Kushiel's Mercy

straightaway to the townhouse.
    Phèdre and Joscelin were still in Montrève, but Eugènie admitted me to Phèdre’s study without question. I knew Phèdre had found a reference for the blind priest’s system of notation, but it took me forever to locate the moldering old Hellene medical tome in which she’d found it. Doubtless Phèdre could have laid her hand on it in a heartbeat, but she wasn’t the most organized archivist in the world.
    Once I finally did, I laid it open on her desk, studied the maddeningly intricate chart of slashes and crosshatches it contained, and set about transcribing the message.
    It was painstaking work and I daresay I made a few errors, but eventually the gist of it came clear.
    I do not hold the answer you seek, but one of Carthage does. If the Queen receives their tribute, he will tell you.
    “Carthage,” I muttered. “It had to be Carthage.”
    Giving Eugènie my thanks and a fond embrace, I took the letter, the transcription, and the musty old Hellene volume, stowed them in my bags and headed for Night’s Doorstep, where the portly Emile presided over a tavern called the Cockerel. He was a Tsingano half-breed who had been one of Hyacinthe’s boon companions many years ago, and he was unfailingly loyal to House Montrève.
    “I need a quiet word,” I said to him.
    “For you, my gadjo pearl?” He clapped my back. “Anything.”
    Emile listened while I told him I’d received a mysterious love letter delivered by a Tsingano lad, that I wanted to talk to the boy and learn what he could tell me of the woman who’d given it to him. And that I wanted it done in secrecy.
    “I will find out.” Emile studied me with disapproval. “Already you philander?”
    “No!” I shook my head. “But I fear mayhap it’s a plot to make her highness believe otherwise.”
    “Ah.” The lines of reproach smoothed from his fleshy face. Emile laid a finger alongside his nose. “Like the other time, eh? Do not fear. The Tsingani will always keep your secrets and seek to ferret out the secrets of those who would harm Phèdre nó Delaunay’s son. We do not forget who freed Hyacinthe from his curse.”
    “There’s another matter,” I said. “Can you find someone discreet to ride to Montrève and fetch Phèdre and Joscelin?” Emile hesitated, and I fumbled for my purse, setting it on the table. “For a generous fee, of course.”
    The purse vanished. “Of course I would do it for free.” Emile smiled broadly. “But all things are possible for a fee, chavo .”
    “My thanks,” I said, rising.
    Strange but true, I trusted the Tsingani more than I trusted most of my peers. Most D’Angelines held them in a measure of suspicion, although it is better now, I am told, than before I was born. In fairness, the Tsingani did take a certain delight in bilking outsiders whenever possible, but they could be fiercely loyal friends. Of a surety, they’d been that to Phèdre—and to me. It was a Tsingani kumpania that had reported seeing Carthaginian slavers with D’Angeline children in tow long, long ago. If not for that, I would have been dead years ago.
    I rode back to the Palace and awaited Sidonie.
    When at last she entered her quarters, she took one look at my face and stopped dead.
    “What is it?”
    I showed her the letter. “Word’s come.”

Nine
    Ysandre took the news better than I would have reckoned.
    We met in private, just the three of us. She glanced briefly at the text of the letter itself, then examined the vellum edges, lingering over my transcription and checking it against the chart in the Hellene book. At length, her fair brows rose.
    “That’s it?” she asked. “I accept Carthage’s tribute, and some mysterious agent of the Guild will divulge Melisande’s whereabouts?”
    “So it seems,” I said.
    “It’s not much of a favor to ask,” she observed.
    “I know.” I spread my hands. “Your majesty, I can’t say why the Ephesian ambassador would ask such a thing in such a covert manner.”
    Ysandre leveled a hard gaze at me. “Give me your best guess.”
    “I don’t know !” I said in frustration.
    “A favor may be transferred if all parties are in agreement,” Sidonie said pragmatically.
    “I imagine the Guild must deal in such currency. For some reason, Diokles Agallon has transferred his favor to Carthage. He seeks to align himself with their interests, which, at the moment, appear to be courting your favor.”
    Ysandre tapped the vellum, her face