Kushiel’s Dart

To my surprise, when I straightened from my deep curtsy, I saw that the Duc himself was dressed in Akkadian style. A burnouse of L’Envers purple shrouded his face, and instead of a doublet, he wore loose robes over his breeches, with a long, flowing coat. Only his eyes were visible, but I knew them, once I had the chance to look him full in the face. They were a deep violet, House L’Envers' coloring; the color of Ysandre de la Courcel’s eyes, who was his niece.

"Anafiel Delaunay," the Duc drawled, taking his seat and unwinding the long scarf of his burnouse. He had the white-blond hair, too, and pale skin, though it was sun-darkened around his eyes and his hair was cropped shorter than I’d ever seen a nobleman’s. "Well, well. So you’ve come to apologize for your sins against my House?"

Delaunay stepped forward and gave another bow. "Your grace," he said, "I have come to propose we put that matter behind us, in the past, where it belongs."

Barquiel L’Envers sat at his ease, legs crossed before him, but I did not doubt for an instant that he was a dangerous man. "After you named my sister a murderess for all the realm to hear?" he asked smoothly. "Do you suggest I simply forgive this slight?"

"Yes." Delaunay said it without losing an inch of composure. I heard several of the men-at-arms murmur. The Duc raised his hand without looking to see which ones.

"Why?" he asked curiously. "I know what you have to offer, and I wish to hear it. But it settles nothing between us, Delaunay. Why should I forgive?"

Delaunay drew a long breath and something smoldered in his voice. "Do you swear, your grace, on Elua’s name and your own lineage, that my song was untrue?"

His question hung in the air. Barquiel L’Envers considered it, then moved his head slightly, neither a nod nor a shake. "I do not swear either way, Delaunay. My sister Isabel was ambitious, and jealous in the bargain. But if she had aught to do with Edmée de Rocaille’s fall, I will swear she never intended her death."

"The intent does not matter; the cause alone suffices."

"Perhaps." Barquiel L’Envers continued to study him. "Perhaps not. Because of your words, a traitoress may name my sister a cold-blooded killer to the King’s own face, and no one will gainsay it. You have not given me sufficient reason to forgive. Have you more?"

"I have sworn an oath," Delaunay said softly, "by which you stand to profit."

"Oh, that!" L’Envers' voice rose in surprise. He laughed. "You mean to stand by that, after the way Ganelon’s treated you?"

"I did not swear it to Ganelon de la Courcel."

I wished, fervently, that one of them would say more of the matter, but neither did. Delaunay stood tautly upright, while L’Envers' thoughtful gaze wandered over the three of us, pausing longest on Joscelin.

"Well, Ganelon takes it with some degree of seriousness, it would seem," he observed. "Though I have never seen a stranger retinue. Two whores, and a Cassiline Brother. Only you, Anafiel. You always had a reputation for being unpredictable, but this is downright eccentric. Which one knows who killed my sister?"

Alcuin stepped forward and bowed. "My lord," he said calmly, "I do."

I had never been prouder of him, not even when he made his debut; I could swear, he was more composed than Delaunay. Even when L’Envers pinned him with his violet gaze, Alcuin didn’t flinch. "Do you?" the Duc mused. "Which one of the Stregazza was it, then?" He saw a flicker of consternation on Alcuin’s face, and laughed. "I have ears in the City, boy. If Isabel was killed, it had to be by poison, and no true D’Angeline would resort to such means. I hear tell you were attacked, and one man killed; now Vitale Bouvarre, who trades with the Stregazza, is nowhere to be found…and I hear from d’Essoms he paid an unheard-of sum for your virgin-price. Who was it?"

One nicker was all the Duc would get out of Alcuin; he looked to Delaunay as coolly as could be. "My lord?"

Delaunay nodded. "Tell him."

"Dominic and Thérèse," Alcuin stated simply.

I’d not seen the face of a man deciding to kill before, but I saw it then. A stillness came over Barquiel L’Envers, a look of intensity and hunger, all at once. He sighed, and there was release in it. "Did Bouvarre offer proof?"

"No." Alcuin shook his head. "He had none. But he carried a gift of candied figs from the Stregazza to Isabel de la Courcel. They were put in his hand by Dominic, but it was Thérèse who knew how she loved them. Bouvarre delivered them himself."

"There was an empty salver in her rooms," L’Envers said, remembering. "I suspected, we all did. But no one knew what had been in it, nor from whence it came."

"He tried to tell me it was Lyonette de Trevalion," Alcuin murmured, "but I laughed, and guessed it for a lie; it was too safe an answer, as she no longer lived to refute it. I do not think he would have tried to kill me, nor fled the country, had he lied the second time."