Kushiel's Dart

it with irony. "How much gold could he get for it, do you think?"
    Without thinking, I struck him across the face with my open palm. We stopped on the road and stood staring at each other. "Tsingano or no," I said softly, "Hyacinthe has been a friend to me, when no one else was, and never asked a centime for it. When Baudoin de Trevalion was executed, it was Hyacinthe who gave me money to make an offering in his memory at the temples. Did you know that I was Melisande's farewell gift to Prince Baudoin before she betrayed him?"
    "No." Joscelin's face was pale beneath the wind-burn, save for a ruddy patch where I'd slapped him. "I'm sorry."
    "If you have a better idea," I said grimly, "then say it. But I'll not hear you speak against Hyacinthe."
    He glanced toward the City. It was not far now, we could see the distant glint of its walls. "I can approach the Captain of the King's Cassiline Guard. He is a Brother, he would have to give me audience. He is oath-sworn, and may be trusted."
    "Are you sure?" I waited until he looked back at me. "Are you sure beyond doubt, Joscelin? You disappeared from the City with your charge-a notorious Servant of Naamah and plaything of the wealthy-leaving behind the slaughtered household of Anafiel Delaunay. Do you know what poison's been spread in our absence? Are you sure of your welcome by the Cassiline Brotherhood?"
    My words struck him like blows; it had never occurred to him, I could see, that his honor as a Cassiline could be impugned.
    "No one would dare suggest such a thing!" he gasped. "And even if they did, no Cassiline would believe it!"
    "No?" I asked wearily. "But I thought of it, and if I could, others would. As for believing . . . what is easier to credit? A simple murder driven by greed and lust, or a vast, deep-laid conspiracy to betray the throne into Skaldi hands, known only to you and me?"
    After a moment, he gave a curt nod, adjusted his back, and set his face toward the City. "Your way, then, and pray your trust isn't misplaced. Anyway, we still have to make it through the gates."
    I looked at the distant walls and shivered.
    For all of our fears, gaining admittance to the City proved the easiest of our trials. Two tired-looking members of the City Guard halted us at a distance, glanced up and down at our bizarre attire, and demanded our names without much interest. I gave false names and a history, citing Taavi and Danele's village; they asked a few cursory questions, mostly about our health, then bid us to stick out our tongues for examination.
    Bemused, we obeyed without protest, and one of the guards drew near enough to look, then waved us through.
    "It's true, then," Joscelin said in a low voice. "There's sickness in the City."
    I said nothing, overwhelmed at being once again within the City walls. It didn't mean as much to him; it wasn't his home, he'd not been born and raised here, as I had. The beauty of the place made me want to weep, the elegance of the cobbled streets, lined with gracious trees, now barren in winter. And the people, ah! Despite the cold and the rumored fevers, there were people about, D'Angelines all, and the sound of their voices was music to my ears.
    As twilight fell, we made our way on foot to Night's Doorstep, winding through the poorer districts, where our appearance went largely unremarked. The scent of food cooking in homes and inns made my mouth water; D'Angeline cuisine, real food! We reached Night's Doorstep in good time. The street-lamps were fresh lit, and the first revelers taking to the streets, their numbers thinner than I remembered, but still glorious in their silks and velvets, brocade and jewels shimmering in the lamplight.
    "Joscelin, we can't go inside," I murmured, as we stood in a shadowed alley across from the the Cockerel. "The place would be turned upside down, and word would reach the Palace by midnight. Tongues wag faster than you can blink, in Night's Doorstep."
    "Do you have an idea?"
    "I think so. Listen," I said, and told him.
    Hyacinthe's stable was quiet, too early for business, the horses drowsing in their stalls with the smell of good hay all around. There were two attendants on duty, boys of twelve or thirteen, tossing dice; we took them by surprise. One of them squeaked, seeing Joscelin with drawn sword, and then both cowered. I couldn't blame them for being terrified. Even without the pelt of the White Brethren, with his clothing and his tangled hair, he looked more like a changeling Skaldi warrior