Kushiel's Chosen

It was at once pleasant and strange to be thus entertained. The conversation was witty and lively; so lively I was hard-put to follow it at times, for my Hellene was slower than theirs, and the Kritian accent a trifle strange to my ear. They spoke of light matters; love affairs, theatre, fashion. So it is at such gatherings, and more solemn conversation saved for later. Even so, it was not in my heart to banter thusly, though I concealed it well enough.

"Is it true, Phaedra," one lady asked me breathlessly, "that in Terre d'Ange, everyone has four lovers, men and women alike?"

"No, my lady." I smiled at her wide-eyed interest. "Of a surety, there are those who do; as many and more. But there are others whose pleasure is to cleave solely to one mate, and no other."

"As a hetaera, you must surely fall into the former category, my dear," Althaia said sweetly, reclining on the couch she shared with her brother; Timanthes bit his lip, hiding a smile. "How many lovers do you claim?"

"None." I met her disbelieving gaze and shook my head. " 'Tis not the same thing, to take a patron as a lover. For a Servant of Naamah to bestow a lover's token and privileges upon a patron is a great honor, and I have never done it."

"Never?" Demetrios raised his eyebrows. "No husband, no consort, no lover... that is very nearly a crime, I think!" Two lords and one lady near him added laughing agreement.

I inclined my head to him. "Ah, but my lord Archon, you never asked if I had a consort."

"I asked-"

"You asked if the pirate was her consort, Demetrios," Timanthes called, flushed with wine and high spirits. "Not if she had one."

"I... ah. Yes." He reflected. "I did. It seemed likely enough, the way he stands at your side and glares at me. So." He sighed. "Not the pirate, then."

"No, my lord." I pictured Joscelin' s face, outraged at the comparison, and smiled to myself. "Not the pirate."

"Well, it would be too much, I suppose, to imagine one such as you lacked for companionship." Demetrios Asterius gave another sigh. "Althaia, you promised us entertainment, did you not?"

"Of course, Demetrios," she said smoothly, clapping her hands once more to summon dancers.

There were six of them, young men and women, and very skilled, executing a complex series of dances in the center of the ring of couches, with tiny bells at their wrists and ankles that marked out an intricate rhythm. I watched them with my mind elsewhere, thinking of Joscelin. I had no right to make any claim on him, no right to name him my consort. Once, he had held that role, but he had abjured it. I remembered his long vigil in the rain-soaked garden, the day I told him I was returning to Naamah's Service. It was true, what I had seen in the thetalos; I had wronged and injured him deeply.

And if I had not, he would have stood at my side in the Little Court when Melisande Shahrizai drew back her veil, and Prince Benedicte ordered the death of my companions. The tally of the living is never given to us to know.

After the dancing, the wine went around again, and then dinner was served, course upon course of Kritian delicacies. There was a good deal of seafood, which is excellent there, especially the tender squid served in a sauce of its own inky effluence, although it is unnerving to behold. After the main dishes came a mixed platter of sweet melons and sharp cheeses, which some couch-mates served to each other with their own fingers, and then a delicate ice flavored with almond milk for dessert. I could not imagine how they came by ice in that clime, but the Archon assured me that there is snow on the highest peaks of Kriti in winter, and they freeze great blocks of ice which they hoard throughout the summer in deep, cool cisterns.

When the dinner things were cleared, the slaves came around with the wine once more, and I thanked the young man who poured for me without thinking.

"It is my pleasure, lypiphera" he murmured, not raising his eyes.

It was the same form of address the masseuse Chloris had used, and one that was strange to me; I sensed Demetrios Asterius' head come up sharply, and felt his measured gaze. "They call you that, do they?" he asked me.

"I don't know, my lord," I said honestly; the wine-pourer had moved onward. "I heard it once before, only today. What does it mean?"

He was silent for a moment, then answered thoughtfully. "Pain-bearer."

"Oh." Since I did not know what else to say, I gazed into my wine-cup. It was very finely made, of a porcelain so thin it was nearly translucent, painted on the inside with a scene of Kritian ships at sail. Demetrios Asterius reached out to touch a loose tendril of my hair, running it between finger and thumb.

"Like silk to the touch," he said ruefully. "My lady Phèdre, like as not I will wed Althaia, who brings with her a vast dowry of lands stretching the coast of my demesnes, of whom I am fond, and whose brother I love well. If I wish to be named Minos' successor, and I do, it is the wise course. But I wish, I very much wish, that you had come here under more auspicious circumstances. And I very much wish that my dear cousin Pasíphae had seen fit to offer her guidance. There are deep things involved here, and my skills lie in dealing with the surface of matters."

I think I knew, then, what his answer would be.

"My lord Archon," I said softly. "If the Kore could have answered me, she would have. I did not come seeking what I have found on Kriti, whether it was destined or no. I ask only for your aid, for ships and men. It is a question for a ruler, and you must answer it thusly."

"So I must." He sighed, then summoned a grin. "On the morrow. For tonight, you are still my guest, and there is entertainment to be had!"

The center of the ring of couches being cleared and the wine-cups refilled, Althaia's slaves brought out the standing silver crater for a game of kottabos, balancing the plastinx carefully atop the spire. My throat tightened a little; I had not played at kottabos since my lord Delaunay had died. Although it is a Hellene game, it is popular among D'Angelines; I had played it for the first time the night Alcuin made his debut, when Delaunay won Cecilie's game and claimed an auction as his forfeit.

Six thousand ducats, Alcuin's virgin-price had brought. No one could remember such a price paid for a Servant of Naamah, not even I, raised in the Night Court. I envied him that, then, I remembered; my own, when my time came, was lower. I wouldn't have done, had I known how he truly felt about it.

Delaunay told me my asking-price would only rise with time. He was right about that too, and I would willingly trade it all, to have them both alive once more.

Such things are not given to us to choose, and so it was that I smiled and laughed and played at kottabos, surprising the Kritians by winning a round with a skillful toss of the lees in my wine-cup, for Delaunay taught us both to play with skill after Alcuin's auction. For my forfeit, I claimed the right to share a couch with our hostess' handsome brother, which was amusing to all and pleased Althaia, who then shared Demetrios' couch, and Demetrios watched me with his shrewd, wry gaze while Timanthes made pleasant conversation, neither of them deceived by my motives.

And thus did the evening pass, until it was time to leave.

"You have a courtier's skills, my lady," Demetrios Asterius said to me, cupping his hands about my face as we lingered outside Althaia's quarters, his servants and Timanthes waiting patiently. I stood quiet under his touch. "It is as well, I suppose." He raised his dark eyes to Timanthes'. "Will you see her back to her apartment?"

"Of course."

"Good." Demetrios sighed. "Then, Phèdre, I bid you farewell tonight as a man, since tomorrow I must be a ruler," he said, and lowering his head, kissed me. His lips were warm and soft and he kissed with the skill of long practice. A shiver of pleasure ran through me, and Demetrios dropped his hands, almost pushing me away. "Go on, little painbearer," he said in a rough-edged voice. "You've given me an ache I'll remember, surely enough."

"I'm sorry, my lord." My own voice came a little fast.

"Don't be. I'll remember it with pleasure." Gathering himself, the Archon grinned. "Timanthes, escort our guest to her quarters, but do not think on dalliance. There are things our friendship cannot endure, and this may be one of them."

"If it can survive my sister, it can survive anything," Timanthes replied, unperturbed.

SIXTY-FOUR

In the morning, Demetrios Asterius received us once more, and true to his word, he was every inch the Archon, no trace anywhere in his demeanor of yesterday's wrestler or drinking companion.

I was reunited with Kazan in the antechamber, and found myself passing glad to see him. We had been through a great deal together, he and I, enough so that he represented the comfort of the familiar. He had spent some of the ransom money on clothing and a visit to the barber, and looked rather more presentable, if no less fiercesome; his black hair gleamed in its long topknot, and his mustaches were waxed to points, the narrow strip of beard shaved with precision. "It is not for this petty king, eh," he said scornfully when I remarked on his garb. "But I will sail this day, for your people or mine, I, and for that I will not set forth in rags."

We did not have long to wait before we were summoned, and the atmosphere in the throne room was somber.

"Comtesse Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève of Terre d'Ange." Demetrios acknowledged me in steady tones. "You have laid a heavy request upon us. Two boons, you have asked; one, I will grant." He touched his fingertips together. "I pray you understand, if it were a matter of sympathy only, I would willingly grant both. But to escort you to La Serenissima..." He shook his head. "This I will not do. Whether the Serenissimans are right or wrong in seeking your death, to defy them thusly at their own gates is an open act of hostility. And if you fail in any part, Phèdre nó Delaunay, I will have earned Kriti-and indeed, all of Hellas- a powerful enemy. Nay, not one, but two, for if I understand matters aright, if you fail, the D'Angeline throne falls to this Benedicte de la Courcel, who stands in alliance with the Stregazza. Is it not so?"

"Yes, my lord Archon," I murmured. "It is so."

"I am sorry." His dark eyes were compassionate. "You asked a courier be sent to Marsilikos, and it shall be so. Anywhere else on the face of the earth you wish to go, I will send you. But I cannot risk exposing Kriti to the united wrath of La Serenissima and Terre d'Ange, no matter what rewards the risk may pay if you succeed. To rule wisely, one must weigh all options. There is no gain here that is worth the price of failure. Can you understand this?"

"Yes." I swallowed, and bowed my head. 'Twas no more than I had expected, but disheartening nonetheless. "I understand, my lord Archon."

"Do you weigh your own options, Phèdre," he said gently, "you may find it is much the same. If what you tell me is true, your chance of succeeding in La Serenissima is slim. Capture or death are likely, if not certain. You have done all that you might and more, though the hand of fate has been raised against you at every turn. Listen well, then, and heed my advice. A courier is no certain thing, my dear, and a message in a stranger's hand too easily ignored. Do not send word to Marsilikos, but go, bear word yourself, and rouse those allies you trust, secure the throne against betrayal abroad. Your Queen's life may be forfeit for it, yes, but you have the surety of the realm to gain-and your own life as well. What do you say?"

He waited, watching, and I gave no answer. At my side, Kazan stirred restlessly. "He speaks wisely, he," he muttered. "I would say the same, did you ask."

It was tempting-Elua, it was tempting! To sail not back into danger and near-certain death, but to Marsilikos and safety; home, to go home. To the calm wisdom of Roxanne de Mereliot, who would take matters into her capable hands, to the reassuring might of Quintilius Rousse, yes, even to go to Barquiel L'Envers, that clever, cunning Duc I had been so sure I could not trust...

... and condemn to death Ysandre de la Courcel, who had once trusted me enough to risk the entire nation on my bare word; not only Ysandre, but mayhap all who travelled with her in the progressus, all who supported her in La Serenissima...

Joscelin.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, thinking. Demetrios Asterius was right, there was danger in trusting to a message in a stranger's hand, almost reason to go. Almost. I lowered my hands and opened my eyes. "My lord Archon, do you swear to me that your courier will do all that is humanly possible to deliver my message to the Lady of Marsilikos?"

He paused, then nodded soberly. "That much I do swear, my lady. By Mother Dia and the House of Minos, I swear it."

"And you ..." I turned to Kazan, "... you will get me to La Serenissima, no matter what happens in Epidauro?"

Kazan's eyes gleamed. "I have said it, I; may the kríavbhog swallow my soul if I lie! This is the debt I owe, and I will honor it, I." He gave a broad grin. "If you did the wise thing always, I would be dead, yes?"

I turned back to face the Archon. "I thank you, my lord, for your offer, which was generous," I said softly. "And for your advice, which was well-conceived. But I believe I can send a message that will not go unheeded."

"So be it." There was a starkness to his features, and I knew he did not look to see me alive again. "Deliver unto me your letter, and I will have the ship sail at once. May your gods protect you, Phèdre nó Delaunay. They've done a poor enough job of it thus far."

I made no reply but knelt briefly to him, and we took our leave, though not before I caught a sympathetic glance from Timanthes, standing at his post beside the Archon's throne. Kazan departed for the harbor, where I was to meet him in two hours' time. 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">