Kushiel's Dart

the traces and got the lead mare free. That was when Alcuin had taken his wound, but Guy had boosted him astride, smacking the mare across the haunches with the broadside of his dagger.
    All of this he told Delaunay before he died-or most of it, at least, for some parts Alcuin filled in later. Of a surety, though, Guy told him they were Bouvarre's men, for as he said, "My lord, the coachman knew." As Delaunay told it, he knelt by Guy's side all the while, and both of them had their hand on the hilt of the fatal dagger. When Guy had told all he knew, his breath came short, and his skin grew cold and pale. His grip grew limp, fingers falling away from the hilt. I daresay I understood his final words as well as Delaunay, if not better. "Draw out the dagger, my lord, and let me go. The debt between us is settled."
    Delaunay did not tell me that he wept as he obeyed, but I can guess it well enough, for I saw him weep at the telling. Blood enough to kill him, Guy had lost already, but the dagger had pierced a lung. Quickly enough, it filled; a bloody froth came to his lips, and he died.
    As for the coachman, I daresay he thought his end was upon him as Delaunay rose and made toward him, bloodstained sword naked in his hand. But Delaunay did not kill him; it was never his way, to slay the weak. "Tell your master," he said to the coachman, "he will answer to me before the King's justice or on the dueling field, but answer he will."
    Delaunay said the coachman gave no reply but to cringe. He gave the man no further heed, gathering Guy in his arms and laying him over his saddle, making his slow way home.
    For many days, the household was in a state of cautious turmoil; cautious, for all were mindful of both Alcuin's convalescence and Delau-nay's mood, yet the turmoil was unavoidable. The servants and I tended Alcuin, while the embalmers came to work their art on Guy, whose body lay in state in his humble room. Delaunay left for a time on the second morning, returning tight-lipped and angry.
    "Bouvarre?" I asked him.
    "Gone," came the curt reply. "Packed up and fled to La Serenissima, with half his household."
    However extensive Delaunay's web, it was built of information, and not influence; if his knowledge extended beyond the bounds of Terre d'Ange, his reach did not. Vitale Bouvarre was safe enough in the Stre-gazza stronghold. Delaunay paced the library like a tiger, whirling to glare at me.
    "No assignations," he ordered. "Until Bouvarre is brought to justice, I won't risk either of you."
    Either of us, I thought, and stared at him. "You don't know?"
    "Know what?" Too restless to give his mind over to one matter, he had paused at his desk, tracing the lines of a half-written letter and stabbing his quill at the inkwell.
    I drew my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. "Bouvarre's patron-gift paid the remainder of Alcuin's marque," I said softly. "It was the other half of his price."
    Delaunay looked at me, quill suspended in midair. "He what ? Why? Why would Alcuin do that?"
    My lord, I thought, you are an idiot. "For you."
    Delaunay set the quill down slowly, taking care not to blot the letter. I had seen the address, it was to the Prefect of the Cassiline Brotherhood; to ask if Guy could be buried as a member of their order, I assumed. He shook his head, denying my suggestion. "I would never have asked him to take such a risk. Never. Either of you. Alcuin knew that!"
    "Yes, my lord," I said cautiously. "We both of us knew; it is why he did not tell you, and swore me to silence. But the service of Naamah is not in his blood, as it is in mine. He swore himself to it to ... to settle the debt between you."
    Guy's words; I saw the blood leave Delaunay's face to hear them. "There was no debt between us," he whispered. "My duty to Alcuin lay elsewhere."
    "In the promise of Prince Rolande de la Courcel?"
    "He was my liege-lord!" Delaunay's voice was harsh. I shrank back at it and he saw, relenting. "Ah, Phedre ... I have trained you too well. Alcuin should have known, there is no debt between us."
    "Then perhaps he is right, and you should have trained him to arms rather than bedchambers and intrigues, if you would have honored the memory of your liege," I said remorselessly. If my words were cruel, well, I make no apology. That night was too fresh in my mind, the cold stones and Alcuin's blood ebbing between my fingers.
    "Perhaps," Delaunay murmured, no protest at my unkindness, gazing past me at some memory beyond my ken.