Kushiel's Chosen (44 page)

"Yes." The Doge folded his hands in his lap and gave his canny smile. "I think you can. And I think you might. Be cause it involves blasphemy, does it not? And Asherat-of-the-Sea, in her wisdom and mercy, has seen fit to make this known to you, a god's chosen. You gave your promise to sing for me, Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève. I have named my song. Will you sing it?"

"I might," I said evenly. "What do you offer me, my lord?"

His smile broadened. "What does every good singer require? My silence. Whatever you pursue on your Queen's behalf, I leave you free to follow it. Until I know of a surety who plots against me, I shall remain a doddering old fool, with occasional moments of clarity. Let my children and grandchildren see you a charming adornment; I will not re veal you a weapon."

I regarded him thoughtfully. "Someone in your Palace gave shelter to the Lady Melisande Shahrizai, my lord. Someone with access to your wife's astrologer, who, by the way, took his own life rather than reveal what he knew. If you had that knowledge, we might have a bargain."

"No more do I ask," he said equably. Nodding, Cesare Stregazza began to work at the clasp on a great collar of pearls he wore, that overlay the neckline of his crimson robes. His trembling fingers failed him and he made to ring a bell to summon his servants, then paused, thinking better of it. "Here, child, help me with this."

I rose obediently and went to his side, undoing the clasp easily; it is a portion of the training one undergoes as a Servant of Naamah, removing all items of clothing and jew elry with grace. Strung on gold wire, the pearls slithered over my hand in a broad, sinuous band, and I proffered them to the Doge.

"No." He shook his head, fine wisps of hair flying below his crimson cap. "That is for you, little Contessa. A patron's gift, is it not? See, I know something of the customs of your people. Say that your singing has pleased me, and I would honor your Naamah. Mayhap she will look kindly on the Beloved of Asherat-of-the-Sea." He raised one shaking hand to caress my face. "I might honor her differently, were I a younger man. Then again, perhaps it is well. Asherat is a jealous goddess, and I think you a dangerous obsession for any mortal man."

"My lord is too kind," I said a trifle wryly; I daresay the truth of his words cut close. "Thank you."

It made me uncomfortable in La Serenissima as it never did at home in Terre d'Ange.

The man stared at Fortun and then at me, and questioned Fortun once, uncertain he had understood his D'Angeline- accented Caerdicci. Joscelin would never have let me do it in the first place, and Remy or Ti-Philippe would have made a bawdy jest of it. Fortun merely persisted, for which I was grateful.

Women in cheaply dyed attire leaned languidly on the balconies above us, calling lewdly to Fortun, promising him such pleasures as his highborn lady—which I presumed was myself—would never deliver. Several of them, noting his D'Angeline features, offered to service him for free, and one of their number, teetering on high pattens along the muddy walk bordering the canal, leered and flipped her skirts up at him, exposing herself. From within the narrow houses, we heard the sounds of shouting, laughter and drunken revelry. I thought of the ordered elegance and pride of the Thirteen Houses of the Night Court, and could have wept.

At our rented home, we found the grinning team of Ti- Philippe and Remy, who had spent the day scouting out news of the errant Phanuel Buonard, the simple Namarrese soldier on whom, it seemed, an entire conspiracy devolved. Between my visit to the Doge and the courtesans' quarter, I wanted nothing more than to soak in a long bath, but curiosity compelled me to hear out their news.

"Who," Remy interrupted him, "have a cousin with no knack for the trade, that they reckoned better off casting nets than breaking bottle-necks. And when we told
him
we served a great lady who might be minded to commission an entire leaded-glass window for the Queen of Terre d'Ange herself if the Pidari were willing to show her their studios, why, he fell all over himself to make the introduction!"

Their enthusiasm was contagious, and I could not but laugh. "Well," I said, when I'd regained control of myself. "Her majesty is going to be very surprised to learn what she's committed to today. Can he take us tomorrow?"

Remy shook his head. "He's got to get their consent. Very tight, these glassblowers; trade secrets and all. But he'll take us first thing the day after."

"Percy de Somerville," he said softly.

"L'Envers is clever enough to set him up," Joscelin said reluctantly. "If anyone is."

"By pinning suspicion on himself?" I shook my head. "It's a long reach."

"I know." Joscelin traced the path of a corridor on the map, not meeting my eyes. "And Ghislain? We put our lives in his hands. We put
Drustan's
life in his hands."

"I know." I sighed. "I know, I know! And Ysandre put the life of the entire realm in Percy de Somerville's hands, and he did not fail her. And yet ... oh, Joscelin, I don't know. If I could make sense of it, it would be easier to believe. Something's missing. The pieces don't fit."

"I know." I propped my chin on folded hands. "Let me talk to this Phanuel Buonard. He's the last link. If we can shed more light on this ... This is big, Joscelin. I don't dare go to Prince Benedicte unless I'm as sure as I can be. Not with this kind of supposition."

"Agreed." The sound of splashing and laughter in the ca nal outside caught my ear, and I glanced toward the window. Joscelin rose swiftly and went to the balcony, where his appearance was greeted with jeering shouts from below.

Twisting my damp hair into a cable over one shoulder, I passed him to enter onto the balcony and gaze down. The Immortali's bissone rocked on the canal below as Severio stood unsteadily, fellow clubsmen leaning on their oars and shouting encouragement. Water rippled and their torches cast wavering reflections across it. In the prow, gilded Asherat's slender arms tilted to and fro with the rocking of the boat, as if the goddess reached to dip her hands in the Great Canal.

"Phèdre, Phèdre, Phèdre!" Severio cried drunkenly. "You made me a promise, and four days have ignored me! Now my heart is like to break! Say you will come tomorrow for the War of the Flowers, or I swear, I will throw myself in the canal this minute and end it all!"

His voice echoed across the water, bouncing off the ele gant houses. Inside windows all along the canal, I saw lamps being kindled. "My lord," I called, "you will wake the whole Sestieri. If I promise to attend, will you go home quietly?"

"No," I murmured. Severio and his comrades had begun to sing, loudly and off-key. On another balcony, someone shouted for them to be quiet, and I heard the unmistakable splash of a chamber pot being emptied in their direction, and threats and protests from the Immortali. Even in dim light, I could see the disgust in Joscelin eyes. "He's the best cover I have, Joscelin, and a Doge's grandson. Don't make trouble. All I need is one more day." Wordless, he went inside, and I turned back to the balcony.

I leaned over the railing. "My lord, you have my word. Now go home, lest I take it back." With that, I stepped back inside, closing the balcony doors firmly and drawing the curtains closed. The shouting lasted a few minutes longer, then dwindled into silence. I looked for Joscelin, but he was gone.

There was no reason for me to break my word on the morrow and naught to be done before we could meet with the family of Phanuel Buonard on the glassblower's isle, so I took part in the War of the Flowers—and in truth, it proved one of the more charming Serenissiman customs I witnessed. 'Tis a mock battle betwixt the sons and daughters of the Hundred Worthy Families, held in a small fortified palace that perches on one of the lesser isles, across a broad waterway from the Temple of Baal-Jupiter.

At that, the game shifted, and the young men in their gondoli vied for position, that they might make the daring leap to catch the rope ladder. Most fell instead, splashing into the lagoon, to be hauled out by their fellows, and any who gained the ladder became the target of the flour and confetti eggs. The Immortali had allowed Remy and Ti-Philippe to crew with them, and it was their efforts that brought Benito Dandi's gondola in reach of the ladder. Adept sailors, they grinned and held the ladder for him. Despite our best efforts—Giulia Latrigan threw an egg that burst in a profusion of blue flour and coated half his head— Benito gained the tower and claimed a kiss from the first woman he caught, which I made certain was not me.