Kushiel's Dart

his head. "And have word get to Selig after some carl tells him he saw the D'Angeline unescorted? Never mind, I'll go." Standing, he picked up his shield and took my arm ungently. "Come on. And make it brief this time, mind?"
    I was glad, walking behind him in the cold, that he hadn't been kind. It made it easier. The worst of the terror had passed, now that it was happening. Warriors say that the waiting is always the hardest, before a battle. I understood it that day. The grounds of the steading were as sparsely populated as the great hall, no one coming or going from the other halls, only a few figures amid the handful of tents that still dotted the broad swath of land around the lake.
    And then we reached Joscelin's hut, and Trygve gestured for me to preceed him. Drawing back the hide, I entered. My eyes were sun-dazzled, and it took a second to see that there was no one in the center of the hut, only a hole in the planks where the ring had been pounded. Turning my head, I saw Joscelin motionless beside the door, a length of chain in his shackled hands. Neither of us spoke. I moved away, allowing Trygve to enter.
    He got two steps inside the door, before Joscelin moved, looping the chain over his head and twisting it ruthlessly. I had made him do it; I made myself watch it. Partially protected by the hood of his white pelt, Trygve struggled, gasping for air, his hands dragging at Joscelin's arms. Joscelin kneed him sharply from behind, and Trygve's legs collapsed. As he slid down, drawing breath to shout, Joscelin dropped the chain, took his head in both hands and gave it a sharp twist.
    I heard the sound of his neck breaking. The shout died unuttered in his mouth, and the spark of life faded from his eyes. It was that quick.
    "Give me your hands." I tore the brooch from my cloak, working swiftly as Joscelin stood with arms extended. The clasps on the manacles were simple. "Thank you, Hyacinthe," I muttered, kneeling to free his ankles. I glanced up. Joscelin was rubbing his wrists, his expression tightly under control. "We need to strip him."
    Joscelin nodded curtly. "Let's do it."
    Dead weighs heavier than living; it took some doing to undress Trygve's corpse, but we did it, neither looking at the other. Without comment, Joscelin turned away and stripped, donning the Skaldi garments in place of his threadbare Cassiline garb.
    "Let me see you." Studying him, I unbound his single braid, then stooped to the brazier to gather a handful of ash. This I rubbed into his hair, altering its color to dun, and his face, giving him a layer of grime that did somewhat to hide his D'Angeline features. I glanced at Trygve's hair and copied the manner of it, twining small braids in the sides of Joscelin's hair, tugging it forward to further shadow his face. "Here," I said then, holding out the white wolf-pelt. Joscelin drew it over his shoulders, tying the skin of the forelegs together as they did, then pulled the hood over his head, the empty-eyed wolf-mask low on his brow.
    It would work. At a distance, he would pass for one of the White Brethren.
    "Are you ready?" I asked. He took a deep breath and nodded. "The great hall will be the worst. I couldn't bring a sack without arousing suspicion, but we need clothing and a tinderbox, and Melisande's letter is there. We can get stores from the lesser hall, there's fewer folk about."
    "I need my arms."
    "They're not Skaldi. Take Trygve's."
    "I need the vambraces. I'm not trained to fight with a shield, you saw it in the holmgang." He paused, then added quietly, "They were given me by my uncle, and his uncle before him, Phedre. Let me keep that much."
    "All right. Take Trygve's for now, it will look strange if you don't have them." I feared to waste time in arguing. "Keep your head down, and look sullen. If anyone speaks, shake your head. If they persist, say this: 'Selig's orders. He's making camp.' " I gave him the words in Skaldic, made him repeat it again and again until he had the accent right. He'd not forgotten what he'd learned. "And treat me like dirt," I added, still in Skaldic. We would be lost, if I forgot and addressed him in D'Angeline.
    "One moment." He knelt on the wooden floor next to Trygve's body, pallid and bluish in the cold hut. Crossing his arms, Joscelin murmured a Cassiline prayer, the same he had for Evrard the Sharptongued. It looked strange, to see a Skaldi warrior pray like a Cassiline Brother. He stood up then, putting on Trygve's sword-belt and settling