Kushiel's Chosen

day, which were few; 'tis an astonishing thing, how quickly one's friends diminish with a Queen's disfavor. That it meant we had succeeded made it no less painful to find doors closed which had once opened eagerly to my name. Even Diànne and Apollonaire de Fhirze would not see me. It served to make me mindful that Nicola had meant what she said. Either she was foolish enough to risk Ysandre's displeasure-and I did not think she was-or she was sure our roles were but a deception. It gave me no ease, when I thought of Barquiel L'Envers, and the fresh welts on my skin, painful beneath my gown, reminded me of how rash my actions had been. I would pay for it, riding tomorrow.
    Nonetheless, I locked the words in my memory: Burning river. If I dared, I would have asked Ysandre to verify it, but there was no way I dared risk contacting her without giving the lie to our falling-out, and I was dependent on that perception to gain access to anyone who might be her enemy. At any rate, I thought, there was no way I would entrust my fate to the password of House L'Envers; not even if I trusted Nicola wholly, which I did not.
    My last visit was as my first had been: Cecilie Laveau-Perrin, whose door opened with alacrity. Indeed, she embraced me on the doorstep, heedless of whatever gossips might be watching. "Oh, Phèdre," she whispered in my ear. "I'm so sorry!”
    Her unquestioning loyalty touched me to the core, and I struggled to hold back tears; as luck would have it, she thought I grieved at my disgrace. It is the most dire thing of all, among Naamah's Servants, to incur the displeasure of a sovereign. I spent an hour or better in her home, enduring her kindness with all the squirming unease of a guilty conscience, and at last fled, before I gave voice to the entire deception, which lay the whole time on the very tip of my tongue.
    So it was done, and my farewells all said. When I returned home, all was in readiness for our departure. I spoke with Eugenie, and confirmed that she would maintain the house in my absence, giving her a purse of money and a note for my factor, should further funds be needful. I promised to write her with an address, to forward any urgent communication, as soon as we were established in La Serenissima. To my surprise, she burst into tears in the middle of our discussion, clutching me to her bosom. I had not known, until then, that she regarded me with such fondness; indeed, mothers have wept less, bidding farewell to their children.
    At least, mine certainly did.
    Whether it be through exhaustion, pain, pleasure or fear, I laid my head on the pillow and slept that night like the dead, a deep and dreamless sleep, and woke alert and ready at dawn. After strong tea and a light breakfast, our party assembled in the courtyard, Remy still yawning and knuckling his eyes. Five mounts, and three packhorses; enough, for my purposes. My chevaliers wore the livery of Montrève, black and green with my personal insignia at the breast bearing the moon and crag of Montrève, to which Delaunay's sheaf of grain and Kushiel's Dart had been added. Joscelin wore his own attire, dove-grey shirt and trousers with a long, sleeveless mandilion coat of the same drab color over it. It was close, very close, to the ashen garb of the Cassiline Brotherhood, save that his hair was braided, and not clubbed at his nape. I looked at him, his vambraces glinting in the early morning sun, daggers at his belt, sword strapped to his back, and made no comment. He looked back at me, equally expressionless. "Let us go," I said.

TWENTY-SEVEN
    As the white walls of the City of Elua fell behind us, I felt my spirits begin to rise with the freedom that comes of action after long confinement. It was a glorious D' Angeline spring day, a blue vault of sky and the sun bright and young overhead, the earth surging eagerly into bloom. Our horses were plump and glossy from winter's long stabling, restless with energy too long unspent. Remy sang aloud as he rode, until I had to regretfully bid him to silence; there were other travellers on the road, headed toward the City, and my household was supposed to be in disgrace.
    Still, we were travelling light and making good time, and it was hard to suppress our excitement. After several hours, even Joscelin's expression grew less severe, although he took care to remain stoic when I glanced at him. No child of the City, he, but Siovalese born and bred; he thrived in the open air. I daresay if there had