Kushiel's Chosen (42 page)

Their library was small, but not ill-furnished. I glanced over the tomes available and spoke well of several D'Angeline volumes, recommending the addition of key Hellene philosophers and a handful of Tiberian historians. Allegra sat at the desk and made notations in a graceful hand, then took a fresh sheet of parchment and wrote out a brief letter, folding and sealing it with a blot from a wax taper and the familiar Stregazza signet.

"Thank you, my lady." I didn't know what else to say.

"You are welcome." Allegra smiled ruefully. "My hus band is a good man, Comtesse, and I think you would come to see it in time. I did. If he is suspicious, he has been given reason for it, too often to count. But he struggles very hard to do what is right, and is rewarded with scorn." She sighed. "If the Doge were not ill, it might be different. Once, he would entertain the captains of the Scholae thrice a year, and hear their complaints. If he could talk to them, he would know that Ricciardo labors honestly on their behalf, and they regard him with respect. Tradefolk do not care for the petty intrigues of nobility so much as the bread on their table. But his father..." She shook her head, and gave me a direct look. "Would it be different in Terre d'Ange, do you think?"

I thought of their merriment in the garden, Ricciardo swinging his son astride his shoulders. His affection, her compassion. And I thought of my bitter quarrel with Joscelin, the hurtful words, yet unrecanted. We had been granted imperfect happiness in love, Allegra Stregazza and I, but where I squandered mine, she nurtured hers, cupping her hands about the embers and blowing to life a flame warm enough to sustain them all.

Fortun had smacked his forehead when I put my theory to them, for not having thought of it himself. He dragged out the carefully crafted maps of Troyes-le-Mont and we marked afresh in memory the knowledge we had garnered before, including the positions and reports of the guards I'd interviewed among the Unforgiven.

It was strange, after the bustling familiarity of Serenissiman society, to be in D'Angeline territory once more, surrounded by D'Angeline faces, hearing my native tongue spoken. There was a measured elegance to the pace, a hush in the presence of nobility. The very marble seemed whiter, the ceilings higher, the halls wider, and all the little grace notes I had missed were present—musicians playing in the salons we passed, unexpected niches holding vases of blooming flowers, graceful frescoes on the walls and ceil ings.

I must say, although it accomplished no end in itself, my visit with Madame Felicity d'Arbos proved delightful. A widow of some fifty-odd years, she was one of the D'Angeline noblewomen sent with Prince Benedicte to attend his Serenissiman wife; Allegra's mother had been one of the native Serenissimans so appointed, many years ago. It explained, I thought, a good deal about her education. Felicity's rooms were small, but well-appointed. She had retired from her position when Maria Stregazza had died, but chose to remain at the Little Court, and Prince Benedicte had seen that she was given a generous pension. We sat sipping tea while she told me of her life and her fond memories of the young Allegra and her family.

"The Serenissimans do." Felicity d'Arbos smiled back at me. "It was good, at the beginning. She pleased them, taking the Veil of Asherat. 'Twas well-considered. Now, well, there is a bit of a tempest, but it will pass soon, I hope. Do you wish to see her?"

"Is she receiving visitors?" I asked, surprised. "I've not yet received a response to my request for an audience with Prince Benedicte."

"Oh, no." She laughed. "He's busy with affairs of state, and she with the young one. I'll put in a word for you, if I may, to see your request granted. It might do her good to see a fresh young face, the poor thing. But she is like to stroll on the balcony over the Queen's Garden at this hour, with the babe. And I have leave to wander the garden, as I helped plant it many years ago."

"Poor little lad," Felicity d'Arbos said sympathetically, straightening. " 'Twill be a mercy when he's of an age to foster, and I pray Benedicte has the sense to send him to court in the City of Elua. Maria's kin won't like it, but truth, there's naught for him here in La Serenissima, D'Angeline-bred as he is."

Having seen what I had of Serenissiman politics, I could not help but agree. Indeed, I remembered my momentary consideration of Severio's proposal with somewhat of a shudder. La Serenissima was a beautiful city, to be sure, but it was not home to one of Elua's line.

We said a cordial farewell after our stroll, and I promised to send her greetings on to Allegra Stregazza, and urge her to visit with her two young ones. I daresay I should have sent a page in search of my chevaliers, but it had been a long time since I'd had the liberty to go anywhere unaccompanied, and instead assured Madame d'Arbos that I would meet my attendants by the gate.

So it was that I wandered the halls of the Little Court on my own, guessing rightly that the guards' quarters would be found in the vicinity of the kitchens. Inside the common room, a dozen and more guardsmen laughed and jested, leaping to attention when the sentry on duty announced me.

They fell all over themselves offering me a seat, a cup of wine, a bowl of barley stew, all of which I declined.

"Raimond!" The entry of another guardsman was hailed by his fellows, and he was introduced all around as another of the survivors of Troyes-le-Mont.

"Well met, soldier!" Remy rose to clap him on the back, laughing. "Come, we're fighting the battle over, and trying to settle somewhat besides. Tell us, what did you see, the night of Melisande Shahrizai's flight?"

"Ah, well." Glancing at me, the new arrival bobbed a nervous bow. "Begging your pardon, my lady, to speak of such unhappy things."

"Pray, speak freely." I smiled, and took a gamble. "It is a matter of many outstanding wagers at home, in the betting- houses of Mont Nuit. We might all be the richer for your perspective."

"Sure, I'm sure." He drank off the second half of his wine and looked straight at me. "I served next to him, didn't I? Him with that scarf wrapped round his head, like the Akkadians do, and eyes like the Queen. Never saw aught else, until the alarm sounded."

Raimond shrugged; all the veterans of Troyes-le-Mont shrugged. It was one of the others who said thoughtfully, "Wasn't he the one as resigned his commission? Scarpered to marry a Serenissiman lass, I recall."

Another laughed. "He resigned without permission. Captain Circot was like to track him down, I think, only he wed into an Isla Vitrari family, and those glassblowers protect their own. Likely he's still there, tending the oven-fires and watching his bride grow a mustache."

Amid the jesting that followed, Fortun asked Raimond, "What made you choose to take a commission in the Little Court?"

"I'd a mind to see somewhat beyond the bounds of Terre d'Ange," the guardsman answered promptly. "Anyway, it pays well, and the Old Man asked for volunteers."