Kushiel's Chosen (41 page)

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 trav elled 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.

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.

"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.

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 won ders with the roses."

As they moved on ahead of us, Joscelin and I exchanged glances behind their backs. For once, he looked as bewil dered as I felt, and I was glad of it.

Inside, the villa was both elegant and comfortable, airy, sunlit spaces offsetting the dark weight of the gilt-trimmed wooden furnishings. A few Akkadian rags and bowls of blooming roses added a note of color. We had, indeed, a very fine luncheon. The children were allowed to dine with us and took on the guest-duties of serving Joscelin and me with a charming, well-coached solemnity. It was all very much as one might find at the country estate of a noble-born D'Angeline family.

So it proved, over a dessert cordial. Ricciardo toasted our health, then spoke bluntly. "My lady Phèdre." He set down his glass. "Please do not take it amiss when I say I know who and what you are. I didn't recognize the name when we met, but I remembered it later, from the Ysandrine Cycle. I say this not to embarrass you, because I think in your own land you must be reckoned a heroine, and I admire that, as I do many things about Terre d'Ange, but because I know my brother. Whatever he may have promised you, no matter what the religious significance in your homeland, Marco Stregazza will not let his son marry a courtesan."

"Severio." Ricciardo grimaced. "Severio has done no more than dip a toe in the bottomless pool of intrigue that is his birthright. He's not a bad lad, though he can be short-tempered and cruel. Less so, I hear, since meeting you, for which I owe you thanks. Nonetheless, he doesn't know the tenth part of his father's schemes."

I raised my eyebrows. "He seems to know a tenth part of yours. And he actually has a good grasp of what a strike by the salt-panners could do to La Serenissima."

"It's plain folly!" Allegra said indignantly. "Anyone with half a wit to study the annals can see that the Consiglio Maggiore has never elected a Doge from Sestieri Scholae. If all Ricciardo wanted was gain, why he'd, he'd be better off courting Sestieri Angelus' vote!" She blushed at her own words, but her expression remained no less indignant.

"My sister-in-law doesn't know a damned thing about it!" His eyes flashed. "Yes, I sided with my family, out of respect for my father. I think Benedicte was wrong, blaming the entire Stregazza line for the treachery of Dominic and Thérèse. And I think he was wrong to set the son of this second marriage above his firstborn children, especially knowing that Marie-Celeste may inherit naught of his holdings in La Serenissima. But if she hadn't been so suspicious, if she hadn't reacted like such a termagant..." He sighed, gathering his composure. "Comtesse, your Prince Benedicte languished twenty years in a loveless marriage, sold into the bonds of political matrimony by his brother Ganelon. When Maria Stregazza died, he mourned her as much as was seemly. But now he is an old man with an adoring young bride, a refugee from his beloved homeland, who has given him a son. I believe he declared this infant Imriel his heir out of sheer exuberance, with no thought for his actions. Given time and a tactful approach, he would doubtless revise his words and divide his territories between children. If my father would only see reason, he would send a suitable emissary to Prince Benedicte and resolve this foolish quarrel."

Ricciardo shrugged. "I have friends, still, among the Little Court. I think Benedicte would listen to me. It is my father who will not." He looked at me. "I trast Marco and Marie- Celeste told you there was a scandal."

"Yes." I glanced at Allegra, but she was watching her husband, compassion on her face.

"I tell you so that you know," he said, "what my family is capable of, and how little they will bend on certain matters. My brother dangles Severio before you as bait, but once he has whatever he's asked of you—and I know him, there's somewhat he wants—he'll snatch his son away and leave you gaping."

The missing guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont.

He was clever; I should have been more circumspect. I shrugged, opening my hands. "I enjoy Severio's company. In Terre d'Ange, that is enough. Beyond that, my business is my own."

"Not if it affects La Serenissima," he said flatly.

I met his dark, hooded gaze squarely. "It doesn't."

"My lord," Joscelin said unexpectedly, leaning forward at the table. "We are looking for Melisande Shahrizai."

I wouldn't have dared say it so baldly, but coming from Joscelin—it took them by surprise. I saw Ricciardo blink, considering Joscelin, who bore it with stern Cassiline calm. "Benedicte's traitor," he said thoughtfully. "Yes, he looked for her too, not two months ago. I daresay it's one of the reasons my father is wroth with him and will not extend his hand in peace, that Prince Benedicte would suspect the Pal ace of harboring traitors. I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I know no more of it than that."

He evinced none of the signs of lies and evasion I knew to look for and had seen in such abundance in Magister Acco the astrologer; but then, he was a Stregazza, and trained to guile. Still, I thought he had dealt fairly with me, and if his motives were no less ambitious than his brother's, I could not fault him for it.