Kushiels Dart

by Jacqueline Carey

Page 49

 

  "There is no one else," Joscelin said finally, "that you can turn to? No patron, no friend of Delaunay's?"

  "Not without risk. " A gust of wind blew, and I tugged my cloak reflexively about me. "We aren't talking about a simple favor, Joscelin. Whomever we approach will hold our lives in their hands. I trust Hyacinthe with mine. No one else. "

  "The Prince of Travellers. " He pronounced it with irony. "How much gold could he get for it, do you think?"

  Without thinking, I struck him across the face with my open palm. We stopped on the road and stood staring at each other. "Tsingano or no," I said softly, "Hyacinthe has been a friend to me, when no one else was, and never asked a centime for it. When Baudoin de Trevalion was executed, it was Hyacinthe who gave me money to make an offering in his memory at the temples. Did you know that I was Melisande's farewell gift to Prince Baudoin before she betrayed him?"

  "No. " Joscelin's face was pale beneath the wind-burn, save for a ruddy patch where I'd slapped him. "I'm sorry. "

  "If you have a better idea," I said grimly, "then say it. But I'll not hear you speak against Hyacinthe. "

  He glanced toward the City. It was not far now, we could see the distant glint of its walls. "I can approach the Captain of the King's Cassiline Guard. He is a Brother, he would have to give me audience. He is oath-sworn, and may be trusted. "

  "Are you sure?" I waited until he looked back at me. "Are you sure beyond doubt, Joscelin? You disappeared from the City with your charge—a notorious Servant of Naamah and plaything of the wealthy—leaving behind the slaughtered household of Anafiel Delaunay. Do you know what poison's been spread in our absence? Are you sure of your welcome by the Cassiline Brotherhood?"

  My words struck him like blows; it had never occurred to him, I could see, that his honor as a Cassiline could be impugned.

  "No one would dare suggest such a thing!" he gasped. "And even if they did, no Cassiline would believe it!"

  "No?" I asked wearily. "But I thought of it, and if I could, others would. As for believing . . . what is easier to credit? A simple murder driven by greed and lust, or a vast, deep-laid conspiracy to betray the throne into Skaldi hands, known only to you and me?"

  After a moment, he gave a curt nod, adjusted his back, and set his face toward the City. "Your way, then, and pray your trust isn't misplaced. Anyway, we still have to make it through the gates. "

  I looked at the distant walls and shivered.

  For all of our fears, gaining admittance to the City proved the easiest of our trials. Two tired-looking members of the City Guard halted us at a distance, glanced up and down at our bizarre attire, and demanded our names without much interest. I gave false names and a history, citing Taavi and Danele's village; they asked a few cursory questions, mostly about our health, then bid us to stick out our tongues for examination.

  Bemused, we obeyed without protest, and one of the guards drew near enough to look, then waved us through.

  "It's true, then," Joscelin said in a low voice. "There's sickness in the City. "

  I said nothing, overwhelmed at being once again within the City walls. It didn't mean as much to him; it wasn't his home, he'd not been born and raised here, as I had. The beauty of the place made me want to weep, the elegance of the cobbled streets, lined with gracious trees, now barren in winter. And the people, ah! Despite the cold and the rumored fevers, there were people about, D'Angelines all, and the sound of their voices was music to my ears.

  As twilight fell, we made our way on foot to Night's Doorstep, winding through the poorer districts, where our appearance went largely unremarked. The scent of food cooking in homes and inns made my mouth water; D'Angeline cuisine, real food! We reached Night's Doorstep in good time. The street-lamps were fresh lit, and the first revelers taking to the streets, their numbers thinner than I remembered, but still glorious in their silks and velvets, brocade and jewels shimmering in the lamplight.

  "Joscelin, we can't go inside," I murmured, as we stood in a shadowed alley across from the the Cockerel. "The place would be turned upside down, and word would reach the Palace by midnight. Tongues wag faster than you can blink, in Night's Doorstep. "

  "Do you have an idea?"

  "I think so. Listen," I said, and told him.

  Hyacinthe's stable was quiet, too early for business, the horses drowsing in their stalls with the smell of good hay all around. There were two attendants on duty, boys of twelve or thirteen, tossing dice; we took them by surprise. One of them squeaked, seeing Joscelin with drawn sword, and then both cowered. I couldn't blame them for being terrified. Even without the pelt of the White Brethren, with his clothing and his tangled hair, he looked more like a changeling Skaldi warrior than a Cassiline Brother.

  "You work for Hyacinthe?" I asked them; they nodded. "Good. You. " I pointed to the one who hadn't squeaked. "I need you to do something, and your friend's life depends on it. Find Hyacinthe, and bid him to come here. Privately. Tell him an old friend needs his help. If he asks who, tell him we used to eat tarts under the bridge at Tertius' Crossing. Have you got that?"

  He nodded again, rapidly. "Old friend," he said breathlessly. "Tarts. Tertius' Crossing. Yes, my . . . yes. "

  "Good. " I wouldn't have accorded me a title either, not in this state. "If you breathe a word of it, a word, mind you, or if anyone overhears, your friend will die. Do you understand?"

  "Yes!" His head bobbed so fast his forelock flopped in his eyes. "Yes, I swear it!"

  "Good," I repeated, adding ominously, "and if we don't kill you, you may be sure Hyacinthe will, if you make a mistake in this. Now go!"

  He was out the door like a bolt, and we heard the sound of his running feet in the street. Joscelin sheathed his word. "You're safe if he keeps his word," he said to the other lad, who stared white-faced at us. "Just don't think of following him. "

  Hyacinthe's stable attendant shook his head in fervid terror.

  We waited, strung tighter than harpstrings. Ever since I'd awakened in the covered cart, it seemed, aching and soul-sick, I'd been listening for approaching steps. I knew these. I knew the sound of Hyacinthe's casual stroll, boot-heels scraping against the cobblestones.

  And then he entered the stable and closed the door, and any pretense of ease disappeared. He turned around, his expression strained with hope and disbelief.

  "Phedre?"

  I took two steps, and threw myself into his arms.

  It fell to Joscelin to guard the door, sword drawn once more, against both anyone seeking entrance, and escape by Hyacinthe's assistants. The boy we'd sent had slipped in behind him, and stood staring with his fist pressed against his teeth. To my shame, I was worse than useless, weeks'" worth of pent terror releasing itself in shaking sobs,' my face pressed to Hyacinthe's shoulder. He held me hard and made soothing noises, his voice trembling a little with astonishment. When I could, I regained my composure and stepped away from him, wiping the tears from my eyes.

  "All right?" Hyacinthe raised his eyebrows at me, and I nodded, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He beckoned to the boys, and fished in his purse. "Listen to me, you two. What you saw tonight, never happened.

  Understand?" Both nodded silent acquiescence. "Here. " He gave them both a silver coin. "You did well. Take these, and keep your mouths shut. Don't even talk to each other about it. If you do, I swear, I'll call the dromonde upon you, and curse you so you wish you'd never been born. Understand?"

  They did. He dismissed them, and they ran, with fearful glances at Joscelin.

  Hyacinthe hadn't looked closely at him. He glanced over now as Joscelin sheathed his sword and blinked hard. "Cassiline?"

  Joscelin smiled wryly, inclining his head. "Prince of Travellers. "

  "Blessed Elua, I thought you couldn't draw your blade . . . " Hyacinthe shook himself, as if waking from a dream. "Come on," he said decisively. "I'll take you to the house. You were right, it's not safe for you t
o be seen. "

  I closed my eyes. "Do they think . . . ?"

  "Yes. You were tried and convicted in absentia," Hyacinthe said, his voice unwontedly gentle. "For the murder of Anafiel Delaunay and the members of his household. "

  FIFTY-SIX

  Hyacinthe lived still in the same house on Rue Coupole, but alone. To my sorrow, I learned that the fever of which we'd heard rumors had claimed his mother's life. She'd taken pity on a Tsingani family whose youngest was ill, and caught it from them; there were no tenants now, and Hyacinthe was grimly set against taking others until the sickness had run its course. It manifested first, we learned, with white spots on the back of the tongue; that was why the City Guard had examined ours, and had little interest in anything else.

  It was strange, to be in that house without the presence of Hyacinthe's mother, muttering over her cookstove. He used it to heat water for the bath, sending one of his runners to the Cockerel for hot food, with word only that he was entertaining in private that night.

  To be warm and clean and safe seemed a luxury beyond words. We sat around the kitchen table and ate squab trussed in rosemary, washing it down with a rather good red wine Hyacinthe had procured, taking turns telling what had happened between famished bites, sketching in the events. To his credit, Hyacinthe never interrupted once, listening gravely as Jos-celin and I unwound our tale. When he learned of d'Aiglemort's betrayal and the Skaldi invasion plan, he looked sick.

  "He wouldn't," he said. "He couldn't?

  "He thinks to pull it off. " I gulped a mouthful of wine, and set down my glass. "But he has no idea of the numbers Selig can muster. We have to talk to someone, Hyacinthe. The Dauphine, or someone who can reach her. "

  "I'm thinking," he murmured, reaching for his own glass. "Your lives are forfeit, if anyone knows you've set foot in the City. "

  "How. . . why? Why would they think we did it?" Joscelin had had a bit of wine too, and was impassioned with it. "What possible gain would there have been?"

  "I can tell you the popular theory. " Hyacinthe swirled the wine in his glass, gazing into its depths. "Rumor has it that Barquiel L'Envers paid a fabulous sum for you to betray Delaunay—and you your oath, Cassiline—and admit his Akkadian Guard into the house, to settle the old score for Isabel, and set you both up in Khebbel-im-Akkad. There's no proof of it, of course, and he's not been formally charged, but the stories about the assassination of Dominic Stregazza haven't helped his cause. "

  "I would never—" I began.

  "I know. " Hyacinthe raised his gaze, dark eyes meeting mine. "I knew it for a lie, and told whoever would listen. There were a few others who spoke on your behalf, I heard. Caspar Trevalion, and Cecilie Laveau-Perrin both did, and the Prefect of the Cassiline Brotherhood sent a letter protesting his order's innocence. " He inclined his head to Joscelin. "But Parliament wanted a conviction, and the courts obliged. It won't do to have people thinking D'Angeline nobles could be slain out of hand, and their killers go unpunished. "

  "Melisande?" I asked; I had already guessed.

  Hyacinthe shook his black curls. "If she was behind it, she kept her hand well hidden. "

  "She would. She played that card at Baudoin's trial, she's too canny to play it twice. " I fingered the diamond without thinking. "It would look suspicious," I added dourly.

  Hyacinthe began to clear away the remains of our dinner without comment, stacking the plates in a washtub for later. "All I have is at your disposal, Phedre," he said presently, returning to sit at the table, propping his chin on his hands. "Poets and players go everywhere, know everyone; I can get word through them to whomever you like. The problem is, not a one of them can be trusted to keep silence. "

  I looked instinctively at Joscelin, who frowned.

  "You say the Prefect sent a letter?" he asked Hyacinthe, who nodded. Joscelin shook his head. "I don't know," he said reluctantly. "If he protested the order's innocence and not mine . . . if he wrote rather than came to speak in person . . . no. I wouldn't trust him not to call the Royal Guard on us. I'll go to him myself, rather. Can you provide a mount?" The last was addressed to Hyacinthe.

  "Yes, of course. "

  "No. " I pressed my fingers to my temples. "It's unsure, and would take days. There's got to be another way. " A thought struck me, and I raised my head. "Hyacinthe, can you find someone to deliver a letter to Thelesis de Mornay?"

  "Absolutely. " He grinned. "A love letter, perhaps? A message from an admirer? Nothing easier. The only thing I can't guarantee is that it will arrive with the seal intact. "

  "It doesn't matter. " My mind was racing. "Do you have paper? I'll couch the real information in Cruithne. If any one of your poets can read Pictish, I'll eat this table whole. "

  After rummaging in a chest, Hyacinthe brought me pen and paper, shaving the quill with a sharp knife and setting the inkpot at hand. I penned a quick, fervid note of admiration in D'Angeline, then added a few lines of Cruithne, structuring them to look like verse to the uneducated eye. The last student of he who might have been the King's Poet awaits, at the home of the Prince of Travellers, begging your aid in the name of the King's cygnet, his only born.

  I read it aloud, in D'Angeline then in Cruithne, stumbling over the pronunciation.

  "Cruithne," Joscelin murmured; he'd thought himself beyond surprise. "You speak Cruithne. "

  "Not well," I admitted. I'd glossed over the fact that I knew neither the word for cygnet nor swan; I had translated Ysandre de la Courcel's emblem, in truth, as something closer to "long-neck baby water bird. " But Thelesis de Mornay spoke and read Cruithne, and moreover, it was she who'd told me that Delaunay might have been the King's Poet, had matters not fallen out as they had. "Will it do?"

  "It'll do, and more. Leave it unsigned. " Hyacinthe, idling with his chair tipped back, moved into action, snatching the letter from my hand and grabbing a taper to seal it deftly with a blob of wax. "Give it me now, there's a party bound for the Lute and Mask later this evening. I'll see it in Thelesis de Mornay's hand by noon tomorrow, if I have to bribe half of Night's Doorstep to get it there. "

  He was out the door within seconds, swirling his cloak around him.

  "You were right to trust him," Joscelin said quietly. "I was wrong. " I met his gaze across the table; he gave me his wry smile. "I can admit that much. "

  "Well, and you were right about Taavi and Danele," I said to him. "I never told you, but I could have killed you when you asked their help. But you were right. "

  "They were good people. I hope they're well. " He stood up. "If there's naught more to be done this night. . . "

  "Go, get some sleep. " I stifled a yawn at the thought of it. "I'll stay awake until Hyacinthe comes back. "

  "I'll leave you alone, then. I'm sure you want a chance to talk with him. " The same wry smile, but something caught at it, twisting at my heart.

  "Joscelin . . . " I looked up at him. It seemed impossible to believe, here in this childhood haven, all that we'd been through together. All of it. "Joscelin, whatever happens to us . . . you did it. You kept your vow to protect and serve. You brought me home safe," I said softly. "Thank you. "

  He swept his Cassiline bow, and left me to wait.

  Hyacinthe was some time returning, and entered the house quietly, turning the key carefully in the lock. I started, having fallen into a doze, slumped at the kitchen table.

  "You're awake. " He came to sit with me, taking my hands in his. "You should be in bed. "

  "How did it go?"

  "Fine. " He inspected my hands, turning them gently. "Thelesis should have the letter by tomorrow, unless young Marc-Baptiste has a terrible quarrel with Japheth no Eglantine-Vardennes, which is not likely. He thinks I'm sheltering Sarphiel the Reclusive, who is indeed mad enough to send the Prince of Travellers with an unsigned love note to the King's Poet. Thelesis was ill, you know, but the King's own physician attended her, and she's on the mend. Phedre, it looks like you've be
en working as a galley-slave. "

  "I know. " I pulled my hands away. They were red-roughened and chafed by cold, scratched and torn, with dirt engrained that a single bath couldn't remove. "But I can build a fire with a single sodden log in the middle of a snowstorm. "

  "Ah, Elua. " Emotion flooded his face, his dark eyes liquid with unshed tears. "I thought I'd lost you, truly. Delaunay, Alcuin . . . Phedre, I never thought to see you again. I can't believe you survived what you did. To return here, and find yourself branded a murderess . . . I'd have fought harder against it, if I'd known you were alive. I'm so sorry. "

  "I know. " I swallowed, hard. "At least it's home, though. If I have to die anywhere . . . Oh, Hyacinthe, I'm so sorry about your mother. "

  He was quiet a moment, gazing unthinking toward the cookstove that had seemed so eternally her domain, rife with muttered prophecy and the chink of gold coins. "I know. I miss her. I always thought she would live to see me claim my birthright among the Tsingani, and not this sham I play at in Night's Doorstep. But I waited too long. " He rubbed at his eyes. "You should sleep. You must be exhausted. "

  "Yes. Good night," I whispered, kissing him on the brow. I felt his gaze follow me as I made my way to a warm and waiting bed.

  There is a point beyond exhaustion, where sleep is hard in coming. I had reached it that night. After so long sharing a bed, it seemed strange to be alone in one, in clean linen sheets with a warm velvet coverlet atop them. Even after the strangeness of it wore off, giving way to drowsing familiarity, something seemed to be missing. The realization of what it was struck me with a shock, just before the tidal wave of sleep finally claimed me and dragged me under to the depths of oblivion, erasing the thought as the waves erase a line drawn in the sand by a child's stick.