Kushiel's Dart (40 page)

But Ganelon was old and doddering, and de Somerville's hold on the duchy of Trevalion was tenuous, for the Azzallese had loved their Prince Baudoin, and did not take kindly to having a scion of Anael rule them. Courageous or no, Ghislain's compliance with the King's order was held by some to be folly, causing disquiet in Azzalle. Most of Prince Benedicte's attention was still devoted to La Serenissima, and where it was not, his new enmity with the Due L'Envers undermined them both, for where one said yea, the other said nay, and neither would both support the King at once.

And all the while, Ysandre de la Courcel remained a shadow in the wings, heir to a throne that looked increasingly unstable.

There is a power in naming things. I do not doubt that the rumors from the Caerdicci city-states weakened Terre d'Ange; and I knew it for certain when I learned from whence they came, though that was yet to come. But of a surety, the political unrest that had marked the realm all the days of my life drew ever more pointed as the Longest Night drew nigh.

I do not pretend I saw it all at the rime; these pieces of the great puzzle I put together later, when the pattern was clear to see. That I had the wherewithal to do even that much is a credit to Delaunay's teaching. I daresay if he'd known how matters would fall out, he'd have armed me with better knowledge, but at the time, I think he was glad enough to have me safely ignorant and out of harm's way.

And I, of course, had my own concerns.

In the past, Delaunay had always briefed me before an assignation, reminding me of the patron's connections and influences; with Melisande Shahrizai, he shrugged, turning his hands palm upward. "Melisande is Melisande," he said, "and anything you may learn of her game may be useful. But I think she is too chary, even with you, my dear, to let anything slip unwitting. Still, learn what you may, and pay heed to the guests' conversation at the Due de Morhban's Masque."

"I will, my lord," I promised.

He kissed me then on my brow. "Have a care, Phedre; and may you have joy on the Longest Night. It is the time for it, after all, and even Kushelines rejoice to see the Sun Prince woo the Winter Queen into loosing her grip on the darkness."

"Yes, my lord," I said. He smiled and adjusted my cloak. Already I could see his thoughts turning elsewhere. He would attend Cecilie Laveau-Perrin's private Midwinter Masque, he and Alcuin.

Thus did Delaunay advise me, and then there was no more time, for Melisande's coach arrived, and a livery servant in Shahrizai black-and-gold stood at the door, bowing. It was a new coach, a cunning little trap I'd not seen before, black trimmed in gold, with room only for two in the plush velvet seats. The door panels bore the insignia of House Shahrizai, three keys intertwined, nigh lost in the elaborate pattern. I knew the legend; Kushiel was said to have held the keys to the portals of hell. A matched team of four white horses drew the trap, beautiful creatures with arching necks, picking up their hooves daintily on the flagstones.

Joscelin Verreuil was like a dire shadow, accompanying me to the coach. Twilight came early these short days, and a hoarfrost lay on the courtyard, making everything but the Cassiline sparkle under the evening stars. He helped me into the coach and sat beside me glowering, while the livery servant climbed into the driver's seat and snapped his whip. Bells jingled on the harnesses.

"How would you pass this night, were you not in Delaunay's service?" I ventured to ask him.

"Meditating," he said. "In the temple of Elua."

"Not Cassiel?"

"Cassiel does not have temples," Joscelin replied shortly, and after that, I made no further effort to engage him in conversation.

We arrived at Melisande's home in short order. One thing I will say about her; she never failed to surprise. We were greeted not only by Melisande herself, but also by the Captain of her modest Guard and four of his best men, and the Guard bowed low as we were admitted—not to me, but to Joscelin.

"Well met, Brother Cassiline," the Shahrizai Captain said as he straightened, and there was nothing but sincerity in his handsome face and resonant voice. "I am Michel Entrevaux, Captain of the Shahrizai Guard, and I am bid make you welcome this Longest Night. Will you honor us with your company?"

It caught Joscelin unprepared; I daresay he was ready for anything but respect in Melisande Shahrizai's home. He had quarreled with Delaunay thrice this week about accompanying me on this assignation, since Delaunay was minded that Joscelin remain here, and not travel to the Due de Morhban's Masque.

We who are well-trained react out of reflex; in Joscelin's case, he responded with his cross-vambraced bow. "The honor would be mine," he replied formally.

Melisande Shahrizai, at once resplendent and demure in a long coat of black-and-gold brocade, her hair braided in a crown, smiled warmly. "There is a niche in the garden, Messire Cassiline, if you wish to maintain Elua's vigil. Phedre, well met." She stooped to kiss me in greeting, and the scent of her perfume surrounded me, but her kiss was no more than perfunctory, and left me able to stand.

It made me more nervous than the other kind.

"Young men," Melisande murmured when they had left, smiling faintly. "Such a sense of honor. Is he a little bit in love with you, do you think?"

"Joscelin quite despises me," I said. "My lady."

"Oh, love and hate are two sides of the same blade," she said cheerily enough, motioning for a servant to take my cloak, "and an edge finer honed than yon Cassiline's daggers divides them." Her servants led the way to her receiving room, gliding silently ahead to open doors; she took my arm as we went. "You despise your patrons a little, and love them too, yes?"

"Yes, my lady." I sat down in the chair held for me and accepted a glass of
joie
, eyeing her warily. "A little."

"And how many of them do you fear?"

I held my glass without sipping, as she did, and answered honestly. "One, at least, not at all. Most of them, sometimes. You, my lady, always."

The blue of her eyes was like the sky at twilight when the first stars appear. "Good." Her smile held promises I shuddered to think on. "Be at ease in it, Phedre. This is the Longest Night, and I am in no hurry. You're not like the others, who are trained to it from birth, like hounds cringing under the whip for a kind touch from their master's hand. No, you embrace the lash, but even so, there is aught in you that rebels at it. Let others plumb the depths of the former;'tis the latter that interests me."

At that, I did shudder. "I am at my lady's command."

"Command." Melisande held her glass to the light, inspecting the sparkling cordial. "Command is for captains and generals. I have no interest in command. If you would obey, you will discern what pleases me, and do it unasked." She lifted her glass to me, smiling. "Joy."

"Joy." I echoed it unthinkingly, and drank the
joie
. It burned, sweet and fiery, blazing a trail down my throat, evoking memories of the Great Hall at Cereus House, a blazing hearth and the smell of evergreen boughs.

"Ah, you do please me, Phedre; you please me a great deal." Rising,

Melisande set down her empty glass, and reached down to stroke my cheek. "My attendants will make you ready. We leave for Quincel de Morhban's Masque in an hour's time."

With that, she swept from the room, leaving only the lingering scent of her perfume, and a maidservant with downcast eyes came to lead me away.

There was a hot bath awaiting, fresh-drawn, with wreaths of steam still curling above the surface of the water, candles set all around and two more attendants waiting. I luxuriated in the bath, while one of Melisande's attendants rubbed fragrant oil into my skin and another tended to my hair, brushing it out at length, merely twining a few sprays of white ribbons in my dark curls. When the maidservant brought in my costume, I rose from the bath, letting them wind a linen sheet about my damp body, and looked at what she had brought.

I am used to fine clothing and not easily impressed, but the overgarment took even me aback. It was a loose-fitting gown of transparent white gauze with trailing sleeves—and it was spangled all about with tiny diamonds, sewn with exquisite care onto the sheer fabric. "Name of Elua! What does it go over?"

The maidservant fussed with a half-mask, a white-and-brown feathered osprey with the eye-holes trimmed in black velvet piping. "You, my lady," she said quietly.

In the candlelight, I could see right through the gauze. I would be as good as naked in it, before half the nobles of Kusheth. "No."

"Yes." Her manner may have been meek, but no one in Melisande's service was going to gainsay their mistress. "And this." She held out one other item, a velvet slip-collar, with a diamond teardrop suspended from it, and a lead attached. I closed my eyes. I had seen such things, in Valerian House. In the privacy of the Night Court, it would not be so bad.

But Melisande meant to display me before the peers of the readm.

Gently and inexorably, her attendants helped me dress, putting on the sheer garment, adjusting my hair so that it spilled down my back, drawing the slip-collar over my head and settling it so the diamond fell just so in the hollow of my throat, and placing the mask on me. When they were done, I looked at myself in the long mirror.

A captive creature gazed back, masked and collared, naked beneath a scintillating curtain of gauze.

"Very nice." Melisande's voice, amused, startled me; like Joscelin, I reacted out of reflex. A Cassiline bows in defense, and an adept of the Night Court kneels. I knelt and gazed up at her.

As I was in sheerest white, she was in densest black, velvet skirts sweeping the floor, the bodice tight to her torso, white shoulders rising above it, and black gloves above the elbow. Her mask was black, night-black feathers with a dark rainbow sheen upon them, sweeping up in points to mingle with her elaborately styled hair. A band of black opals on velvet encircled her throat, like the colors that glimmer 'round a cormorant's neck, and I knew what her costume was then, and mine. There is a Ku-sheline legend of the Isle of Ys and its dark Lady, who commanded the birds of the air and kept a tame osprey about her. Ys drowned, they say; I do not know the legend well enough to remember why, only that there was a Lady, and her cormorants may still be seen fishing the waters above the sunken isle and crying out for their lost mistress.

"Come," Melisande said, and held out one gloved hand for my lead. Truly, there was no command in her voice, only the simple expectation of obedience.

I rose and followed her with alacrity.

THIRTY-FIVE

I knew not what to expect from a Kusheline gathering, but in the end, it was not so different from other fetes, only a shade darker in tone, with an unfamiliar undercurrent and a preponderance of Kusheline accents, at once harsh and musical.

It all fell to a hush when we entered.

The Duc de Morhban's herald gave our names; both of them, though I had not heard what Melisande had said to him. For those who heard, even anonymity was stripped from me, marking me not as some nameless Servant of Naamah willing to contract on the Longest Night, but a member of a peer's household, collared and bound to Melisande Shahrizai of my own free will.

We moved among the guests, and a murmur followed. I could not but feel my nakedness beneath the sheer gauze with every step. Masked faces, feathered and furred, turned to watch our progress. Melisande glided smoothly between them and I trailed, tethered, in her wake.

And to my chagrin, with a hundred eyes upon me and Melisande's hand at the end of my velvet lead, I felt a desire such as I had never known stir in the distant reaches of my being, like the wave that had drowned Ys gathering force in the far depths of the ocean.

"Your grace." Only Melisande could make a curtsy seem the gesture of a queen receiving homage. A tall, lean man in a wolf mask inclined his head and looked gaugingly at her.

"House Shahrizai arrives," he said dryly. "And what have you brought?"

She made no answer but to smile; I sank deeply in a curtsy. "Joy to your grace on the Longest Night," I murmured.

His fingers lifted my chin and he searched my eyes through the holes of my mask. "No!" he exclaimed, glancing at Melisande, then back at me. "Is it true?"

"Phedre no Delaunay," she said, with her faint smile. It curved like a scarlet bow beneath the black mask that hid her features. "Did you not know Elua's City boasted a genuine
anguissette
, your grace?"

"I cannot credit it." Without removing his sharp gaze from mine, he reached forward and gathered up the sheer folds of my gown, slipping his hand beneath them.

I cried out then, out of pleasure and shame both. The Duc de Morhban regarded me from behind his mask, an amused wolf. Melisande twitched the line and I staggered, dropping to my knees in defense. The tiny diamonds sewn into my sheer gown bit into my flesh.

"The Due de Morhban is not your patron," she reminded me, one hand twining in my hair in a gesture that was half caress, half threat.

"No, my lady," I breathed. Her hand grew gentler, and I found myself leaning into it, pressing my cheek to the velvet of her skirts and inhaling her scent as if it were a sanctuary. Her fingers trailed down my throat, and I heard as if from a great distance my own answering whimper.