Kushiel's Chosen

Compulsive motions, perspiration, altered tone, repetition-he wasn't merely lying, he was lying out of fear. I spoke to him in my gentlest voice. "My lord astrologer, I did not jest with you. Prince Benedicte would pay dearly for this knowledge. And whatever you fear, I promise, he will take you under his protection." Though I had no authority whatsoever to make that kind of pledge, I was reasonably certain Benedicte would agree; and if he wouldn't, I'd summon Quintilius Rousse if I had to.

But 'twas to no avail.

"I know nothing," said Magister Acco, desperation making him bold. "Do you hear? Nothing! Not even if you were to offer me the post of Royal Astrologer to the D'Angeline Queen herself! Now get out and leave me be, and don't come back!" He trembled with mingled fear and anger. "Do you people think I can't chart my own fate? Do you think I don't see the thread will cut my lifeline short if I cross it? Get out, I tell you!"

"Magister Acco ..."

"Out!" He screamed the word with corded throat, one shaking hand pointing at the door. There were veins throbbing at his temples, and I feared we'd give him a seizure if we stayed. I beckoned to Remy and Ti-Philippe, and we went quietly. The astrologer's door slammed behind us and I heard the sound of furniture being dragged within, something heavy thudding against the door.

We stood in the muck of the little courtyard and stared at one another.

"Well," Remy said thoughtfully. "There's a man that's tangled with Melisande, all right. Only what do we do about it?"

"We go to Prince Benedicte." The voice that spoke those words was so quiet and reasonable it didn't sound like Ti-Philippe. He met my eyes reluctantly, rubbing at his nose, which no longer resembled a fruit. "My lady, I'd follow you to the ends of the earth, whether you chased a will-o'-the-wisp or no, but if there's any merit to that man's fear, this business is too serious for us to handle alone. We've good reason to believe the astrologer knows somewhat about Melisande, somewhat that put the fear of Kushiel into him. It's a matter of state, and you gave the Admiral your word. Let Prince Benedicte handle it."

"You're right," I said slowly, and sighed. "I'd rather we had proof, a great deal more of it. But he won't talk of his own accord, and I don't think we can afford to let him go. Remy, if you'll stay and keep a watch, we'll go straightaway to the Little Court, and pray that Rousse's name opens doors there as quickly as he thinks it will."

"Aye, my lady." Remy saluted, taking up a post leaning against the wall outside the astrologer's door. "Elua grant you luck."

That was when we heard the second thud, and this one didn't sound like furniture.

It sounded very like a falling body.

Ti-Philippe swore and put his shoulder to the door, shoving hard. Remy set to beside him, and between the two, they forced open the door, which was blocked by a large trunk. I would have gone inside, but they made me wait while they went first.

"It's safe, my lady," Remy called back, his voice disgusted. "But so much for going to Prince Benedicte. You may not want to look."

I went to see anyway, and found the astrologer's body lying in a pitiful heap on the floor of his pitiful lodging. His eyes were open and staring, and there was a little foam about his mouth. At his side lay a shattered phial. Magister Acco was very much dead. Ti-Philippe stooped and sniffed at his foam-spattered lips, touched one finger to the glass shards of the phial and sniffed that as well.

"Laugh at my nose all you like," he said, wiping his finger on his trousers, "but it smells just like the rat poison my Da used to set out, my lady."

"He poisoned himself." I pressed my hand hard to my breast, shaking. "Oh, poor man! And we drove him to it. I should have seen he was that terrified."

"My lady." Remy took my arm and urged me turn away. "I think mayhap he was a little bit mad," he said softly. "That business he spoke at the end, about crossing threads cutting short his lifeline? I think whatever fear he had of Melisande was jumbled in his mind with his expulsion from the Palace, and he drove himself mad with it rather than face his own guilt. The man nearly killed the Doge's wife. Surely it haunted him."

"Mayhap." My head ached. "But if he stood at the verge, Remy, I am the one who pushed him. I wonder if he knew what we meant to do."

"How could he?" Ti-Philippe asked rhetorically. "Lucky we didn't, now. I'd hate to have dragged out the Prince's Guard to visit a corpse. You can still tell Benedicte, and let him investigate it."

"No." I rubbed my temples. "There's naught to learn here, with the astrologer dead. Whatever else is true, he did violence by his own hand, and there's no one Benedicte could question that he hasn't asked before. It would only alert Melisande, if she's tied to him in any way. And if she's not, 'twould only embarrass us, and give away our game in the bargain. I'll go to Benedicte when I've proof, not speculation and bodies."

We made a cursory search of Magister Acco's lodgings, turning up naught but the tools of his trade, texts and charts. A few Serenissimans began to gather outside the door, and Remy went out somber-faced to report the news and send for the undertaker, telling them only that the astrologer had bid us leave in a temper, then suffered a seizure.

No one seemed surprised, and a few nodded solemnly, as if they'd expected no less. Magister Acco, it seemed, had a reputation for having an uncertain temper and occasional fits of raving.

He also had a reputation for unerring prognostication.

I thought about that, during the silent trip back to our rented house, the gondola emerging onto the Great Canal to glide softly over water tinted lavender by the setting sun, the boatman dipping his long oar in mesmerizing rhythm, singing absently to himself. I did not think the astrologer was mad, any more than I thought a tincture of sulfur would kill in small doses. If the Doge's wife had died, if Benedicte's chirurgeon had not intervened, Magister Acco would likely have been executed. Whether or not Melisande had done it, I did not know; if she had been in the Doge's Palace, and that close to his astrologer, someone else had known it, someone who had lied to Prince Benedicte - and it had never been her way to use her own hand. Mayhap it was different, now that she was more desperate.

One thing I did know. Magister Acco had seen her, and if he was not merely raving, he had seen in the stars that his death lay in crossing her. He had taken control of his fate in the only way he saw.

And I had led him to it.

THIRTY-SIX

Upon our return home, I found an invitation awaiting me. I had nearly forgotten Ricciardo Stregazza's promise, but he, it seemed, had not. I was invited to visit their country villa two days hence.

I daresay I might have politely refused, were it not that the invitation itself captured my attention. It was not from Ricciardo, but his wife, Allegra. It had a warm, open sentiment that surprised me, and in the note she spoke of her interest in hearing my perspective on Serenissiman society.

"Will you answer, my lady?" Fortun asked quietly. His manner was gentle; he had heard the day's tidings from Remy and Ti-Philippe.

"Yes." I sighed. "I should. For all I know, I might learn somewhat."

"I'll escort you, if it please you." It was a kind offer. He was steadier man the other two, and we both knew it. I wouldn't have replied as I did if I hadn't been weary and disheartened.

"I want Joscelin." It was a child's response, petulant and sulky; I saw the hurt on his face the moment I spoke, and would have bitten back the words if I could have. "Fortun, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It's only that it's isolated, we'll be on the mainland, among folk I dare not trust, and he's trained best for it."

"Well, he's not here." Fortun flushed at his own blunt-ness, dropping to kneel beside my couch. "My lady," he murmured. "I know you miss him. I know how you have quarreled, we all do. If I could drag him back to your side by his heels, I swear I would do it."

I set aside the invitation. "Where is he? Among the Yeshuites?" I saw the answer in his face and gave a short laugh. "You know what he's doing there, don't you?"

"Yes." Fortun looked away. "My lady," he said, his voice scarcely a whisper. "Forgive me. But you heard the Unforgiven, as well as we. That night in Troyes-le-Mont, there was a Cassiline Brother escorting Persia Shahrizai. I know you would never suspect him, in a thousand years, but he keeps disappearing, and we talked about it, we three. It's not right, with him sworn to protect and serve you. We drew lots, and I got the short straw. I've followed him, more than once."

I passed my hands blindly over my face. "Joscelin Verreuil may be a poor excuse for a Cassiline, but he'd as soon dance naked for the Khalif of Khebbel-im-Akkad as conspire with Melisande Shahrizai. What's he doing?"

"Um." Fortun cleared his throat. "He's training Yeshuite lads to Cassiline arms."

"What?" My voice rose.

"I told you, he's training them to fight like Cassilines." He glanced about to make certain no servants were near. "I asked about, in the taverns. I found one fellow willing to talk. Seems they've been trying to teach themselves, but it's unlawful for a Yeshuite to bear arms in La Serenissima. They're allowed a single temple; he trains them in the catacombs below."

"What are they going to do?" I asked wearily. "Storm the Doge's Palace?"

"No." He shook his head. "Go north, in accordance with some prophecy. There's rumor of a warlord, Hral, Vral, somewhat like that, has converted to the Yeshuite faith, and seeks to forge a single nation among the tribefolk of the northern wastes."

"Well, I wish them the joy of it," I muttered. "Fortun, forget what I said. I would be very pleased indeed to have you attend me."

"I'll send him to you when he comes," he said quietly, leaving me.

What passed between them, I never knew, but it fell out that Joscelin accompanied me to the Villa Gaudio, where Ricciardo and Allegra Stregazza made their home. We travelled from the linked islands of the city proper by boat, forging some little ways up the Brenno River, along which several villas lay. In the true Tiberian style, these were working farms as well as gracious estates, and it surprised me, from what little I knew of him, that Ricciardo Stregazza chose to live on one.

Joscelin and I spoke little on the journey, except to discuss the death of Magister Acco. Like Remy, he was minded to think that the astrologer had been unstable in his wits and his death none of my fault. Nonetheless, I think it unnerved him somewhat, that I had been so close to a man's death, and my Perfect Companion nowhere in sight.

Well, and it should, I thought, remembering him coming in from the garden the day I had told him. I protect and serve, he had said. No more, and no less. No matter what anyone said, his vow was between him and Cassiel-not me, and not even Ysandre. But in my opinion, he'd done considerably less than more.

That, at least, I kept to myself. After all, no one was telling me it was my destiny and salvation to lead a people to a nation of glory in a far-off land.

Ricciardo Stregazza had lookouts posted, and we were met at river's edge. He and his family met us in the gardens between the dock and the villa, a modest, gracious affair with marble columns to the fore.

"Welcome, Comtesse," he said in D'Angeline, and gave me the kiss of greeting; I returned it unthinking. His demeaner seemed easier, and he looked younger than I'd thought before. "This," he said, turning, "is my lady wife, Allegra Stregazza, and these..." he indicated a shy girl of some seven years, and a merry, curly-headed boy of five or so, "... are our offspring, Sabrina and Lucio. My dears, this is Phèdre nó Delaunay, Comtesse de Montrève."

We had greetings all around, and I introduced Joscelin, who gave his Cassiline bow. Allegra Stregazza embraced me warmly.

"I'm so pleased you came," she said in Caerdicci, smiling, faint lines crinkling at the corners of her grey-green eyes. I guessed her to be some ten years younger than her husband; twenty-seven or eight. After the city, her attire seemed elegantly simple, and she wore her waving brown hair unadorned. "We don't get many visitors here, as it's not fashionable, although I daresay it will be one day. And since ... well. It's a pleasure."

"You honor me," I replied politely, slightly bewildered.

"Signore Verreuil," Allegra began to greet Joscelin, then gasped, gazing at his daggers and vambraces. "Oh! You're a Cassiline!"

It sounded exotic, from her lips. Blinking, Joscelin gave another bow. "I had that honor once, my lady Stregazza," he said. "I beg your pardon, for wearing arms into your presence." Straightening, he plucked his daggers free and dropped them neatly at her feet, beginning to unbuckle his baldric.

"Oh, no, no! Pray, keep your arms!" Allegra clapped her hands together like a girl, and then bent to explain to the children how no matter what the circumstances, the King or Queen of Terre d'Ange was always attended by two members of the Cassiline Brotherhood. The boy stooped to pick up one of Joscelin's daggers; the girl dug her toe in the grass and peered at him through her hair.

"Lucio, no, leave it for Signore Cassiline," Ricciardo scolded, catching one arm about the boy's middle and hoisting him, giggling, onto his shoulder. "Shall we go inside? I nearly think Cook's outdone herself with a fine repast.”

It was a pleasant stroll through the gardens, which were mostly yew and cypress, with some few patches where roses were cultivated. "Prince Benedicte had promised me the loan of his court gardener," Ricciardo said ruefully, "before the quarrel began. Still, he's a fair man, and I think we might come to some arrangement, if my dear sister-in-law hasn't poisoned his ear against me." When I protested that his gardens were lovely, he shook his head at me. "Thank you, Comtesse, but I know better. Still, Allegra's done wonders with the roses." ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">