Kushiel's Dart

opened the doors of his storerooms. Barrel after barrel of mead was rolled out-indeed, Joscelin and I would have had naught to stand on by morning-and hauled to distant tents by thanes staggering under the weight. I've no doubt Selig had planned for this day and laid provisions in store.
    In the great hall, the celebrants were hand-picked among those leaders whom Selig judged key to his plans; he was careful, too, to include the steading's headwomen among them. Gunter, grinning like a boy, was among those chosen. He had made his mark with his gift of D'Angeline slaves, and his partnership with Kilberhaar-d'Aiglemort-was useful. He was not the only Skaldi chieftain to have raided for Kilberhaar's gold, but he was the most successful at it.
    Hedwig was there, and excitement still flushed her cheeks, but there was a shadow on her too, that touched her when she glanced in my direction. For her kindness, I was grateful, but she had no words to speak against the invasion of my country, and that I could not forgive.
    There was no hiding the news from us, and Selig made no effort to do so, secure in the belief that we had no knowledge of the details of his plan. He kept a close watch on Joscelin, who stood at his guard-position without expression, only his pallor betraying his emotions. The White Brethren watched him closely too, and I had the impression that they were prepared to run him through if he so much as twitched.
    Me, Selig kept near him, as if I were a trophy marking a victory already won. It made an impact on the Skaldi, which doubtless he intended.
    He was not crudely possessive, as Gunter had been, but he let it be known in a dozen subtle ways that I was under his ownership; stroking my hair as one would pet a dog, or feeding me choice tidbits from his plate and suchlike.
    I endured it, having no choice. In truth, I would sooner have been tossed over Gunter's shoulder again. Better simple ravishment than this calculating dominion, which eroded my will and filled me with fear. Always in my mind was the knowledge of the Skaldi invasion plan. I guessed well that Selig would have killed me if he discovered I knew it. It amused him to assume a degree of risk in probing the D'Angeline character; the Cas-siline's armed presence at his back was proof of that. Personal risk was one thing; his legend was built upon it. But he was a leader who thought. He would do what was necessary to eliminate the risk of having his entire plan betrayed.
    It looked as though the reveling would continue far into the night, and I began to relax somewhat against my most immediate fears, thinking Selig would again dismiss me to the care of the serving-women.
    This time, I was wrong.
    He rose after the third round of songs, bidding a good night to his people, and ordering them stay and be welcome as long as they wished. Taking his leave, he paused to speak to two of the White Brethren. "Bring her to my room," he murmured, nodding in my direction.
    Fear filled me like water in a drowning man's lungs.
    I remained in the great hall, serving mead as I had been bidden. They came for me soon, two of them, taking my arms to lead me from the hall. The Skaldi bawled out cheerful obscenities and banged their mugs. I could hear Gunter's voice among them, roaring a colorful litany of my skills, making the most of his loss.
    I am Phedre no Delaunay, I thought, born of the Night Court proper, trained by the greatest living courtesan of Terre d'Ange, dedicated to the service of Naamah. I will not go crawling to this barbarian king like a slave.
    So it was that I walked from the hall with my head high, between my guards. What the Skaldi saw in my face, I do not know, but the jests fell silent as I passed.
    And then they brought me to Waldemar Selig.
    One of the White Brethren scratched at the door in a particular sequence. They have a code among them, I learned later; I committed this one to memory. Selig opened the door, and they left me to him.
    I don't know what I had expected. A room like Gunter's, I suppose, only larger, which it was. There the resemblance ended. Waldemar Selig's room held a hearth and a great bed, the headboard elaborately carved with a scene I recognized from one of the sagas. It held a great deal else, beside: books, whole shelves full of them, and cubbies for scrolls. A steel breastplate and helmet on a stand, which I later discovered was in part the source for the legend that he was proof against arms. Most Skaldi warriors fight