Kushiel's Dart

point; what, I do not know, but I acceded to one of them, or both. That was what set them to arguing, though they needed little excuse. "Everyone is prettier than you, Eamonn," I remember Grainne laughing. "I should know what it's like, for a change. Isn't that what D'Angelines do?" She looked at me for an answer; I must have said yes. It is true enough, after all. Eamonn said something surly, which I do not recall, and Grainne looked mockingly at him. "Anyway, it is for the guest to choose."
    So I did.
    In the morning, I woke with a splitting head.
    "Are they all like that, D'Angelines? Taught to do so?"
    The words were spoken in Eiran, which had seemed perfectly comprehensible to me the night before. Now, I had to grope at the meaning, puzzling out the dialect as I struggled to collect myself from the rumpled sheets and deal with one of the Lords of the Dalriada, already fully awake, alert and clothed.
    "No, my lady," I said in reserved Cruithne, pushing my hair back to meet her curious regard. "Not all."
    "Pity," she said mildly, tying her kirtle.
    A small figure raced into the room and leapt onto the bed, burrowing amid the coverings; the boy Brennan, who I had guessed by now was her son. I winced, my head pounding.
    "Go gently," Grainne said indulgently to him. She sat on the edge of the bed, ruffling his red-gold hair, gazing amused at me. "I am not sure I like it, to know someone better than I at such things. You serve to remind me, though, that some things are best done in leisure, not haste. Is it how you are trained to acknowledge royalty?"
    I would have laughed, if my head hadn't ached so. Brennan squirmed out from under his mother's hand and wormed behind me, small fingers tracing the marque up my spine with a child's curiosity. "No, my lady," I said again, pressing fingertips to my temples. "It is what / am trained to do." I thought ruefully of the night, of the further wedge I'd driven between the quarreling Twins. "I'm not fit for diplomacy. I told the Queen as much."
    "You're adept at tongues." One corner of Grainne's mouth curled in a smile. She rose to regard herself in a small mirror, thrusting a jeweled pin in her glorious hair. "Anyway, I've given you the key to Eamonn."
    "My lady?" The child's poking was distracting me from my headache, but I failed to understand.
    "He could never bear for me to have aught that he lacked," Grainne said complacently. "A horse, a sword, a brooch . . . whatever it was, Eamonn must have as much, or finer."
    "You say he will go to war for me?"
    Her look was kindly condescending. "Left to choose, Eammon will not decide, neither yea nor nay, until Macha's bull gives milk. For you alone . . . no. But it will gall him, to be denied what I have had. That is the key, Phedre no Delaunay." She took care with my name, saying it slow, then smiled. "Though you are almost, almost worth a war."
    I dragged myself up to sit cross-legged, raking my hands through my hair. Melisande's diamond hung about my throat, the only thing to adorn me. "Did you do it for that?" I asked.
    "No." Grainne smiled again, clapping her hands and summoning Brennan to her. He clung to her waist and grinned up at his mother. "For me." She touseled his hair, and gave me a considering look. "Do you think your ship-captain would breed strong sons and daughters?"
    "Quintilius Rousse?" I laughed, then caught myself. "Yes, my lady. That, I do."
    "Good." Her grey-green eyes glinted in the sunlight. "Tomorrow, we may die, so it is best to live today. And some things are best decided in haste. Maybe you can teach my brother as much."
    If you can find the balance between them . . .
    "It seems," I said, "I will have to try."

SEVENTY-ONE
    Mercifully, I was not the only one suffering the aftereffects of uisghe that day; most of the D'Angelines were bleary-eyed, and no few of the Dalriada. Not all, it seemed, had Grainne's constitution. Even some of the Cruithne nursed aching heads, although Drustan was not among them.
    None of them, however, had to face Joscelin Verreuil's glare of disapproval.
    "It is a disgrace" he hissed at me, as we sat to break our fast. "Do you think every problem can be solved by falling into someone's bed? Do you think it's for that that Ysandre de la Courcel chose you?"
    "Forgive me," I muttered sourly, propping my head in my hands. "I've not your skill with a sword, to resolve matters that way. Anyway, I might not have fallen there, if you hadn't left me, all of you. Mayhap you should try