Kushiel's Chosen (79 page)

The boats were dragged ashore and concealed under clumps of browning autumn ferns, and we picked our way across the burned swathe of land, roots poking out of the cinders, tripping up my skirts. Although no path was visible, Micah strode boldly into the scrub pines on the verge of the forest as if he knew where he went. I followed doggedly, and Kazan made hand signals to his men, who fanned out to flank us. It was familiar enough terrain to them, Dobrek's hills being much the same, although they glanced warily over their shoulders, looking for
Leskii.

The pine forest closed in on us, dark-green and forbid ding. Here, no workmen's boots had trod. Micah led us un faltering, pine mast giving way softly beneath his steps. Itching and hot with exertion, I pulled off the hood of my woolen cloak and let the breeze cool me. There was no one to see. I looked at Kazan, who loosened his sword within its sheath, teeth bared in a battle-smile. By the time the forest gave way to an open glade, I was uneasy with mis givings. I had given the Rebbe my name. If the Yeshuites chose to betray me, 'twould be easy enough, and doubtless well rewarded.

Micah halted, Kazan and I beside him. To the right and the left of us, the other Illyrians emerged from the forest, several with short swords already drawn. In the center of the glade, some ten men stood ranged in a loose line, all of them armed and two with crossbows.

I took a step forward. Their leader took a step forward.

"Never again, never, never, never, Phèdre, I swear it," he murmured, muffled words punctuated with frantic kisses, "in the name of Blessed Elua, I swear it, I will never leave you again, take a thousand patrons if you want, take ten thousand, wed Severio Stregazza, I don't care, but I will never leave you!"

I raised my face and he kissed me, long and hard, until desire and love, like a dagger in the heart, sent the world reeling around me and I had to cling to the front of his jerkin when he released me, struggling to remain on my feet.

We regarded one another.

"You're
alive,"
Joscelin whispered, astonishment in his summer-blue eyes.

"You're ... your
hair!"
I said idiotically to him, reaching up to touch it, ragged dun streaked with ash-grey. "What did you do to your
hair?"

"Friends, all of them," I said firmly in Caerdicci, and repeated it in Illyrian for the benefit of Kazan's men. "Friends." I looked at Joscelin, my heart breaking at the sight of his beloved face. "Joscelin Verreuil, this is Kazan Atrabiades. I owe him my life."

They regarded each other; two men, much of a height, some ten years difference between them. What transpired in that silent exchange, I will never know. It was Kazan who broke it, grinning broadly.

"As I owe her mine, I," he said. "I have heard of you, D'Angeline! You have a reputation to live up to, you."

Joscelin bowed, his crossed vambraces flashing in the au tumn sun. He smiled as he straightened, a wry, familiar smile, and my heart sang to see it. "Does Phèdre nó Delaunay owe you her life, my lord," he said, "then I owe you my reason for living. Let us be friends."

With many interruptions, I pieced the story together bit by bit. When Benedicte's guardsmen broke into our rented home on the canal, Ti-Philippe had recognized two of them as the veterans of Troyes-le-Mont we had met only days earlier in the barracks of the Little Court. After Phanuel Buonard's murder, he didn't hesitate, plunging over the balcony into the canal below, making his way afterward, sodden and reeking and already shivering with ague, to the Yeshuite quarter, where he knew Joscelin had been training Yeshuites to arms. 'Twas a lucky thing after all that they had been concerned enough to spy him out at it. Marco Stregazza had nearly been right about the pestilence; he'd been sick for two weeks, although he hadn't died of it.

"How in the world did you find me?" I asked, bewildered.

"But no one in the city saw anything," I said. "How could they?"

As it transpired, Joscelin had not assailed La Dolorosa wholly on his own; Ti-Philippe and the four Yeshuites— who had begged to go, wanting to test their blades and new- won skill—had aided him, securing the watchtower and their retreat. But all had gone for naught when I plummeted over the cliff, and after a fruitless search, they made their way back to La Serenissima, adopting the ragged disguises they wore still and electing to wait for Ysandre's arrival.

"I didn't know what else to do," Joscelin admitted wear ily, scrubbing at his tangled hair. "Mayhap 'twas a mistake to return, for it's well-nigh impossible to get out and worse since the riots began. But all I could think was that if we failed, if we missed the
progressus
and ended up chasing over half of Caerdicca Unitas ..." He shook his head. "At least we
knew
Ysandre was coming here. If it hadn't been for your message, we'd be on our way to the Little Court by now. It's a risk, still, but we stand a chance. I don't know how many of the guard have turned, but de Somerville's men don't dare act as openly with the Queen's entourage in residence. If I can hold them off long enough ... mayhap Ti-Philippe can reach Ysandre with word of de Somerville's betrayal. I didn't dare, when it was only Prince Benedicte, but Ysandre will know from whence the message came."

"Does he know?" Joscelin asked in a sickened tone. "Surely he would not..."

"He knows." I looked at him with pity, remembering my own horror. "Joscelin, he gave the order for Remy and Fortun's deaths. He wants a true-born D'Angeline heir on the throne. Melisande could give him that.. . and put the Royal Commander and his army in his hand. She's done both. He knows."

Ti-Philippe cursed steadily and methodically. Joscelin rose to his feet, pacing restlessly, unable to contain his fury at the betrayal. "We thought the guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont took you," he said aloud. "We thought the summons was a ruse, that there was a plot operating in the Little Court that Benedicte was insensible of. Elua! Phèdre, do you know how many times I thought of trying to gain access to him? If I hadn't chosen to wait for the Queen's arrival..." He stopped, realization dawning across his face. "They're going to kill her, aren't they?"

"Yes," I said. Our eyes met in silence.

"They're being staged. You met Ricciardo Stregazza, Joscelin; he's not behind them, I'd stake my life on it. It has to be done out in the open, where the world can see that neither Benedicte nor Melisande nor Marco Stregazza had a hand in it. That's the only place it could be done convincingly, and they've allies in the Temple. 'Twas a false prophecy bid the Doge to step down."

"So we will go there, eh?" Kazan's voice broke the si lence, cheerful and fierce. Lounging at his ease, propped on one elbow, he glanced around the seated company. "Seven men may die, or eight or nine, yes, but here we are almost twenty, we. I saw this temple from the ship, I. Twenty men is enough, maybe, to take the door and hold it for a little while."

"No." Joscelin spoke without looking up. "Not the Yeshuites."

"Joscelin." Micah protested, and one or two others. "You risked your safety to aid us, when we had naught to offer in return. It is not for you to say how we will repay it."

"You've done enough, and more." Joscelin lifted his head to give him a level stare. "No, Micah. This is not like taking the watchtower. The odds are bad, very bad, and there is no avenue of retreat. It is near-certain death."

"A warrior's death, yes," Kazan added helpfully.

Micah flushed. "Have you not trained us to be warriors?" he asked Joscelin bitterly. "Then treat us as equals and let us fight."