling his brandy and lowering his head as if to drink. I daresay no more than a sip of it had passed his lips. "They talk about you, you know," he said into his glass. "They say you are somewhat taken with the Lady Nicola L'Envers y Aragon, so much that you refused her payment. Your friend Apollonaire de Fhirze was passing jealous." Raising his head, he gave a short laugh. "And of me." His lips twisted bitterly. "He thinks I am the most fortunate man alive, it seems."
    "You would be," I said. "If you had his tastes."
    "Or his sister's."
    Why is there ever this perverse cruelty in humankind, that makes us hurt most those we love best? Mayhap there is time and world enough, in the blessed Terre d'Ange-that-lies-beyond, to play these games out to their conclusions, but for us, on mortal soil, there is so little time! And I, of all people, was the least equipped to answer this riddle; I, who even now,