Kushiel's Dart

the side gate.
    I had the sense to take my brown cloak, and not the sangoire , and to bring some few coins that had not gone to pay the marquist. It was a simple matter to pay coach-fare to Night's Doorstep; for a smile, the coachman undercharged me.
    Hyacinthe was not at home, but I endured his mother's too-knowing stare, and found him quickly enough at the Cockerel, dismissing the coach.
    After long days of tedium, my heart leapt at the rollicking music and blazing light spilling out onto the street. I entered into pandemonium, its apparent source a game of dice at the back of the inn. A mass of guests was clustered about a table, most dressed in courtiers' finery, while a fiddler played on the dais. Below his frantic playing, I heard the sound of dice rattling in the cups, being cast upon the table. Groans rose from some of the watchers, and shouts from others, and ringing over them all, a familiar triumphant cry.
    The crowd dispersed to mill around the inn and I saw Hyacinthe with several of his friends about him, grinning as he swept his winnings into a pile. "Phedre!" he shouted, seeing me. Shoving the coins into his purse, he vaulted over a chair to greet me. I was so happy to see him, I threw both arms around his neck. "Where have you been?" he laughed, returning my embrace then holding my shoulders to look at me. "I've missed you. Was Guy so wroth after the last time that Delaunay wouldn't let you come?"
    "Guy." The word caught in my throat; I had forgotten, for a moment. I shook my head. "No. I've a lot to tell you."
    "Well, come in, sit down, I'll clear those louts away from the table." He flashed his grin, teeth white against his dark skin. He was wearing finer clothes than before, in a wild array of color-a blue doublet with gold brocade on the front and saffron sashes in the sleeves, over scarlet hosen-and looked absolutely splendid to my eyes. "I'll buy us a jug of wine. Naamah's Tits, I'll buy everyone a jug of wine!" He shouted to the innkeeper. "Wine for everyone!"
    Good-natured cheers rose, and Hyacinthe laughed, sweeping a bow. No question that they loved him here, and no question why. If the Prince of Travellers won more at dice than an honest man ought, he returned nine centimes out of ten in his extravagance, and no one grudged him the tenth part. I never knew if he cheated or not; Tsingani are reputed to be lucky. Of course, they are also reputed to cheat, lie and steal with considerable skill, though I had never known Hyacinthe to do worse than filching tarts from the pastry-vendors in the market.
    His friends made room for us at the table, and the noise made a shield for conversation as I told him all that had happened. Hyacinthe listened without comment, shaking his head when I was done.
    "Delaunay's mixed up in House Courcel's business, that's for sure," he said. "I wish I could tell you how. I found a poet who'd a friend with a copy of Delaunay's verses, you know."
    "You did?" My eyes widened. "Can you-"
    "I tried." Hycinthe's tone was regretful. He sipped his wine. "He'd sold them not a month prior, to a Caerdicci archivist. I would have bought them for you, Phedre, I swear it, or a fair copy at least, but my friend's friend swore he sold the original and kept no copy. Too dangerous, he deemed it."
    I made a noise of disgust. "It doesn't make any sense. Why does House Courcel aid him with one hand, and gag him with the other?"
    "Well, you know why they gag him." Hyacinthe leaned back in his chair, propping his boot-heels on the table. "He blackened their faces, when he made a song about Isabel L'Envers. I heard the Lioness of Azzalle named her a murderess in front of the High Court."
    "She did." I remembered Ysandre de la Courcel, casting her vote for death. "So why aid him?" There were too many threads, too tangled to sort. "Phaugh! I've no head for riddles, and had naught to do for days on end but think on them. If you were truly my friend, you'd ask me to dance," I said, teasing him.
    "There is someone who will be jealous if I dance with you," he said, a gleam in his eyes. He nodded to a woman across the inn, a cool blonde in an ice-blue gown. Cool as her demeanor was, I saw indeed that she smouldered to watch us.
    "Do you care?" I asked him. Hyacinthe laughed and shook his head, black ringlets dancing.
    "She is wed to a Baronet," he said, grinning, "and if I have danced with her before, it does not mean I will dance to her every tune." He took his feet off the table and rose, bowing