Kushiel's Dart

looking at Melisande with mounting horror. "Oh, no. No."
    "Phedre, I'm sorry." Her beautiful face was composed and quiet. "I swear to you, I never gave an order to kill Delaunay. That wasn't my decision."
    "You knew." The horror of it crawled over my skin. "You used me. Ah, Elua, I told you, I told you myself! Rousse's messenger!"
    "No. I already knew Delaunay was awaiting word from Quintilius Rousse." With chilling care, Melisande reached out and righted the overturned teacup, setting it neatly back on the saucer.
    "Why, then?" I whispered. "Why did you tell me about Prince Rolande, if you already knew? I thought you wanted to find out what it meant."
    She smiled, smoothing an errant lock of hair out of my dazed eyes. "That Delaunay was oath-sworn to protect the life and succession of Ysan-dre de la Courcel? Oh, my dear, I've known that for ages. My second husband was a great friend of the King's, and a terrible gossip. Not clever enough to guess that Delaunay meant to keep his promise, but then, of that scant handful who knew it, precious few were. No, it's what he's up to that I needed to know. Why Quintilius Rousse, and what has it to do with the Master of the Straits?"
    "But why . . . why me?" It was hard to keep my head upright; whatever she had put in Joscelin's tea, there must have been somewhat in the cordial too, in a lesser quantity.
    "Do I need a reason?" Still smiling, Melisande traced the line of my brow over my left eye, the one with the dart-stricken mote. If I had known horror before, it was nothing to this; the power of her touch remained unaltered. "Perhaps I do, for Delaunay's pupil. It's a bit like flushing pheasants, you see, when they send the beaters into the brush. I wanted to see which of de Morhban's lordlings startled at the mention of your name. It wasn't hard to guess that the Comte de Brijou harbored a messenger for your lord, Phedre no Delaunay."
    The blood ran like fire in my veins, a scalding betrayal. I struggled against it, her cord like a noose around my neck, trying to put the pieces together. Whose men, then, had killed Delaunay? Melisande's? She didn't command an army; the Shahrizai dealt in money and influence, not men-at-arms, not beyond their personal guard. Alcuin could have done it, I thought, he could have fit the pieces, and my tears were as scalding as the terrible desire. Clinging to the thought of Alcuin, I saw the shape of the pattern. "D'Aiglemort."
    A spark kindled in Melisande's deep blue eyes; she was proud of me for guessing it. "Delaunay did teach you well," she said with satisfaction. "I'm sorry Isidore wasn't here himself, he'd have had sense enough not to kill Delaunay without finding out what he was about. I wouldn't have relayed word, if I'd known how they would botch it, but it's true, you know, most Camae-lines do think with their swords."
    "Not d'Aiglemort."
    "No." Rising, she went to the door and gave an order I couldn't hear; I had already guessed that no Captain of the King's Guard would be forthcoming. Melisande returned, standing behind me to rest both hands on my shoulders. "No, Isidore d'Aiglemort thinks with more than his blade. He was fostered for three years in Kusheth, did you know? In House Shahrizai."
    "No," I whispered. "I didn't know."
    "It's true." Her hands continued to move on me, horrible and compelling. I had never truly understood, until then, that Kushiel's victims dwelt in the flames of perdition. Joscelin lay slumped before me, dead or unconscious, I could not know, and nothing, not even the thought of Delaunay lying in his own blood, not even the memory of Alcuin's dying breath gasping my name, could stop the tide of longing that threatened me.
    "Don't," I said, weeping and shuddering. "Please, don't."
    For a moment, she paused; then I felt her breath, warm at my ear. "Why did the Cassiline Brother say no, Phedre?" she murmured; her voice sent a shiver through the marrow of my bones. "When I asked, you said yes, and he said no. If you weren't looking for the King's Guard, what were you doing?"
    The room reeled in my vision; I saw a red haze, and in it Delaunay, Alcuin, everyone I had loved, and behind it the face of Naamah, compassionate and giving, and the stern bronze features of Kushiel, in whose hand I dwelt. "I don't know." My own voice seemed to come from a great distance. "Ask Joscelin what he meant, if you haven't killed him."
    "Ah, no; you've warned him, my dear. A Cassiline would sooner die than betray his oath,"