Kushiel's Dart

turning.
    "So that is the marque of Naamah." Her ringers brushed the fresh-limned skin, light and curious. "Does it hurt?"
    I repressed a shudder. "Yes."
    "I beg your pardon." There was a trace of amusement in the cool voice. "Thank you. You may cover yourself."
    I did, turning back to face her. "You have never seen a Servant of Naamah?"
    "No." Ysandre shook her head. "My grandfather forbade me such contact. Virginity is too highly prized in a bride, especially among barbarians," she added wryly. "Akkadians, for example."
    "Blessed Elua bid us to love as we willed," I said. "Not even the King can violate that precept."
    "No." She moved restlessly around the room, her pale hair like a flame in the dim light. "But you should understand. When you were a bond-slave to Anafiel Delaunay, you could not spend the coin of your love as you willed, no? I am bond-slave to the throne, Phedre. Still, I would obey Elua's Precept, and that is why I am sending you to Alba to bear word to Drustan mab Necthana. If you fail ... I will still have the coin of my unsullied bridal bed. Elua grant I have somewhere to spend it."
    "I will do my best," I whispered.
    "You have a gift for survival." Ysandre leveled her violet gaze at me. "I can but hope it holds true." Her tone changed back to one of curiosity. "Tell me, why do Naamah's servants bear such a marque?"
    "You do not know?" I smiled, shrugging my shoulders to feel the silk brush against tender skin. "It is said that Naamah so marked the backs of those lovers who pleased her, scoring her nails against their skin. They bore the traceries of those marks of ecstacy all the days of their lives. We do it in homage, and out of memory."
    "Ah." Ysandre nodded once, satisfied. "I understand. Thank you." She turned to go, then paused. "Your companion Hyacinthe will return on the morrow, and you will make ready to leave. I thought you might like to have this. 'Tis small enough to port." She handed me a small, slim volume, much mended. I took and opened it, glancing at the pages, writ in an unfamiliar hand. "It's my father's diary," Ysandre said quietly. "He began it at the University in Tiberium. It ends shortly after my birth. There's a great deal about Delaunay. That's what made me dare to approach him."
    "In the players' changing-room," I said without thinking, remembering. I looked up at her shocked face, and colored. "It is a long story, your majesty. Delaunay never knew I was there."
    Ysandre shook her head. "My uncle was right. Whatever it is you do, Phedre no Delaunay, you seem to do it very well." Her violet gaze deepened. "My father wed out of duty, and not love. Elua grant you spare me the same fate. I will pray for your safe return, and pray you bring the Prince of the Cruithne with you. No more can I do. I must protect the realm as best I can."
    I grieved for her burden; mine own seemed light beside it. "If it is possible, I will do it, my lady."
    "I know."
    We gazed at each other, the two of us, both of an age, yet so different.
    "Be well," Ysandre said, and took my head in both hands, laying the formal kiss of blessing upon my brow. "May Elua bless and keep you. I pray that we will meet again."
    She left, then, leaving me alone with my finished marque and my book. Since I had nothing else to do, I sat and read.
    In the morning, Hyacinthe arrived, returning from the City. He had with him three rather good horses, foodstuffs in abundance, and two pack-mules that would bear our gear.
    And he had clothing.
    For himself, he would wear his usual garb, garishly colorful, covered over with a saffron cloak that was the Tsingani travelling color. He had brought a like cloak for me, with a maroon-lined hood, that went over a blue velvet gown with a three-flounced skirt with a maroon underlining. It was very fine, though a bit much, and the fabric was well-used, the nap worn shiny in places.
    "Tsingani discard nothing needlessly," he reminded me. "Phedre, you will be my near-cousin, a by-blow gotten in one of the pleasure-houses of Night's Doorstep by a half-breed Tsingano trader. You've the eyes for it, anyway, at least excepting the one." He grinned. "As for you, Cassi-line ..." Hyacinthe held up a voluminous grey cloak, swirling it to reveal the lining.
    It held an opalescent riot of color: madder, damson, ochre, cerulean and nacre. I laughed, covering my mouth.
    "You know what it is?" Hyacinthe asked.
    I nodded. "I saw one, once. It's a Mendacant's robe."
    "It was Thelesis' idea, she