Kushiel's Dart

soothed by the moonlit play of water in the fountain. Even in this, I failed, for the shadowed torches were lit and several others had found the garden already. In one dim corner, a knot of people writhed to the sound of giggles and moans. I tried to count their number by limbs, and failed; three at least, but perhaps four. Under an ornamental apple tree, another couple lay entwined. Since I had no place else to go, I sat by the fountain anyway, trailing my fingers in the rippling water and wondering if the Dowayne's ancient golden carp still lived.
    I felt a touch on the back on my neck.
    "Phedre."
    I knew her voice; it sent a shiver of cold fire down my spine. I looked up to see Melisande Shahrizai smiling down upon me.
    "Why are you here alone?" she asked. "Surely you would not disdain my hospitality."
    I stood quickly, brushing off my skirts. "No, my lady."
    "Good." She was standing close enough that I could feel her warmth. It was too dark to see the blue of her eyes, but I could see the langorous sweep of her lashes. "Do you know what they say in Kusheth about sinners in Kushiel's charge?" she asked, running the tip of one finger over my lower lip. I shook my head, dazed by her nearness. "It is said that when offered the chance for repentance, they refused it for love of their lord."
    With the same hand, she undid my hair, letting it fall in a cascade. "I believe I have found the perfect gift for Prince Baudoin tonight," she said casually, twining her hand in my hair. "You." Jerking her grip tight, she brought me hard up against her and kissed me.
    I gasped when she released me and sat down hard on the rim of the fountain, unable to stand, the entire length of my body throbbing from the sudden contact with hers. She had bitten my lip, and I touched it with my tongue, wondering if she had drawn blood. Melisande laughed, the sound liquid in the moonlight.
    "Unfortunately," she said lightly, "he is well occupied this night, and I have promised to join him. But I will speak with Delaunay on the morrow about making an arrangement for the Prince. After all, I owe him a farewell gift." Turning, she beckoned to the darkness behind her. A fair young man, cast in the canon of Cereus House, stepped forward in compliance. "Jean-Louis," Melisande said, laying her hand on his chest. "Phedre is my guest. See that she is well pleased."
    He bowed gracefully. "Yes, my lady."
    She patted his arm and took her leave of the garden. "Be gentle with her," she said over her shoulder, amusement in her voice.
    Much to my dismay, he was.

TWENTY-ONE
    I do not know if either Alcuin or Delaunay availed themselves of Melisande's hospitality in the same fashion; I rather doubt it. Delaunay gave my disheveled appearance a sidelong glance in the carriage ride home, but offered no comment.
    True to her word, Melisande Shahrizai sent a man around the next day, bearing an invitation to Delaunay to pay her a visit that evening. I busied myself throughout the day and engaged in my too-oft-neglected studies in the latter hours, setting myself the task of translating a slim collection of Skaldic war-chants compiled by the younger son of a Tiberian statesman who had travelled extensively in his youth. Delaunay had a friend, a Caerdicci composer, who claimed that one could understand any culture through its songs.
    Thus I was still awake when Delaunay returned, finding me ensconced in the library, all diligence and ink-stains. He gave me that look that meant he saw through my subterfuge and sighed, settling in his favorite chair. "So you caught Baudoin's eye, did you? Melisande is minded to buy him a night with you."
    I shrugged and corked the ink, wiping my quill on a bit of rag, "My lord, is it not advantageous? You know I am nothing if not circumspect."
    "You are agreeable, then." He held out his hand for the draft of my translation. "Let me see what you've done."
    I passed it to him, watching him read. "How could I be otherwise? He is a Prince of the Blood. And, my lord, Caspar Trevalion is close-mouthed with you still, and Solaine Belfours has fallen out with the Princess Lyonette; we have no conduit to doings in Azzalle."
    Delaunay looked shrewdly at me. "Baudoin de Trevalion is a lion's cub and dangerous, Phedre, and Melisande Shahrizai standing in his shadow makes him thrice dangerous. If you would do this thing, I bid you keep your tongue sealed. A word from her, and he would have your head." He handed the translation back to me. "A nice job.