Kushiel's Dart

than half expected him to push Alcuin away; but Alcuin expected it too, and instead tugged Delaunay's head down to kiss him.
    "Everything I have done," I heard him whisper, "I have done for you, my lord. Will you not do this one thing for me?"
    If Delaunay answered, I did not hear it; I saw that he did not push Alcuin away, and that was enough. A grief I'd not known was in me rose to blind my eyes with tears, and I walked backward, feeling the wall with one hand, wanting to hear no more. I was no romantic fool, to moon over what was not to be, and I had known since my first year of service to Naamah that my gifts were not to Delaunay's taste. Still, it was another matter to know that Alcuin's were. Somehow I found the stairs, and stumbled my way to my bedroom, and I am not to proud to admit that I shed a good many bitter tears before at last I slept, exhausted with weeping.
    In the morning, I felt husk-hollow, emptied by the force of my own emotions. It made it easier to bear, seeing the faint shadows beneath Alcuin's eyes, and the smile he had only worn once before, after his night with Mierette no Orchis. I almost wished I could hate him for it, but I knew too well what he felt for Delaunay.
    Too well indeed.
    For Delaunay's part, he took it quietly, but something in him had loosened. I cannot put it into words; it was the same thing I had seen in the countryside. Some part of himself which Delaunay held tightly at bay was given rein to breathe. It was in his voice, in every motion, in the way he was quicker to smile than to cock a cynical brow.
    I don't know what I would have done had there not been news from La Serenissima that day; between boredom and despair, I was ready to test Delaunay's tolerance and cared little enough if he sold my rnarque. It's funny, how one can look back on a sorrow one thought one might well die of at the time, and know that one had not yet reckoned the tenth part of true grief. But that came later. Then, I was merely miserable enough to be morbid with it.
    It was the Comte de Fourcay, Caspar Trevalion, who brought the news. His friendship with Delaunay was stronger than ever since the trial, and he had weathered the ordeal with admirable dignity. The taint of treachery had not touched Fourcay.
    The news he brought from the Palace was mixed. Vitale Bouvarre had indeed been taken into custody by Prince Benedicte; but he had been found hanged in his cell before a confession could be obtained, and rumor had it that the regular gaoler had been replaced by a man who owed gambling debts to Dominic Stregazza. When that man was sought, his body was discovered floating in a canal. There was no question of his drowning. When they pulled him out, they found his throat had been cut.
    It seemed Prince Benedicte was no fool; he sent for his son-in-law, Dominic. But Barquiel L'Envers-or perhaps his cousin-must have feared the slippery Stregazza would succeed in lying his way out of any wrongdoing, which like as not was true. At any rate, Dominic's party was assaulted en route by a group of masked riders. They were deadly archers, who fled uncaught, leaving behind four dead, one of whom was Dominic Stregazza.
    "There's a rumor," Caspar said shrewdly, "that one of the survivors saw Akkadian trappings on one of the horses; tassels on the bridle or some such thing. And it's said that the Due L'Envers went a bit native during his posting to the Khalifate. Do you know aught of it, Anafiel?"
    Delaunay shook his head. "Barquiel L'Envers? You must be jesting, old friend."
    "Perhaps. Though I also heard that Benedicte added a private postscript to his letter, begging Ganelon to bring in L'Envers for questioning." He shrugged. "He might press the matter, too, if it weren't for other concerns in La Serenissima. Some rumor of a new Skaldi warlord. All the city-states of Caerdicca Unitas are frantic to form military alliances of a sudden."
    "Truly?" Delaunay frowned; I knew he was worried, having heard nothing from Gonzago de Escabares since he sent a polite thanks for the translation I had made him. "Does Benedicte take it seriously?"
    "Seriously enough. He sent word to Percy de Somerville, warning him to keep an ear cocked toward Camlach. We're fortunate to have young D'Aiglemort and his allies holding the line there."
    "Indeed," Delaunay murmured; I knew by the sound of it that he held a measure of reserve. "So there's no talk of Stregazza retribution?"
    "Nothing immediate." Caspar Trevalion lowered his voice.