Kushiel's Dart

curious. "I shall await with great interest the resolution of the mystery you pose me," he said. "Pray that I do not regret my choice in this matter."
    In truth, I did not know. All I had fathomed in our congress was that he had not determined where his loyalties lay. He was the sovereign Due of Kusheth; whether the province stood with the Crown or against it was his to decide. In the end, I answered him simply.
    "Your grace," I said, "I pray it too."
    So we left it, crossed blades, unsure and unwary. He rang a bell and had Joscelin summoned, who burst into the room in a fury of agitation, eyes red-rimmed and sleepless, glaring accusations and fear at me. I looked mildly at him, over the rim of a teacup.
    "Are you disappointed, Cassiline?" Quincel de Morhban asked, amused. "I am sorry. I would be curious, I confess, to try the mettle of one of your kind."
    Joscelin shot him a look, then, that said he would be glad to try it, any time, any place, kneeling at my side. "Is it true, then? You're all right, Phedre?"
    "His grace de Morhban honored his contract," I said, looking at Quincel, absently twisting the ring on my finger. It was easier than meeting Jos-celin's eyes, for he would see the deep languor in my bones, and disapprove, in his uniquely Cassiline manner. "And we are free to go, then, your grace?"
    Quincel de Morhban made a face, at once frustrated and fulfilled. He gestured with one hand, setting us free, calling his servants to witness. "Our contract is complete," he said, brusque and formal. "You have free passage throughout Morhban, where you will. To the Royal Fleet and beyond." He paused, then added, "One day, Phedre. I give you one day before I decide if it behooves me to question the Queen's Admiral."
    "Thank you, your grace."

SIXTY-SIX
    Joscelin walked quickly through the stone halls of MorhbanCastle, and I winced, hurrying to keep up. He paused to wait for me, the line of his jaw tight.
    "Are you fit to ride?" he asked abruptly.
    "I'll manage." The words came out through gritted teeth. Joscelin looked at me and shook his head, setting out at a pace only slightly slower.
    "I will never understand," he said, gaze fixed forward as he strode, "why you do what you do, and call it pleasure."
    "With your temper? You should."
    That stopped him in his tracks and he stared at me in shock, blue eyes wide. "I do not have a temper! And what does that have to do with it?"
    "You have a terrible temper, Joscelin Verreuil. You've just buried it in Cassiline discipline." I rotated my arm, rubbing my shoulder where the joint ached. De Morhban's stocks had been made for a taller person. "And not all that well," I added. "I've seen it, Joscelin, I've seen you lose it, against the Skaldi. I've seen you fight like a cornered wolf, when you had no chance of winning. What's it like, that instant when you let it go? When you lash out, with everything in you, knowing you're going to be beaten to the ground? Is it a relief, to surrender to that?"
    "Yes." He said it softly, and looked away.
    "Well." Something snapped faintly in my shoulder, and the soreness eased. "Imagine that relief compounding, ten times, a hundred times, with every blow, through pain, through agony, to become a pleasure so great and awful it fixes you like a spear." I shook my arm, finding it better. "Then," I said, "you will understand, a little bit, what it is to serve Ku-shiel."
    He listened, and heard, then looked somberly at me. "Even among the Skaldi?"
    "No." I shook my head, my voice turning hard. "That was different. I did not choose it. That is what it is, I think, to be used by an immortal."
    "Kushiel's Dart." Something in the way he said it made me think of One-Eyed Lodur, the wild priest of Odhinn. Joscelin shuddered inexplicably. "Come on, we'd best be off. One day, he said. Will he keep his word?"
    "Yes," I said. "For a day."
    "Here." He drew Ysandre's ring on its chain over his head. "She trusted it to your keeping."
    I took it back without comment, and we hurried onward.
    In the courtyard, we met with Hyacinthe and the Tsingani, a roil of disorderly activity as adults, children and horses alike strained with eagerness to be on the open road. Tsingani do not like to sleep in stone walls, reckoning it unlucky. Neci's brother-in-law finished hitching the team, jerking his chin toward the gate.
    "Let's go, rinkeni chavo , before the sea-Kralis changes his mind!" he said impatiently, looking to Hyacinthe as our leader.
    Hyacinthe glanced