Kushiel's Dart

I had.
    The wisdom of hindsight is always flawless. I know, now, that I should have told Delaunay the whole of what had befallen between Melisande and I; I should have told him that I knew about Prince Rolande. Indeed, I should have guessed it for myself. Of all the shadows that darkened De-launay's soul, that had always been foremost among them: the Battle of Three Princes.
    Rolande had fallen; Delaunay had failed to save his liege-lord. I had thought that was all it was. But now, I looked at him differently, remem bering the words of his poem. O, dear my lord, Let this breast on which you have leant, Serve now as your shield . He had loved Rolande, and failed him. "Rolande was always rash," Delaunay had said, his voice bitter. "It was his only flaw, as a leader."
    I should have known.
    So I think, and doubt, and second-guess myself. But in truth, would it have mattered? I cannot know. I never will.
    The day of my final appointment with Master Tielhard dawned cold, crisp and bright. Delaunay, half his mind elsewhere, was expecting a visitor; he agreed unthinking to the loan of his horse and Alcuin's, so my surly Cassiline companion and I rode to the marquist's shop.
    Master Tielhard was not a greedy man. He was an artist, and no question about it. But artists, no less than other mortals-and betimes more-aspire to heights unreached by their peers, and I saw his aged eyes glimmer at the sight of the gold I offered, and the prospect of an anguis-sette's marque fulfilled. I was the first, in his lifetime.
    We spent a fair amount of time in the stifling-hot back room of his shop, confirming the design and the lineaments of my marque. I could see Joscelin through the curtain, waiting with outstretched legs and folded arms. Well, then, let him wait; I was not about to rush the completion of my marque upon a youthful Cassiline's impatience.
    I had only just disrobed, and felt the first blow of Master Tielhard's tapper pierce my skin, when the commotion arose in the front room. As it was no business of mine-so I thought-I remained upon the table while Robert Tielhard sent his apprentice to investigate.
    I wish, now, that I had known Master Tielhard's apprentice's name; I never did, and I am sorry for it now. He came through the curtain, eyes wide.
    "There is a man, Master," he said. "He insists upon seeing m'lady-upon seeing Phedre no Delaunay. The Cassiline has him well in hand. Shall I call for the King's Guard?"
    I sat up, then, wrapping a sheet about me. "Who is he?"
    "I don't know." He swallowed hard. "He says he bears a message, which you must deliver to Lord Anafiel Delaunay. My lady, shall I call for the Guard?"
    "No." I was too long Delaunay's pupil to turn away information; I scrambled for my gown, pulling it over my head in haste. "Send him in, and Joscelin with him. Master Tielhard . . .?"
    The old marquist held my gaze a moment, then gestured with his head toward the rear of his shop, where he and his apprentice ground their pigments. "See him, then, anguissette , and give me no cause to regret it," he growled.
    I had barely laced my stays when Joscelin came through the curtain, driving before him at knife-point a youngish man with a sailor's queue and a discomfitted look on his face.
    "Call off your Cassiline hound," he said to me, grimacing as Joscelin shoved him into the marquist's studio. "I've word that needs be delivered to Lord Delaunay!"
    For what it was worth, I put on my sternest expression as I followed them through the far curtain. Joscelin gave the sailor one last shove, then sheathed his daggers efficiently, standing between me and the messenger. "Who are you?" I asked the man.
    He rubbed at his midsection and made a face. "Aelric Leithe, of the Mahariel . I'm oath-sworn to the Admiral, Quintilius Rousse, and here under the standard of the Comte de Brijou of Kusheth. I'm supposed to be meeting with your lord, Delaunay."
    I paused. "How do I know this?"
    "Elua's Balls!" He rolled his eyes. "There's a password, isn't there? What is it? I swear it, on the Prince's signet, his only born."
    The Prince's signet. I thought of the ring that Ysandre de la Courcel had showed Delaunay, and schooled my features to expressionlessness. "Very well, then. Why are you here?"
    "There are men, watching the Comte's manor." He bent over, still trying to catch his breath. "Damn you, Cassiline, for a hasty fool! I saw 'em, and scryed out the situation at Lord Delaunay's; he's being watched too, they're waiting for me.