Kushiel’s Dart

With a look of disgust, Joscelin pried the tumbler’s crossed ankles loose, and the Eglantine caught himself on his hands, rolling and bounding to his feet. Joscelin took a step in the direction of the carriage, only to be confronted by the other tumbler, who leapt up to wrap her slim legs around his waist, grabbing his face in both hands and kissing him. Disengaging himself from her, he turned back toward the lordlings, laughing faces and gleaming steel arrayed against him. The male tumbler snuck up behind him, pulling a pin from his neatly clubbed hair. A swatch of wheat-blond hair trailed loose.

"Name of Elua," I muttered. "If you won’t draw your sword, at least use your daggers, you idiot!"

"He can’t," Hyacinthe said beside me, eyes bright with amusement. "They’re just having fun, and Cassilines take an oath to draw steel only to defend their lives or protect their companions."

I sighed again. "I suppose I have to do it, then." Before Hyacinthe could protest, I hopped down from the barrel and squirmed my way through the crowd, stumbling into the open street in front of the sword-baiting lordlings. Joscelin caught sight of me with a startled look, and the flautist missed a beat.

"Heya, leave off," one of the young lords complained, catching my arm and trying to pull me away. "We’re just having fun with him!"

I raised my arm, his hand still gripping it. "Joscelin? Serve and protect?"

His vambraces flashed as he bowed, and both daggers rang free from their sheaths; I don’t think he’d taken two steps before the lordling dropped my arm and the others began backing away, hastily sheathing their steel. The Eglantine flautist continued to play, no less merry with this new entertainment, and the singer took up a tambor while the tumblers threw tricks.

"Enough, enough!" cried one of the ladies of the party, traces of hilarity still in her voice. She curtsied in Joscelin’s direction. "Cassiel’s Servant has amused us enough for one evening, I think."

His glare could have chiseled stone, but their laughter echoed on the air as they departed. He turned his glare on me instead.

"I suppose Delaunay sent you?" I asked reluctantly.

"You are to return with me." His jaw clenched as he nodded toward Delaunay’s coach, parked some distance away. The coachman looked apologetic. "Forthwith."

Hyacinthe leapt down from the barrel and ran over to give me a hasty farewell kiss. "Come when you can," he said, trying not to turn his laughing gaze on Joscelin, whose expression made it quite clear that that would be never, if he had any say in the matter. I prayed he didn’t. "I always miss you."

"Me too." I made a point of kissing him again, grabbing his black ringlets in both hands. "Take care, Prince of Travellers."

We didn’t speak in the coach, though Joscelin radiated fury like a forge. His ash-grey clothing had been pulled askew, and a hank of hair fell along his face; I am certain he never in his life imagined a Cassiline Brother could be subjected to such indignity, and it was obvious that he held me to blame.

Which gave me cause to think about facing Delaunay. I did not look forward to it.

If I expected to meet Delaunay’s cold, implacable anger, I was mistaken, though not through any saving grace of my own. Joscelin conducted me to the library, hand at my back, nearly marching me along-and by this time, I was sufficiently aware of my guilt to make no protest. But when we arrived, Delaunay merely glanced up, raising a letter in one hand.

"It’s come," he said briefly. "Barquiel L’Envers will see me in two days' time."

"My lord." I kept my voice steady with an effort. "Good news indeed."

"Yes." He studied the letter as if dismissing us, then looked up again and this time his gaze held all the emotionless resolve I had feared. "Phèdre. I warned you once; I will not do it again. If you leave these walls again without my permission, I will sell your marque. That is all."

"Yes, my lord."

My knees were trembling, and it took all the strength I had to turn and walk out without giving Joscelin Verreuil the satisfaction of seeing it. Before I closed the door behind me, I gained some measure of reparation in hearing Delaunay say to Joscelin, in quite a different tone, "What in the seven hells happened to you, lad?"

It was a pity I didn’t dare stay to hear his reply.

Chapter Thirty

There were terms, it seemed, to the Duc L’Envers' agreement. He would meet with Delaunay on his own territory, on the L’Envers estate an hour’s ride outside the City; not the seat of his duchy, which lay in northern Namarre, but a pleasure-retreat he used when attendant on the Palace. In addition, there was to be an escort of twenty of L’Envers' men-at-arms. The Duc was taking no chances with Delaunay.