Kushiel's Chosen

in a hidden part of my soul, savored the deep ache of the words Joscelin and I threw at each other, the pain of a lovers' quarrel magnified by the deliberate act of hurting each other. Who knows how long we would be bound to the wheel of life by these acts, doomed to live again and again in mortal flesh, until we freed ourselves to pass through Elua's Gate? Yet even so, we do it, time and again.
    "Come." Barquiel L'Envers' voice, light and mocking, slid between us like a blade. "Trouble among the Companions' chosen twosome? Say it is not so!"
    With an effort, I erased my thoughts from my face to smile pleasantly; Joscelin, forgetting himself, gave a smooth Cassiline bow, hands settling watchfully over his dagger-hilts.
    "Your grace," I murmured to the Duc, curtsying.
    "If Ysandre doesn't stand on ceremony with you, I'll not." He smiled, showing his teeth. "And of a surety, Nicola is not minded to! She'd not be the first beholden to me I'd lost to your charms, would she, Delaunay's anguissette?"
    In truth, she would not. There had been Childric d'Essoms, before, and a minor lordling named Rogier Clavel. Delaunay had used me to get to them, and them to get to the Duc L'Envers. Neither of us had forgotten. "I do not think the Lady Nicola is lost, my lord," I said carefully. "Say rather she thinks we are about the same business, you and I."
    L'Envers rubbed at a scar on his chin, a souvenir of Khebbel-im-Akkad, if rumor spoke truth. "And you doubt it."
    I raised my eyebrows at him. "Don't you, my lord?"
    He laughed. "Ah, Phèdre! I begin to think Anafiel Delaunay named a worthier heir than any of us suspected. I thought Ysandre was mad, when she sent you to the wilds of Alba as her emissary. If I'd thought it was aught else than a fool's errand, I'd have done somewhat more to halt it. But you did it, didn't you? And yet." His thoughtful gaze measured me. "Could you truly have watched her slain?"
    I didn't have to ask who he meant.
    Melisande.
    I didn't have to answer honestly, either, but I didn't trust myself with a lie. I returned his gaze squarely. "No. No, my lord, if you must know; I could not have watched it. Which is why I passed the night on the battlements of Troyes-le-Mont. If you do not believe it, question those men who stood guard that night, and learn it for yourself."
    Barquiel L'Envers gave me a wry expression and ran a hand through his short, fair hair. "I've tried, actually; or my men have. They are singularly difficult to locate, the guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont."
    Joscelin started, and I glanced sharply at him. L'Envers didn't miss it, looking from one to the other of us.
    "So you, too, have looked. Have you found them? Or," he asked, pleasant and dangerous, "or have you hid them, hmm?"
    "Your grace." With an effortless motion, Joscelin stepped between us, and his hands rested lightly on his hilts. "I swear to you, on Cassiel's Dagger, that my lady Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève had naught to do with the disappearance of Melisande Shahrizai, nor any knowledge of the guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont." His voice was even, and deadly. "If you would be her ally, then be so; if you would not, then do not impugn her."
    He had a couple of inches on the Duc, and the training of a Cassiline warrior-priest, begun at the age of ten. But Barquiel L'Envers was a battle-seasoned D'Angeline war-leader whose prowess had won the admiration of the Khalif of Khebbel-im-Akkad; and there are no fiercer warriors on earth than the Akkadians, ever since Ahzimandias, the Spear of Shamash, led his people out of the deserts of the Umaiyyat to reclaim the rights of the long-fallen House of Ur.
    "Don't swear on your daggers, Cassiline," he said calmly, "unless you mean to use them. And if you do, strike quickly, because I'll have your head if you don't. Well, we are at an impasse, it seems; perhaps allies, perhaps foes. Shall we bargain, then, Phèdre nó Delaunay? I know one place no one has looked for the guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont. What do you offer?"
    I touched Joscelin's arm lightly, and he stepped reluctantly back. "What does his grace the Duc de Somerville say of his guardsmen?" I asked thoughtfully. "You are friends, my lord. Have you not inquired?"
    Barquiel eyed me. "Yes, of course; do you take me for an idiot? He had given their command unto Ghislain, who gave them leave to expiate their failure by pursuing the Skaldi. That much is clear. Their return, howsoever..."
    "The Unforgiven." I bit my lower lip, unmindful of