Kushiel's Chosen

thoughts of intrigue temporarily forgotten, she looked down at me in puzzlement. "Phèdre, what on earth are you doing on your knees?"
    I wasn't sure myself. "Asking forgiveness?"
    "Name of Elua." Ysandre considered me. "All right, Phèdre. I need candour, not apologies. Fail in it again, and I'll consider my trust misplaced. Now get up, and help me plan to welcome the King. And while you're at it," she added, asperity returning to her voice, "you may tell me exactly what you were about with that young Stregazza lad."
    "Yes, my lady," I murmured, rising with the fluid motion drilled into every prospective adept of the Night Court and casting a dubious glance at her Cassiline guards. "As you wish."
    I made a fair job of evading her questions, after that; it was not so hard, with the news of Drustan's incipient arrival distracting her. Ysandre had not forgotten-she missed little and forgot less-but she was more than willing to set it aside for the moment. For that, I could not blame her; her path to the throne had been a difficult one, and the crown lay heavy on her head. Lest anyone doubt that Ysandre de la Courcel cared for her Pictish lord, I may say, the Palace never knew such a scouring as it received in the days that followed.
    My skills as a translator were much in demand in those days, for naught would do but that diverse entertainments were to be staged in Drustan's honor, given in D'Angeline and Cruithne alike. It was sweet, after the long winter months of wrestling with Habiru, to turn my tongue to a language I knew well.
    Ysandre planned a procession to begin a full league outside the City, and I rode out as part of her delegation to make arrangements. Her Master of Ceremonies came himself, fussing over plans for a series of pine bowers to arch over the road. My part was easier, and I had Nicola L'Envers y Aragon to help me. Accompanied by a Guardsman bearing a great satchel of coins, Nicola passed out silver centimes to children and youths along the way with the injunction that they gather flowers to throw in Drustan's path, while I instructed them in shouting, "Long live the Cruarch of Alba!" in Cruithne. In troth, we had a great deal of fun doing it, and the day passed in laughter.
    Even so, I slept fitfully, plagued by nightmares, which had worsened since Marmion Shahrizai's exile. In an effort to take my mind from such matters, I took an assignation with Diànne and Apollonaire de Fhirze, for between the two, nothing passed at Court nor in the City but that they heard of it. Most of their talk was of the coming arrival of Drustan mab Necthana; in those days, it was on everyone's tongue. But they heard other things, too.
    "There's a rumor Tabor Shahrizai has sworn blood-feud against Marmion for the death of Persia," Apollonaire said lazily, winding a lock of my hair about his fingers. "Our Marmion hit the gates of the City and started running, they say. Some say south," he added, eyeing me, "toward Aragonia. Of course, some say he set out dead east, for Camlach and the Unforgiven. I heard there are Shahrizai hunting parties riding both routes. What do you say, sweet Phèdre? Did our fine Lord Marmion please cousin Nicola well enough that she would offer him asylum in Aragonia?"
    "I've no idea," I answered honestly.
    "Oh, I daresay Phèdre has other things on her mind," Diànne said cheerfully, snapping a bullwhip for the sheer amusement of watching me twitch. "Arranging for the Cruarch's processional and all. Not to mention the Yeshuite fracas. Your Cassiline's been seen with them, I hear tell." She examined the tip of the bullwhip. "A quarrel on the outskirts of Night's Doorstep, and a Yeshuite lad of no more than sixteen dead; the Baron de Brenois ran him through himself. He went to Kushiel's Temple to be purged of it, they say." She cracked the whip again, and I jumped half out of my skin. "What are armed Yeshuites doing wandering around Night's Doorstep, anyway? Let 'em go north, if that's what their prophecy demands! Why cause trouble here?”
    That, I didn't answer, though I could have. They were testing their blades and their courage, reminding themselves of D'Angelina iniquities, summoning the resolve to split away from the greater Yeshuite community. Summoning the resolve-and forcing the reason.
    And these were the folk courting Joscelin.
    It worried me considerably; enough so that I dared broach the subject with the Rebbe when he sent for me a day later. We read from the Melakhim, the Book of