Kushiel's Chosen

simulated a charge, lances held low. Then they too split away, and the pikemen regrouped in their place, swords drawn. Spaced far apart, they advanced; and the wheeling cavalry turned and charged through the gaps, baring naked steel.
    When it was done, Tarren d'Eltoine raised one hand, and to a man, the Unforgiven knelt in that same uncanny motion; swords sheathed, shields lowered to touch the earth and heads bowed. Elua forgive me, but it made me uncomfortable. He beckoned, before giving the dismissal. Five infantrymen stayed.
    I took their measure as they approached; L'Agnacites all, by the look of them. Broad, earnest faces, handsome in their way, bearing the sweat of their toil and smelling of the earth. Joscelin and my chevaliers drew close as they came, especially Fortun, who had studied most the maps of Troyes-le-Mont. He had brought one of our renderings with him, and drew out the scroll from its cylindrical leather casing, spreading it over his horse's withers.
    "Five?" I asked Tarren d'Eltoine. "You said you had two."
    He gave me his bleak smile. "We sent our fastest riders out last night, to the garrisons of Camlach. There are passageways through the mountains, known only to us. Three other of Ghislain's men, you see before you. The last, at Northfort, was too far to reach."
    I remembered hoofbeats, and the torches. "Ah."
    The men saluted and gave their names. Octave, Vernay, Svariel, Fitz, Giles ... Fortun had it all recorded, once. All from L'Agnace; I'd been right about that. They gave their positions, each one, the night of Melisande's escape, and Fortun noted them carefully on his map.
    "Tell me," I said, leaning forward in the saddle, "all that you saw that night."
    They did, with earnest voices and open countenances, evincing not one of the telltales of evasion I might have noted; indeed, they fair spilled over one another, eager to say what they had seen. I kept my expression serene and gnashed my teeth inwardly. Vernay, from the northernmost garrison reached, gave willing testimony to what his friend and comrade Luthais of Northfort had seen, tendering his comrade's sincere regrets at his absence: The distance had been too great. Vernay swayed on his feet saying it, eyes bloodshot with exhaustion. I did not like to guess how far he had ridden, nor how fast-nor how many horses it had taken, and whether they lived. I had not asked the Captain for this.
    And these were the folk they saw abroad that night in Troyes-le-Mont: the chirurgeon Lelahiah Valais; Barquiel L'Envers; Gaspar Trevalion; Tibault de Toluard; Ghislain and Percy de Somerville. No more than I knew before, and two I had already discarded as suspects. I could have wept. Instead, I asked about Persia Shahrizai.
    "Yes, my lady," replied Svariel of L'Agnace, who'd stood guard on the stairway of the second floor. "One of her majesty's Cassilines escorted her to the prisoner's chamber and back."
    I closed my eyes. "Did you look closely as she left?"
    He shook his head, reluctantly. I heard it all the same.
    "When the Queen questioned you, did you tell her the Lady Persia was accompanied by a Cassiline?" I asked, opening my eyes.
    He looked surprised. "I must have done, my lady. Don't remember as anyone asked. Well, she'd have known it, any mind, right? They're hers, the Cassiline Brothers."
    "Yes." I gazed at him. "What did he look like?"
    Svariel of L'Agnace looked uncomfortable, darting glances between Joscelin and me. "Well, like ... like a Cassiline. I don't know. Grey togs, daggers and whatnot. They're all more or less the same, saving Lord Joscelin, aren't they?"
    "More or less." I regarded Joscelin. He looked sick. "A young man? Old?"
    "Middling." Svariel shrugged. "Tallish. Well, most of 'em are, aren't they? Not fair, and not grey. Dark hair, like; or brown. Or reddish, mayhap." His face creased. "I'm sorry, my lady! I'd have paid closer heed, but Cassilines ... well. I'd as soon question one of Camael's priests. I should have, I know. S'why I'm here, and sworn to serve the Unforgiven. I don't forgive myself, I swear it."
    "It doesn't matter," I told him gently. "You did all that duty required, and very well indeed, to remember that much. What of the others?" I glanced round at them all. "There must be ten or more of the guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont not numbered among the Unforgiven."
    "There were." It was the Captain's voice, cool and incisive. "We had two dozen among us, when we chased the remnants of Selig's men past the