Kushiel's Dart

unarmored; Selig had won his in a bout against some tribal champion who'd fought in the arenas of Tiberium. There was a map pinned to the wall, inked on well-scraped hide, which had the Skaldic territories as its center and showed the borders of Caerdicca Unitas and Terre d'Ange in excellent detail. A desk, oft-used by the look of it, with other maps and correspondence strewn about.
    Waldemar Selig stood in the center of his room, tall and imposing, watching me look about. There was a book on the corner of his vast desk, worn and much-mended. I picked it up. It was Tullus Sextus' Life of Cinhil Ru .
    "He is a great hero to me," Selig said quietly. "A model of how one should lead a people, do you not think?"
    I set the book down; my hand was trembling. "He united his people to save his land from conquest, my lord," I replied softly. "I see no invaders here."
    It took him aback a little. His color rose slightly. No one, I thought, answered back to Waldemar Selig, and I was in the least position of all to do it. But if ever I had a gift, it was for knowing how to engage my patrons, and I knew, in my bones, that Selig would not be long engaged by mere subservience.
    "You read Caerdicci then," he said, turning the subject. He came over to stand beside me, pointing out other books on the shelves. "Have you read this? It is one of my favorites." It was Lavinia Celeres' tale of the wandering hero Astinax; I told him I had. "You know, there are no books in Skaldic," he mused. "We've not even a written tongue to our name."
    "There are some, my lord." I felt like a child next to him; my head came no higher than the pit of his arm. "Didimus Pontus at the University of Tiberium translated Skaldic phonetically into the Caerdicci alphabet some forty years ago," I added.
    I felt his gaze from above. "Truly?" he asked, startled. "I'll have to find those. Gunter did not say you were a scholar, Fay-dra. A witch, perhaps. It is beyond them to understand more."
    "I am a slave, my lord," I murmured. "Nothing more."
    "You are a very well-trained slave." I thought he might say somewhat more, but his pointing finger moved over the books, "Have you read this? It is a D'Angeline book."
    It was a Caerdicci translation of the Trois Milles Joies; I might have wept. I had read it under Cecilie's tutelage, of course. It is one of the great erotic texts, and required reading for every adept of the Night Court. "Yes, my lord," I said. "I have studied this book."
    "Ahhh." He shuddered with the force of his sigh, plucking the book out from the shelf and smoothing the cover. "I learned Caerdicci from this book," he said, eyes bright with amusement and desire. "My tutor was a grizzled old Tiberian mercenary who had a fancy to see the northlands. I bribed him to stay here and teach me, when I was nineteen years old. It was the only book he had. He said it kept him company on cold nights." His long fingers stroked the cover. "I paid dear to keep it. But I have never found a woman who knew of such things." He set the book down and tipped my face upward. "You do."
    "Yes, my lord," I whispered, helpless under his touch and hating him. Still he did not act, but searched my face with his gaze.
    "Gunter says you are gifted by your gods so that any man must please you," he said. "That it is marked upon your eyes. Is this so?"
    I could have lied to him, but some spark of defiance made me answer the truth. "I am marked by the gods to be pleased by suffering," I said softly. "That, and no more."
    He touched my face with surprising delicacy, running the tip of one finger over my lower lip, watching intently as I drew in my breath sharply and my pulse grew faster, the inevitable tide of desire rising. "But I am causing you no suffering," he said gently. "And I see you are pleased."
    "Does my lord say so?" I closed my eyes, willing my voice to be steady. "I am a free D'Angeline enslaved. Do not speak to me of suffering."
    "I will speak to you as I please." He said it matter-of-factly, not intending to hurt. It was a simple truth. Releasing me, he tapped the book he had set upon his desk. I opened my eyes to look at him. "I would know what it is to be served by one trained to please Kings in this manner. You will begin on page one."
    Bowing my head, I knelt in obeisance.
    That is how one begins.
    In the morning, Waldemar Selig had a sleek, satisfied look about him. There were the inevitable murmurs and jests, which I ignored. Joscelin took one look at my shadowed eyes