Kushiel's Dart

for she had need still of my skills as a linguist.
    Then, there were joyful reunions.
    Chiefest among them was Cecilie Laveau-Perrin, who came with The-lesis de Mornay to pay a visit. I was glad enough to see the Queen's Poet, but I had not reckoned on how my heart would swell to see Cecilie, her beautiful face so gracefully aging, the gentle affection in her pale blue eyes. I fell on her neck and wept unabashedly.
    "There, there," she murmured, patting my back. "There, there." When I had regained my composure, she took my face in her hands. "Phedre, child, few of Naamah's Servants ever know truly what it is to walk in her footsteps. I have prayed every day for your safe return."
    Joscelin hovered awkwardly in the background, unsure how to respond to this unexpected display of emotion on my part. But Cecilie had lost none of the niceties of Cereus House, and put him at ease instantly, taking his hands and giving him the kiss of greeting.
    "Such a beautiful young man, Joscelin Verreuil," she said lightly, turning his hands in hers and studying the Cassiline vambraces he wore, coupled now with midnight-blue Courcel livery. "And a true hero, as well." Cecilie's eyes twinkled as she tapped his vambraces. "Never let it be said Naamah lacks a sense of humor."
    He blushed to the roots of his hair, and bowed. "From the Queen of the Night-Blooming Flowers, I will accept such a compliment."
    Thelesis de Mornay regarded us all fondly with her dark, glowing gaze. "Truly," she said in her musical voice, "Elua's blessing is on this day. For all that is lost, yet so much is won."
    Her words struck a chord in me, granting sanction to grief and joy alike. It was true, there had been so many losses, so many that I felt their absence like a stone in my heart. And yet, indeed, we had won so much: victory and freedom for the earth and soul of Terre d'Ange, love, liberty and our very lives. It was fitting and meet that we should celebrate these things. So say the tenets of Blessed Elua, who shed his blood for the land, for humanity, and smiled. Through war and death and betrayal... the bee is in the lavender, the honey fills the comb. We were home.

NINETY-FOUR
    In defiance of death, D'Angelines celebrate life.
    It is for this reason, I think, above all, that Ysandre and Drustan's wedding became the grand affair that it did. And for anyone tempted to think that she kept me in her service out of kindness in those weeks of preparation, let me say: I earned my keep.
    Somewhere amid the chaos, I found time to tend to those promises of my own I had to fulfill. Thelesis de Mornay was a great boon, setting the deeds of our quest and the great battle to verse, and translating them as well into Cruithne; for I had promised Drustan that his folk would know of their deeds. How many people she interviewed for this tale, I cannot say, but a great many of them. Though her health was never so good as it had been before the fever struck her, she spent herself tirelessly on her craft.
    It became in the end a mighty epic, and she worked all the days of her life on the Ysandrine Cycle, so-named because it charted the tumultuous ascension of Ysandre de la Courcel to the throne of Terre d'Ange-though it is, in truth, many folks' stories, mine own included. But she had been Ganelon's favorite poet for many years, and knew well enough how to turn out verse for an occasion, so we had the beginnings of it in time for the wedding. As it happened, she had begun work on it from the day four couriers styling themselves Phedre's Boys stormed into the City with a letter in hand, and news of great doings.
    A party of riders hand-picked by Drustan set forth for Azzalle to meet Rousse's fleet and be carried to Alba, carrying the tale locked in memory to Cruithne and Dalriada alike, bearing assurance of a victory won and an alliance made, and the return of the Cruarch to come. Quintilius Rousse himself guaranteed their crossing, having left Jean Marchand in command of the fleet and Marc de Trevalion to hold the border, that he might come to the Palace in person, roaring and bluff as ever, gathering me in an embrace that nearly cracked my ribs,
    On behalf of those couriers who had brought my plea to Thelesis de Mornay, and the rest of Phedre's Boys, I kept my vow made on the ancient Tiberian roads of Alba, and met with Jareth Moran, Dowayne of Cereus House, First among the Thirteen Houses of the Night Court. The token he had given me the night of Baudoin's natal festivities