Kushiel's Dart

but the black eyes glittered. "Swear it, and I will grant what you ask."
    "I swear," Ghislain de Somerville said, and his face grew stern. "Do you pledge your fealty to Ysandre de la Courcel, on Camael's honor, and in the name of Blessed Elua?"
    "I'll pledge my loyalty to the destruction of Melisande Shahrizai," d'Aiglemort said in his harsh voice. Ghislain glanced at me. I touched the diamond at my throat and nodded.
    It would do.

EIGHTY-FIVE
    Descending into the valley to join d'Aiglemort's army was tense. I did not think he intended to betray his word-he couldn't break the Skaldi siege without our aid, any more than we could without his-but if he did, that would be the time to do it, when our forces were strung out in long winding lines, bringing down not only the men, but provisions, pack-mules, and the unwieldy war-chariots the Dalriada would not abandon.
    I know Ghislain de Somerville and Drustan mab Necthana were both alert and wary to the possibility, remaining mounted and full-armed throughout the journey. Isidore d'Aiglemort, who had ridden bare-headed to meet us, watched with a hint of contempt. Guiding his mount effortlessly down the steep trail, he came alongside us.
    "You were the Cassiline, weren't you?" he asked Joscelin. "I remember. Melisande's favor."
    "Yes, my lord." Joscelin's tone was edged with bitterness. "I was the Cassiline. Joscelin Verreuil, formerly of the Cassiline Brotherhood."
    "You're better off," d'Aiglemort said dryly. "Steel and faith are an unnatural mix. I'm impressed, though. I'd have thought slavery would kill a Cassiline. I'll want to hear, later, all you know of Waldemar Selig." Nudging his horse, he left us. Joscelin stared after him.
    "If we didn't need him," he said savagely, "I swear, I'd put a knife in his heart! How can you possibly trust him?"
    "He was a hero, once," I murmured. "Whatever else he may have been, he was that. If we succeed, or even if we die trying, he'll be remembered as a hero in the end. Without this, his name will ring through D'Angeline history-whatever remains of us to tell it-as Waldemar Selig's dupe. And he dies knowing Melisande used him to do it."
    Joscelin was silent for a moment. "She could have gained the nation with him," he said presently. "Why?"
    I shook my head. "The Skaldi would still have invaded. Selig was using him too. Who knows what he promised her? At his side ... she stands to gain two nations. Ten thousand Camaelines know Isidore d'Aiglemort betrayed the Crown, he had an army at his back. Melisande plays a deep game. If Selig wins, you can count the survivors who know her role on one hand. He'll have an empire. And he'll take a Queen to consolidate it."
    "Is that what you think?" Joscelin threw his head back, shocked. I gave him a rueful smile.
    "What else? Melisande plays for high stakes. I can't think of any higher. Unless," I added thoughtfully, "it would be to eliminate Selig once he'd gained the throne and mastered his realm."
    "How could she bear so much blood on her hands?" Joscelin asked softly, gazing at the Camaeline army sprawled in the valley before us. "How could anyone?"
    "I don't know." I shook my head again. "Except that it's the game that compells her. I don't think she ever reckoned the cost in human lives, not truly." Delaunay, I thought, had been the same, a little bit, though his reasons were nobler. They had their pride alike, in the playing out of their deep-laid schemes. I remembered how he had showed me to her, when all the City was buzzing to know about his second protege. And I remembered how she had let him know, through me, that she was the architect behind the fall of House Trevalion.
    "Either way," Joscelin said soberly, "it's monstrous." I did not disagree.
    We reached the valley floor without incident, crowded together in a throng of D'Angelines and Albans alike. The Allies of Camlach stared at our forces, the blue-painted Cruithne, in wonder. They were gaunt and feverish, with a fierce, fugitive air; we wasted no time in setting up an encampment and beginning the process of sharing out our foodstuffs.
    It was a strange mood that prevailed, and my own mood was no less peculiar. Gaiety and despair commingled as word spread of the planned assault. I thought that my mood would lighten, with the success of our endeavor; whatever happened, at least, I would not be responsible for leading anyone to die at d'Aiglemort's hands. Instead, it deepened. Everything seemed very clear and sharp to me, and yet