Kushiel's Chosen

I.
    "Joscelin Verreuil." She rested her fingertips on his arm when he finished his sweeping bow. "I trust you have been keeping my near-cousin safe?"
    It was Ysandre's jest, to name me thusly. Of a surety, there were ties of neither blood nor marriage between us, but my lord Delaunay, who had taken me into his household, had been dearly beloved of her father Rolande. Indeed, that love had gone deeper than many suspected, and Delaunay had sworn in secret an oath to ward Ysandre's life as his own.
    "I protect and serve, your majesty." Joscelin smiled, warmth in his words and not irony. Whatever lay between us, his loyalty to the Queen was undiminished.
    "Good." Ysandre looked with amusement at the bowed heads of Remy, Fortun and Ti-Philippe, who had all dropped to one knee before her. "Well met, chevaliers," she said
    kindly. "Does your service still suit, or does the sea beckon
    you back to my lord Admiral Rousse?"
    Remy grinned up at her. "We are well content, your majesty."
    "I am pleased to hear it." Ysandre looked back at me.
    "Come, Phèdre, tell me how you have been keeping. I am sure your men will find ample entertainment in the Hall of Games, and I am eager to learn what has brought you back to the City of Elua."
    If it had been strange to enter the Palace as a peer, stranger still to stroll the Hall at Ysandre's side, her Cassiline guards trailing us. It had been different, after the war, when everything was still in a jumble, Albans and Dalriada everywhere, and my services in constant demand as translator. This measured order was like the Palace of my youth, which I had attended only at the behest of noble patrons.
    "Matters proceed well, it seems," I observed to Ysandre.
    She smiled wryly. "Well enough. We are fewer than before, I fear, but our alliance with Alba has given us new strength. Drustan will be sorry to have missed you."
    "And I him." There had been a strong sympathy between us, the Cruarch of Alba and I.
    "Come spring, he'll be back." There was a faint trace of longing in Ysandre's voice; I doubt it would have been evident to anyone not trained to listen for such things. "So tell me, was Montrève too rustic for your liking?"
    "Not entirely," I answered honestly. "It is very pleasant. But there is a matter I am pursuing that I cannot follow from the isolation of a country manor." Ysandre looked at me with interest, and I told her of my research into Yeshuite lore, my dream of finding a key to unlock Hyacinthe's prison. I could not help but mark, as we walked, how all eyes in the Hall of Games followed the Queen, and a hum of speculation followed in her wake. Nobles contrived to place themselves in our path, moving aside with a bow or curtsy; I could see the offers plain in their faces, men' and women alike.
    Ysandre handled it with an absent grace. "Your Tsingano lad, yes. I wish you luck with it. They are a strange folk, the Yeshuites." She shook her head. "I do not pretend to understand them. We welcome them openly in Terre d'Ange, and they accept our hospitality on sufferance."
    "There is no room in their theology for Blessed Elua, my lady. They cannot reconcile our existence, and it troubles them."
    "Well." Ysandre's fair brows arched. "They have had some time to grow accustomed to the notion. Have you come to a decision on the other matter?" she asked then, changing the subject. "You are still vowed to Naamah, unless I am mistaken."
    "Yes." Unthinking, I twisted a ring I bore on the third finger of my right hand; black pearls, given me as a patron-gift by the Duc de Morhban. I smiled. "If I bare my marque," I said, "you will know my answer, my lady."
    Ysandre laughed. "Then I shall have to wait and see." She swept her hand about the Hall. "They will be wondering, you know. They've naught better to do."
    "I have heard as much," I said reservedly.
    "Majesty." A man's voice spoke, deep and silken; from the comer of my eye, I caught a swirl of black and gold, intricately patterned, as a figure rose from a deep-backed chair. He bowed, then straightened, and I caught my breath. His blue-black hair hung in plaits like tiny chains, and eyes the hue of sapphire were set in a dangerously beautiful face, skin like ivory. He smiled, showing white teeth, and fanned an ornate deck of cards. "You promised me a game of batarde."
    I knew him; I had last seen him in the company of his cousin, whom he had betrayed.
    "I did, my lord Marmion, but I did not say when," Ysandre replied lightly.
    "I shall await the