Kushiel's Dart

stead.
    "Your majesty." Joscelin turned to Ysandre with a bow, speaking with the utmost formality. "Will you accept my sword in your service as the protector of Phedre no Delaunay?"
    "Do it and be damned, young Brother!" the Prefect said harshly. "Cassiel's vows bind for a lifetime and beyond!"
    Ysandre de la Courcel sat in consideration, her face expressionless. At last she inclined her head. "We accept your service," she said formally. To the Prefect, she said, "My lord Rinforte, we grieve to cross your wishes. But we must follow the precepts of Blessed Elua in such matters, and not the will of the Cassiline Brotherhood. And by Elua's teaching, he is free to choose his course."
    "There will be a reckoning upon the Misguided!" the Prefect muttered through clenched teeth. "So be it. Is that your will, Brother Joscelin?"
    "It is." Joscelin's voice sounded hollow, but he stood unwavering.
    The Prefect gave an immaculate Cassiline bow, then made a gesture with both hands, as though breaking something. "Joscelin Verreuil of the Cassiline Brotherhood, I declare you anathema." He bowed again, to Ysandre. "I remand this man into your service, your majesty."
    "Good," she said simply. "Phedre no Delaunay, do you accept this charge to take up your lord's duty and carry my words to Prince Drustan mab Necthana of the Cruithne?"
    After what Joscelin had done, it left me little choice. I stood, my stomach a mix of sinking terror, pride and excitement, and made obeisance to my Queen. "Yes, your majesty. I will go."
    "Good," Ysandre repeated, adding thoughtfully, "Then the only problem that remains is how to get you safely to Quintilius Rousse."
    "Where is he?" I knew where he had been. I dreaded the answer.
    "Kusheth." The word fell like a stone.
    "Your majesty," Hyacinthe said unexpectedly. "I have an idea."

SIXTY
    It seemed that there was a Tsingani route to Kusheth, something neither I nor anyone else in the Queen's Council had known. The Tsingani live among the D'Angelines and travel our roads, and yet we know little of their ways. Hyacinthe knew. It had always been his half-secret passion, while he played in Night's Doorstep at being the Prince of Travellers, to claim his birthright from his grandfather's kumpania . I think, other than his mother, only I knew it.
    They are great horse-traders, the Tsingani, and breeders as well. Ei-sande boasts the most famous, for they are dearly sought after by the taurieres who perform their deadly games with the great Eisandine bulls, but inland Kusheth holds another great center of Tsingani horse-breeding. And some few of the kumpanias journey there in early spring to have their pick of the first foaling.
    This was the essence of Hyacinthe's plan: that we should journey to Kusheth along Tsingani-marked roads, seeking his people, the kumpania of Manoj. And when we found them, he reckoned, we could beg or buy their aid in travelling as horse-traders to the Pointe d'Oest, where Rousse's fleet was beached.
    It was a dangerous plan, for it meant we would be isolated and vulnerable. And it was an excellent plan, for it cast us in a guise no one would expect.
    That, more than anything else, was what swayed the odds in favor of Hyacinthe's plan. If there was one thing that terrified me above all others, it was not daring the wrath of the Master of the Straits nor the dangers of distant Alba and the blue-tattooed Cruithne. It was venturing through Kusheth, the homeland of House Shahrizai. But no Kusheline lordling, I thought, not even Melisande, would think to examine the eyes of a young Tsingano woman for the tell-tale scarlet mote.
    So it was decided.
    The details of the matter were established after the Queen's council had adjourned, all of us sworn to secrecy and loyalty. We met after a fine dinner, only a handful of us-Caspar and Thelesis, who had been party to the Alban plan since the beginning, and Joscelin, Hyacinthe and I. It would be a week's time before we could set out, for it was early yet, and only the eagerest of the kumpanias would be on the road. And too, there were some arrangements to be made. Hyacinthe and Thelesis would return to the City, to procure what was needful.
    When all was decided, we had some leisure to talk. "Phedre," Caspar Trevalion said, taking my hands in his, "I've not had time to tell you how deeply grieved I am at the death of Anafiel Delaunay. He was ... he was my friend, and a finer one I never had. The world is the less for the loss of his brilliant mind