Kushiel's Dart

commanded to attend him?"
    Alcuin and I exchanged glances and shook our heads warningly at Joscelin. "Delaunay does not wish to tell us that which could get us killed," I said, adding wryly, "beyond what we already know. If you think perhaps he will confide in a, a fellow countryman, by all means, ask him."
    "Maybe I will." There was a stubborn light in Joscelin's blue eyes.
    Alcuin laughed. "Good luck, Cassiline."

THIRTY-ONE
    I cannot say what passed between Delaunay and Barquiel L'Envers after we were bidden to leave, but it seemed that some form of accord had been reached, albeit an uneasy one.
    The days of autumn grew shorter, and brought no word save the rumor of Skaldi glimpsed once more in the passes of the CamaelineRange. Delaunay waited on the matter's resolution, and once more I cooled my heels, while my coffer stayed empty and my marque grew no longer. I knew there was no malice in it, but even so, it galled me when Alcuin's final appointment with Master Tielhard was made, and his marque completed. He was free, as I had never been, in all my life.
    Still, it was not in me to be cruel, not to Alcuin. I accompanied him to the marquist and made all the proper sounds of admiration. Indeed, it was a thing of beauty. The light of the braziers in the marquist's shop warmed Alcuin's fair skin, and the supple lines emphasized his straight, slender back. The delicate spray of birch-leaves that formed the finial ended at the very nape of his neck, where the first down of his white hair began. Master Tielhard actually wore a look of satisfaction as he inspected his handiwork, and his apprentice forgot for a moment to blush. Joscelin, hovering in the background, did blush, looking ill at ease and singularly out of place.
    When one looks back at one's life, it is easy to mark the turning points. It is not always so easy to know them when they arrive; but this one, I daresay I knew well enough. It had been a long time in coming, and in some part of me, I had accepted it. Even so, it was another thing when it happened.
    I was restless that night, and though I retired early, I found sleep eluded me. Thus it was that I wandered down to the library, with the thought of reading some verse or a diverting tale. When I saw Alcuin slip into the library ahead of me, I nearly went back, being in no mood to be reminded of the change in our status. I don't know why I didn't, save that he had a strange look of resolve and I was trained to curiosity.
    As he hadn't seen me, it was a simple matter to stand at an angle to the doorway, where the lamplight didn't reach, and watch. Delaunay was there, reading; he marked his place with one finger and glanced up as Alcuin entered.
    "Yes?" His tone was polite, but there was reserve in it. I knew Delaunay, and he had not forgotten what I'd told him.
    "My lord," Alcuin said softly. "You have not even asked to see my marque finished."
    Even from a distance, I could see Delaunay blink. "Master Robert Tielhard does excellent work," he said, at something of a loss. "I've no doubt it's well-limned."
    "It is." There was a rare amusement in Alcuin's voice. "But my lord, the debt is not concluded between us until you acknowledge it. Will you see?"
    He spoke truly; in keeping with the traditions of the Night Court, the Dowayne of the House must acknowledge an adept's marque before it is recorded as finished. How Alcuin knew this, I don't know. It may have been a fortunate guess on his part, though he always surprised me with what he did know. At any rate, Delaunay knew it, and set down his book. "If you wish," he said formally, rising.
    Alcuin turned without a word, unbuttoning the loose shirt he wore and letting it slip off his shoulders. His hair was unbraided, and he gathered it in one hand, drawing it over his shoulder so it fell, white and shining, in a thick cable over his chest. His dark eyes were downcast, shadowed by long lashes the color of tarnished silver. "Is my lord pleased?"
    "Alcuin." Delaunay made a sound that might have been a laugh, but wasn't, not quite. He raised his hand, touching the fresh-limned lines of Alcuin's marque. "Does it hurt?"
    "No." With the simple grace that marked everything he did, Alcuin turned again and laid both arms around Delaunay's neck, raising his gaze to meet Delaunay's. "No, my lord, it doesn't hurt."
    In the hallway, I drew in my breath so sharply it hissed between my teeth, though neither heard. Delaunay's hands rose to rest on Alcuin's waist, and I more