Kushiel's Dart

Delaunay, my friend, what do I do? I am innocent in this matter, but I have a home and a family to think of in Fourcay. The King has already sent his fastest riders to the Comte de Somerville. He is mustering the royal army."
    Behind Delaunay's face, the wheels of thought began turning. "You swear you knew nothing of it?"
    Caspar's spine stiffened in the saddle. "My friend, you know me," he said softly. "I am as loyal as you to House Courcel."
    "There will be a trial. There will have to be a trial." Delaunay rested the tip of his sword on the paving stones and leaned on it. "Send your three best men to Fourcay," he said decisively. "Tell them to turn out the guard, and admit no one unless they bear orders in the King's own hand. We'll draft a letter to Percy de Somerville. There's time to intercept him before he can make the border of Azzalle. He knows you, he won't move against Fourcay without orders from the King. It's Lyonette who's at the bottom of this, and not House Trevalion. The King won't take after your whole line."
    Some of the stricken quality eased in Caspar's expression, but not all. "Baudoin has been implicated."
    I drew in my breath sharply at his words, and Alcuin's fingers closed on my elbow. I glanced at him and he shook his head, cautioning silence. Delaunay, frowning to himself, gave no sign that he had heard it.
    "You'd best come in," he said to Caspar, "and tell me what you know. Get your men en route to Fourcay. We'll devise a letter to de Somerville, and you'll petition the King for an audience. Ganelon de la Courcel is no fool. He will hear you."
    After a moment, Caspar nodded curtly, and gave the orders to his men, tossing them a purse for the journey. We heard the sound of their mounts' hoofbeats recede through the streets of the City. In the distance there was shouting as the news began to break like a wave through the D'Angeline populace.
    "Come in," Delaunay repeated, holding out his hand. Caspar Treva-lion grasped it wordlessly and dismounted.
    Once in the house, Delaunay ordered food and wine to be brought. I thought him mad to entertain at such a time, but once Caspar had eaten a bite of bread and cheese and taken a long gulp of wine, he sighed and seemed to grow calmer. Since then, I have seen it is true, that people are reassured by the act of taking sustenance in time of great trauma. Alcuin and I hovered in the background, endeavoring to make ourselves either useful or invisible, and Delaunay made no move to send us away.
    "What happened?" he asked quietly.
    Over the course of the next hour, Caspar laid out the story for us, as best he knew it. He had got it from a friend who was one of the King's lords-in-waiting, so it bode fair to be accurate. Caspar had gone directly to Delaunay with the news, not knowing where else to turn for advice, but he believed his friend had spoken truly, being concerned only for his well-being.
    The story he had heard was that Isidore d'Aiglemort had learned of the matter through the careless boasting of one of Baudoin's Glory-Seekers, deep in his cups after a fruitless patrol of Camlach's borders. D'Aiglemort had investigated, and upon obtaining proof of it, gone straight to the King with the matter, riding day and night to reach the City in all haste. With typical Camaeline bluntness, he hadn't even bothered to request an audience, but gone directly to a public hearing and made his accusation: Ly-onette de Trevalion had conspired with Foclaidha of Alba and her son, the new Cruarch, to join forces. Backed by a Pictish army, she planned to seize the regency of Terre d'Ange and place Baudoin on the throne. In exchange, she would put the forces of Azzalle at the disposal of Foclaidha and her son to hold the kingdom of Alba against the disposed heir and his allies among the Dalriada. To accomplish this, the Azzallese fleet would sail directly against the Master of the Straits. While they had little hope of defeating him they could perchance distract him long enough to ferry the Pictish army across the Strait at its narrowest point. Once they had secured the throne, they would have the whole of the royal fleet at their disposal to achieve their return.
    "It was a clever plan," Caspar concluded, wiping his brow with a velveted sleeve and holding out his wineglass for a refill. "Dangerously clever. If d'Aiglemort hadn't proved loyal. . . Baudoin was his friend, after all. He might have stood to gain."
    I thought of Melisande Shahrizai's smile, and the dark