Jacqueline Carey - Kushiel’s Dart

There were whispers, at that; some of the nobles knew who I was, and some did not, but now my name was known, and Kushiel’s Dart gave me away. Always, at court, there runs the murmuring river of politics, beneath the surface at any occasion.

Drustan ignored it and so did I; he danced well for an Alban, despite his lameness. I remembered the first time I’d heard his name. Ysandre de la Courcel shall teach a clubfoot barbarian Prince to dance the gavotte . So she had, and I danced with him now, while we smiled at one another. Cullach Gorrym, Earth’s eldest children. It meant nothing to the D’Angelines, but they had not been there when the black boar burst from its copse outside Bryn Gorrydum. I had.

We always did understand one another, Drustan and I.

I had patrons there, too. I’d chosen my assignations from among the highest-ranked in the realm, that last year or so. I gave none of them away. It was not the place to acknowledge such things. Some, like Quincel de Morhban, would not have cared; others depended on the discretion of Naamah’s Servants. It did not matter. I knew, and they knew, whose patron-gifts were etched indelibly onto my skin, link by link, forming the chain of my marque that rendered me free.

In the small hours of the morning, Ysandre and Drustan took their leave, and we followed them as far as the bedchamber, a great crowd of mixed folk, shouting out good wishes-and some bawdy ones-and pelting them with a hailstorm of petals, until they, laughing, closed the bed-chamber door and barred it, petals clinging to their hair, and Ysandre’s grim Cassilines turned us away, with an especially dour look for Joscelin.

No end to the revelry, though; the Queen had bid it carry on until dawn, and I saw it through to the end, having a deep need in my soul for a joyous daybreak to cleanse away the memories of too many others.

Joscelin, too; he understood. We had had the first dance together, and we had the last. Later I would laugh to hear the forays he had endured in between, staged by D’Angeline lords and ladies curious to test the virtue of a Cassiline apostate. Then I merely rested safe in the circle of his arms, glad to be there, where neither of us ever thought to find ourselves.

And we watched the sun rise over Terre d’Ange.

The days that followed were full of activity, for there remained a great deal to be done; but my role in it, for the most part, had come to an end. When the Chancellor of the Exchequer bestowed upon me the balance of the proceeds from the sale of Delaunay’s estate, I begged of him the name of a reliable agent, and made arrangements for the care and investment of my unexpected wealth.

With some portion of these funds, Joscelin spent his days making preparations for our journey to Montrève. We would not ride alone, it seemed, for three of Phèdre’s Boys, among those survivors of the wounded at Troyes-le-Mont, begged leave to be dismissed from Rousse’s service and enter mine.

Quintilius Rousse acceded and Ysandre agreed to the increase in Montrève’s allotment of men-at-arms, and that is how I came to acquire three Chevaliers: Remy, Ti-Philippe and Fortun. Why they persisted in their extravagant loyalty, I never understood-although Joscelin laughed and said he did-but I was glad of their presence, for I had no few trepidations regarding the welcome I would find in Montrève.

The folk there had been loyal to Delaunay’s father, the old Comte de Montrève and, so far as I knew, to his cousin as well; Delaunay, they’d not known since his youth, and me they knew not at all. Born and bred to the Night Court, I was no blood kin of theirs. I was not even Siovalese.

On the day before our departure, I received one last surprise. A royal page came to fetch me, claiming strangers at the Palace gates were asking for me.

Joscelin came with me as I hurried through the Palace, fearful of who awaited. His face was set and grim, hands hovering over his dagger-hilts; he had leave to wear his Cassiline arms even in the presence of the Queen. It was a kindness of Ysandre’s, who had seen how he felt stripped without them-and a cleverness, too, for he would ever have guarded her life as his own, or mine.

What I expected, I could not say, but we found awaiting us a young couple in simple, well-made country attire.

"My Lady de Montrève," the young man said and bowed; his wife curtsied. His face, as he straightened, was familiar, but I was too disconcerted by the greeting to place it. "I am Purnell Friote, of Perrinwolde. This is my wife, Richeline." She bobbed another curtsy. He gave me an open grin, eyes friendly beneath a shock of brown hair. "My nephew taught you to ride a horse, do you remember? The Lady Cecilie said you might have need of a seneschal."

I did remember, with such delight that I kissed them both, to their blushing surprise. It was only then that Cecilie showed herself, smiling at the success of her venture.

"Gavin swears Purnell can do aught that he can, and twice as swiftly," she said as I took her hands in gratitude. "My Perrinwolde’s grown too small to hold the expansion of the Friote clan, and you’ll have need of your own folk about you. Let them work with Montrève’s folk, and it will ease your way, for you’ll find no kinder hearts in Terre d’Ange."

Better advice I never had, and if Montrève made me welcome, it was due in no small part to the efforts of Purnell and Richeline Friote, who came willing to learn the ways of the estate, and in such an open and friendly manner that it won the hearts of the Siovalese as easily as Perrinwolde had won mine.

So it was that we were a party of seven when we departed, amid too many farewells to count, striking out once more on the open road and bound for Montrève.

"When we are settled," I said to Joscelin, as the City of Elua dwindled behind us, "there is somewhat that I want to do." He looked inquiringly at me. "I want to visit L’Arene, to find Taavi and Danele."

Joscelin smiled, remembering. "I’d like that, actually. You think mayhap they might accept a gift of thanks, now that you’re a peer of the realm?" he added, amused.

"They might," I said. "And they might know someone willing to tutor me in Yeshuite." I glanced over to see his fair brows rise. "If Delaunay knew it, he never taught me. And the Master of the Straits was fathered and cursed by Rahab, who serves the One God of the Yeshuites. If there’s aught to be found that might break his binding, it’s in Yeshuite lore."

"Hyacinthe," Joscelin said softly.

I nodded.

"Well, then, we’ll go to L’Arene." He laughed. "And, Elua help us, you can pit yourself against the gods."

I loved him for that.

Onward we rode to Montrève.

It is one thing to visit a country estate, it is another to inherit one. Even with the very capable aid Cecilie had bequeathed me, it took the better part of a year to settle into the rhythms of Montrève, to gain the trust and goodwill of its folk, who were understandably perplexed at how a Siovalese holding had passed into the possession of a City-bred Servant of Naamah.

Montrève itself was beautiful, a green jewel set in the low mountains. To Joscelin, born in Siovale, it was nearly a homecoming. We rode the length and breadth of it together, and fell in love with its simple charm, its rugged hills and green valleys, the unexpected pleasure of a meadow. It is sheep country, there, and it transpired that I was rich in flocks.

The manor-house itself was all quaint elegance, with touches of Eisandine luxury; Delaunay’s mother, I guessed. It had small, brilliant gardens, rambling with colorful flowers for three-quarters of the year, grown wild for lack of tending. Richeline Friote made these her especial care.

And there was a library, where Anafiel Delaunay had spent his boyhood study, immersed in the Siovalese love of learning. I found his name one day, scratched with a knife-point into the wooden surface of a reading table, and had to fight back tears.