Kushiel's Dart

house gleamed; he'd brought in a girl he could trust, the daughter of a Tsingano seamstress his mother had known, to cook and clean. She went about her business with ducked head, eager to please and fearing to meet the eye of the Prince of Travellers or his mysterious friends.
    "She'll say naught," Hyacinthe assured us, and we believed him. He had found clothing, too; or bought it, rather, from the seamstress. I bathed again, murmuring a prayer of thanksgiving as the hot water steeped further traces of the Skaldi from my skin, and dressed afterward in the gown he'd provided, a dark-blue velvet that did not fit too ill.
    Joscelin, in a sober dove-grey doublet and hose, struggled to drag a comb through his hair, damp and clean, but matted with Skaldi braidwork. He made no protest when I went to aid him with it, easing out the tangles.
    His daggers, vambraces and sword lay in a tangle of steel and leathers on the kitchen table.
    "You're not. . .?" I began to ask; he shook his head, hair sliding over his shoulders.
    "I may have kept you alive, but I've broken my vows nonetheless. I don't have the right to bear arms."
    "Do you want me to put it in a single braid, then?" I gathered his hair in my hands, feeling the fair, silken mass of it.
    "No," he said resolutely. "I'll put it in a club. I've still the right to that much, as a priest."
    He was that, though I had forgotten it. I watched as his hands moved deftly, binding his hair into a club at the nape of his neck. Even without his arms, he looked a Cassiline again. Hyacinthe observed it all without comment, only the arch of his brows reminding me how far it was from where we'd begun.
    "We should burn those," he said aloud, wrinking his nose at the pile of garments, furs and woolens, we'd shed.
    "No, leave them," I said quickly. "Elua, the smell alone will testify to our story! And we've naught else to prove it."
    Joscelin laughed.
    Shaking his head in bewilderment, Hyacinthe glanced out the window onto the street and tensed. "There's a carriage drawing up to the doorstep," he said, his voice tight. "You'd best get in the back, there's an exit out the postern gate. If it's not de Mornay, I'll hold them off as long as I can."
    We moved quickly, Joscelin sweeping his gear off the table, and hid ourselves in the scullery, where there was a passage to the rear of the house.
    It didn't take long. I heard the door open and one person enter, Hyacinthe's courteous greeting. The voice that answered was unmistakable; fainter than I remembered, but rich and feminine.
    Thelesis de Mornay.
    I remember that I stumbled out of hiding weeping, even as she drew back the hood of her cloak, revealing the familiar plain features illumed by her dark eyes, which held grief and welcome alike. She took me in her arms, her embrace quick and fierce, unexpectedly strong.
    "Ah, child ..." her voice whispered at my ear. "I'm so glad to see you alive. Anafiel Delaunay would be proud of you." She grasped my arms then, shaking me a little. "He would be so proud," she repeated.
    I gulped back my tears, gathering myself, fighting the shudder in my voice. "Thelesis . . . We need to speak to the Dauphine, to Caspar Trev-alion, Admiral Rousse, to whomever you trust. The Skaldi are planning to invade, they've a leader, and the Due d'Aiglemort plans betrayal-"
    "Shhh." Her hands at my arms steadied me. "I got your message, Phedre. I knew you were no traitor. I'm taking you now to an audience with Ysandre de la Courcel. Are you ready to bear that much?"
    It seemed sudden, too sudden. I looked around for an instant, frantic and uncertain. Joscelin stepped up to my side, empty-handed, but armed in Cassiline rigor.
    "She will not go alone," he said in his softest, most deadly tone. "In the name of Cassiel, I will bear witness to this."
    "And I." Hyacinthe bowed gracefully in his best Prince of Travellers manner, but his eyes when he straightened were cold and black. "I have lost Phedre no Delaunay once already, my lady, and protested too little. I do not propose to let the same mistake happen twice. And mayhap it will be that my small gift of the dromonde may be of service in this matter."
    "It may be, Tsingano." Thelesis de Mornay gazed at him with her intent, dark eyes, laying one small hand upon his sleeve. "I pray that it may."

FIFTY-SEVEN
    It was at once like and unlike the old days, a covered carriage bearing me to the Palace, to meet in secret with one of Elua's line. But no longer was I the darling of