Kushiel's Dart (Phedre's Trilogy #1)
Page 58"Why did Ysandre send you?" he asked softly, testing.
I pushed my chair back from the table, struggling to my feet, fighting the dark blood-tide. Somewhere, I thought, listening, somewhere Joscelin is telling tales to de Morhban's House Guard. I clung to the memory of him like a talisman, his deadly dance with Selig's thanes in a driving snowstorm, remembrance cooling my blood, shaking my head.
"No questions," de Morhban said quickly. "No questions. Phedre, forgive me, sit."
"You have sworn it in Kushiel's name," I murmured, but I sat. He reached across the table, tracing the line of my brow above my left eye, the dart-stricken one. Calluses; a warrior Duc's fingertips.
"In Kushiel's name," he agreed.
So it began.
It ended as it always does, with such things; he had a full pleasure chamber and flagellary, the Due de Morhban, and he took me there, in the cool depths of the earth beneath his castle at the outermost edge of Terre d'Ange, setting the torches ablaze until it might as well have been Kushiel's domain, wringing me limp with blood and sweat, his face distorted behind the lash, and the sound of my own voice, begging, pleading, as he rode me at the end, bestriding me like a colossus.
He used flechettes, too. I hadn't counted on that.
A thousand deaths, of agony and pleasure, I died there in Quincel de Morhban's chamber. He was good, better almost than any patron I had known, when at last he laid civility aside for violent pleasure, the mask of lust obscuring his features. He was a Kusheline, it was in his blood. He wanted—oh, Elua, he wanted!—to hear me give the signale. If he gave up his questions, it was for that, waiting. And if I had given it, I would have answered.
But I had given the signale to one patron only, who had sundered me from myself. Quincel de Morhban could command me, shuddering, to give up my very flesh, quivering in abject climax. He could, and he did, snarling with victory.
Not my signale.
And in the end, his exhaustion defeated us both.
"Take care of her," he bid his servants, weariness and profound satisfaction draining his voice, shrugging into silk robes, bowing in my direction. "Treat her gently."
They did, I trust; I don't remember it, in truth. I saw faces approach, awe-stricken. They understand, in Kusheth, what it is to serve Kushiel. I hurt, in every part of me. And I was content. I closed my eyes, then, and let the deeper tide of unconsciousness claim me.
In the morning, I woke aching and sore, in clean linen sheets with stiff red bloodstains. De Morhban's personal physician entered the room before I'd risen, eyes averted. He'd tended to me the night before, I understood; he checked such dressings as he'd applied, and rubbed salve into those weals that had opened in the night and bled. I felt better before he was done, and dismissed him.
Quincel had provided new clothing for me: fine stuff, fit for travel, but of a good quality, such as Kusheline noblewomen wear. I thanked him when we breakfasted together.
"I thought mayhap you'd no further need of your Tsingani rags," he said, grey eyes gleaming. I raised my eyebrows, knowing it was best not to reply. "Here," he said then, brusquely, and pushed something across the table.
It was a ring, a flawless circle of black pearls set in silver, small and immaculate.
"It is customary, is it not, to give a patron-gift?" De Morhban's mouth quirked wryly. "It was my mother's; I'd planned on giving it to my wife. But there are many women among whom to choose for a bride, and I do not think I shall meet another anguissette. Wear it then, and think of me sometime. I hope you will not give up Naamah's service altogether, Phedre no Delaunay."
There are times to demur, and times not. This was not such a time. I slid the ring onto my finger, and bowed my head to the Due de Morhban.
"When I think of you, my lord," I said, "I will think well."
He toyed with items on the table, restless and curious. "I shall await with great interest the resolution of the mystery you pose me," he said. "Pray that I do not regret my choice in this matter."
In truth, I did not know. All I had fathomed in our congress was that he had not determined where his loyalties lay. He was the sovereign Due of Kusheth; whether the province stood with the Crown or against it was his to decide. In the end, I answered him simply.
"Your grace," I said, "I pray it too."
So we left it, crossed blades, unsure and unwary. He rang a bell and had Joscelin summoned, who burst into the room in a fury of agitation, eyes red-rimmed and sleepless, glaring accusations and fear at me. I looked mildly at him, over the rim of a teacup.
Joscelin shot him a look, then, that said he would be glad to try it, any time, any place, kneeling at my side. "Is it true, then? You're all right, Phedre?"
"His grace de Morhban honored his contract," I said, looking at Quincel, absently twisting the ring on my finger. It was easier than meeting Jos-celin's eyes, for he would see the deep languor in my bones, and disapprove, in his uniquely Cassiline manner. "And we are free to go, then, your grace?"
Quincel de Morhban made a face, at once frustrated and fulfilled. He gestured with one hand, setting us free, calling his servants to witness. "Our contract is complete," he said, brusque and formal. "You have free passage throughout Morhban, where you will. To the Royal Fleet and beyond." He paused, then added, "One day, Phedre. I give you one day before I decide if it behooves me to question the Queen's Admiral."
"Thank you, your grace."
SIXTY-SIX
Joscelin walked quickly through the stone halls of Morhban Castle, and I winced, hurrying to keep up. He paused to wait for me, the line of his jaw tight.
"Are you fit to ride?" he asked abruptly.
"I'll manage." The words came out through gritted teeth. Joscelin looked at me and shook his head, setting out at a pace only slightly slower.
"I will never understand," he said, gaze fixed forward as he strode, "why you do what you do, and call it pleasure."
"With your temper? You should."
That stopped him in his tracks and he stared at me in shock, blue eyes wide. "I do not have a temper! And what does that have to do with it?"
"You have a terrible temper, Joscelin Verreuil. You've just buried it in Cassiline discipline." I rotated my arm, rubbing my shoulder where the joint ached. De Morhban's stocks had been made for a taller person. "And not all that well," I added. "I've seen it, Joscelin, I've seen you lose it, against the Skaldi. I've seen you fight like a cornered wolf, when you had no chance of winning. What's it like, that instant when you let it go? When you lash out, with everything in you, knowing you're going to be beaten to the ground? Is it a relief, to surrender to that?"
"Yes." He said it softly, and looked away.
"Well." Something snapped faintly in my shoulder, and the soreness eased. "Imagine that relief compounding, ten times, a hundred times, with every blow, through pain, through agony, to become a pleasure so great and awful it fixes you like a spear." I shook my arm, finding it better. "Then," I said, "you will understand, a little bit, what it is to serve Ku-shiel."
He listened, and heard, then looked somberly at me. "Even among the Skaldi?"
"No." I shook my head, my voice turning hard. "That was different. I did not choose it. That is what it is, I think, to be used by an immortal."
"Kushiel's Dart." Something in the way he said it made me think of One-Eyed Lodur, the wild priest of Odhinn. Joscelin shuddered inexplicably. "Come on, we'd best be off. One day, he said. Will he keep his word?"
"Yes," I said. "For a day."
"Here." He drew Ysandre's ring on its chain over his head. "She trusted it to your keeping."
I took it back without comment, and we hurried onward.
In the courtyard, we met with Hyacinthe and the Tsingani, a roil of disorderly activity as adults, children and horses alike strained with eagerness to be on the open road. Tsingani do not like to sleep in stone walls, reckoning it unlucky. Neci's brother-in-law finished hitching the team, jerking his chin toward the gate.
"Let's go, rinkeni chavo, before the sea-Kralis changes his mind!" he said impatiently, looking to Hyacinthe as our leader.
Hyacinthe glanced inquiringly at me.
"I'm fine," I said, swinging into the saddle and managing to suppress a grimace. "We've one day. Let's ride."
"You really did entertain them," I said.
He shrugged. "What else was I to do? Go mad worrying about you? Anyway, it's good practice."
"I think you enjoy it," I teased him, my heart growing lighter as the walls of Morhban Castle fell steadily behind us.
"I wouldn't go that far." His tone was reserved, but the ghost of a smile still hovered at one corner of his mouth.
The day had dawned fine and clear, a hint of damp warmth in the brisk air, the sky above bearing only a few scudding clouds. We followed a winding coastal road, the blue-grey sea crashing on the rocks below us, sometimes near enough to send a plume of spray over our party. Seagulls wheeled overhead, filling the morning with their raucous cries. I strained to see across the waters and catch a glimpse of distant Alba, but we were too far, here. In Azzalle, they say, one can see the white cliffs across the Strait.
We'd been no more than an hour upon the road when we saw them, coming around a high outcropping. There, below us, a narrow bay cut into the coast, with a flat sandy beach skirting it. One of the Tsingani outriders gave the cry, and the children boiled out of the wagon, jumping and pointing.
The Queen's fleet was anchored in the mouth of the bay, forty-some ships, their masts bobbing against the horizon. Their sails were lashed, but they flew the Courcel pennant, the silver swan snapping in the sea breeze. It was a beautiful sight. And on the beach, a vast encampment was set, with the figures of sailors made small by our height moving to and fro. There must have been a hundred oar-boats beached there, while others dared the plunging waves, heading out to or back from the fleet. We had found Quintilius Rousse.
"Come on!" Hyacinthe shouted, waving us onward. The Tsingani caught our exhilaration as we began our descent, scrambling incautiously down the steep, declining road. Rousse's men spotted us well before we reached the bottom, assembling in mass, hands hovering over sword-hilts and bemused expressions on their faces.
Near to the bottom, our impatience took its toll; the wagon, lurching too fast, ran off the road and got hung up on a ridge. The racket of scared, squalling Tsingani children bid fair to outdo the gulls. Gisella and her sister, sighing, counted heads and checked limbs, while Neci and the men rode back shame-faced to prod at the wagon and mutter.
"Go ahead, chavi" Gisella said kindly to me, adjusting the scarf on her head and watching the Tsingani men with a practiced eye. "They'll get it loose. You and the others go make the trade. Go make a name for Neci's kumpania, who rode to the outermost west for gold."
I nodded, gathering Joscelin and Hyacinthe. We picked our way down the remainder of the cliff road carefully. By the time we reached bottom, the Admiral himself had arrived, a burly, imposing figure who parted a path through his men as surely as the prow of one of his ships.
"What vagabonds have we here?" he bellowed, roaring out the question, bright blue eyes squinting. "Elua's Balls! Have the Travellers decided to push their Long Road across the sea?"
He was not, like Caspar Trevalion, nearly an uncle to me, but he was Delaunay's friend and a figure from my childhood, and unexpected tears choked me.
"My lord Admiral," I managed, dismounting and curtsying with some difficulty, "my lord Admiral, I bear a message from the Queen."
I looked up, then, and he looked down, and an expression of astonishment split his scarred face.
"By the ten thousand devils of Khebbel-im-Akkad!" he thundered, causing his men to grin and the nearest to cover their ears. "Delaunay's whelp!" And with that, he grabbed me in a bone-cracking embrace that drove the wind from my lungs, leaving me unable to gasp with pain as his mighty arms enfolded my fresh-welted back. "What in seven hells are you doing here, girl?" he asked when he released me. "I thought those justice-mad idiots in the City convicted you of murder."
"They did," I said, wheezing. "That's . . . that's one of the reasons I'm here and not there."
Quintilius Rousse looked calculatingly at me, then at the Tsingani wagon stuck on the cliff road. "Go help them down," he said to a handful of his men, who set out grumbling. "What's the other?" he asked me.
I had regained my breath. "I speak Cruithne."
"Aahhhh." One long syllable, and a gleam of understanding in his shrewd eyes. "Come along, then. We've a great deal to discuss." He looked at Hyacinthe and Joscelin. "You too, I suppose?"
Both of them bowed.
"Let's to it, then." He glanced up the cliff road once more, rubbing his chin. "Glad you brought them. I could use a few horse, you know."
"We were counting on it," Hyacinthe said.
The Queen's Admiral received us in his tent, which was large, mainly to hold the vast number of chests filled with maps and books that he had accumulated; that, and treasure, which he had in abundance. "No time to stow it or even buy a respectable mistress," he grumbled, sweeping aside a King's ransom of jewelry from atop one of the chests. "Sit. And tell me why you're here. Starting at the beginning. Who killed Anafiel Delaunay?"
"My lad Aelric Leithe made it back with his skin whole," Rousse interrupted us. "I knew as much. S'why I knew it wasn't you, child, or the Cas-siline either. That, and the fact you always doted on him like a babe on a sugar-tit. Delaunay was already being watched. So who was it?"
"Isidore d'Aiglemort," I said, then took a deep breath, and told him the rest. This time, he listened without interruption, his face growing dark with outrage. When we were done, he sat gathering fury like a thunderstorm.
Until it broke, and he roared about his tent, raging, breaking and throwing things. One of his men poked in his head, then hastily withdrew it as a piece of crockery came flying his way. When it was over, Quintilius
Rousse sighed. "Too much to ask that you're lying, I suppose?" he asked hopefully.
I shook my head and reached for Ysandre's ring, showed it to him lying on my palm. "She gave me this. To show you, and to give to the Prince of the Cruithne."
"Rolande's ring." The Admiral gave it a cursory examination, and heaved another sigh. "Oh, I know it, all right. No, there's no hope for it. But I don't mind telling you, I'd rather bring my fleet upcoast and sail up the Rhenus, set us in place to crack Skaldi skulls—and Camaeline, come to it—than go chasing off on a fool's errand to Alba."
"What if it's not a fool's errand?" I argued. Quintilius Rousse fixed me with his shrewd gaze.
"We tried it before, you know, sailing the long way 'round from lower Siovale, going leagues out of our way to avoid the Straits, to the far shores of Alba. Know what we met? A thousand lime-haired Dalriada, shrieking curses and casting spears. We never even made landfall."
"How many ships?" Hyacinthe asked abruptly.
"Fifteen," Rousse replied curiously.
"You need one. Only one." Hyacinthe swallowed, as if the words pained him. "That's what I saw, when Ysandre asked me to speak the dromonde. One ship."
Another mighty sigh. "A Night-Blooming Flower, a Tsingano witch-boy, and a ... a Cassiline whatever. This is what Ysandre sends me. I must be mad." Quintilius Rousse rumpled his hair, a tangled, half-braided mane of reddish brown. "What do you say, Cassiline?"
Joscelin bowed. "My lord Admiral, I say that whatever you choose, you must do it quickly. Because by tomorrow afternoon, the Due de Morhban will be here asking questions."
"Morhban." It was uttered in tones of disgust. "He's got me penned in like a fox with chickens. How'd you get past him, anyway? Aelric scarce made it through, and de Morhban's gotten more suspicious since the King died."
Hyacinthe looked at me. Joscelin looked at me.
I raised my eyebrows. "Naamah's way."
"Aahhh." Rousse grinned. "Delaunay's pupil to the end! Well, then, I must decide, and quickly. Too much to ask, I suppose, that the Queen has a plan for passing Elder Brother?"
Dismayed, I shook my head. "I thought you would have passage, my lord. You treated with him, you won an answer. When the Black Boar rules in Alba!"
"And nigh foundered to gain it." Quintilius Rousse scratched his chin. "I've no right of passage, child. That answer was all I gained; that, and the right to cling to my wretched life. Why do you think Delaunay was working so hard to unravel the mystery of him? And the white-haired lad, Alcuin."
Outside the tent, on the beach, the sound of fiddles and a tambor sundered our depressed silence, punctuated by rhythmic clapping from the sailors. Hyacinthe stirred.
"My lord, we promised the Tsingani a great trade, for the horses they bring. They've done us fair service as disguise. It worked all the way to Morhban."
"Might as well." The Admiral grasped a handful of Akkadian treasure, long strands of rubies and seed pearls spilling from his brawny clutch. "I've naught better to do with this, it seems, and like to rest on the bottom of the Straits ere I come to spend it. We'll set 'em back on the Long Road with something to boast of, eh?"
I am no gem-merchant, to gauge the worth of the wealth Quintilius Rousse bestowed on Neci's family, nor a horse-trader, to guess at the value of what he got in trade. Whatever it was, it was enough that the Tsingani stretched their eyes to see it, and fell into their most obsequious manner, swearing to bless his name at every crossroads.