Kushiel’s Dart

"You knew I have a cousin who has some sway in La Serenissima," L’Envers said to Delaunay. "My arm is longer than yours, and considerably more powerful, yes? But why do you care who killed Isabel? I might almost have thought you’d seek allies among them."

"You insult me," Delaunay said, flushing with anger. "If Isabel and I were enemies, you know well the only weapon I wielded against her was words."

"All too well. Why do you care who killed her?"

"Did you know that Dominic and Thérèse Stregazza have four children? All of the Blood by way of descent, and all fostered in one of the D’Angeline Great Houses."

"Yes, and Prince Benedicte is yet hale whereas the King’s health fails, and his brood is powerful in La Serenissima, while certain parties whisper in certain circles that Baudoin de Trevalion was innocent, and the Dauphine’s name is sullied by virtue of the slur with which her mother’s was tainted." Barquiel L’Envers rested his chin on one fist. "Will you teach me to play the game of thrones? I think not, Delaunay."

"No, your grace. And I have not yet congratulated you on the marriage of your daughter," Delaunay added with a bow.

"Indeed." A brief smile touched L’Envers' face. "Well, perhaps you’re right. It seems our interests do run the same course in this matter. You are aware that any actions I take against the Stregazza may not be entirely…honorable?"

Delaunay’s gaze drifted over the line of men-at-arms, taking in the veiled features of the Akkadians. "You have sufficient leverage to insist that Vitale Bouvarre be taken into custody and questioned. He would confess, in exchange for his life. Benedicte would see that justice was done."

"Do you think? Ah, yes, you are old comrades, aren’t you, from the Battle of Three Princes. Well, perhaps he would, at that. Benedicte always had a name as an honorable man; he should never have married into that Caerdicci vipers' nest. I swear, if it can be done justly, I will do it." Barquiel L’Envers drummed his fingers idly on the elaborate arms of his chair and turned his attention to me. "So you’re Childric’s anguissette

, hm? Spying on him for Delaunay’s sake?"

I curtsied. "Your grace, I am the Servant of Naamah. My lord Delaunay merely sought a way to gain your ear. He is grieved at the dissent between you."

"Oh, indeed." A corner of L’Envers' mouth twitched in another faint smile. "As grieved as he was at Vitale Bouvarre’s silence, I’ve no doubt. Well, I’d a mind to see these chits who outwitted one of my best counselors and the shrewdest trader in Terre d’Ange, and to see too if Delaunay was desperate enough to risk you both. It seems he is." The violet gaze turned back to Delaunay, thoughtful. "So it’s the old promise, is it, Anafiel?"

"If you would speak of this matter, your grace," Delaunay said quietly, "I ask that we do it in private."

"They don’t know?" Barquiel L’Envers' brows rose and he laughed aloud. "What loyalty you command! Ah, I’m envious, Anafiel. Then again, those who loved you always did remain true, didn’t they? In some measure, at least. What about you?" He looked curiously at Joscelin. "Surely you don’t serve him out of love, Cassiline. What binds you here?"

Steel glinted as Joscelin bowed. "I am vowed to serve as Cassiel did, your grace," he said in his even voice. "I, too, take my vows in earnest."

The Duc shook his head, mystified. "They say the old blood runs purer in the provinces. You’re Siovalese, lad? Is your House of Shemhazai’s line?"

Joscelin hesitated a moment. "A Minor House, yes. But I am the middle son, and sworn to Cassiel."

"Yes, I can see that," L’Envers said dryly, then to Delaunay, "Well, it must be nice for you to have a fellow countryman in your household, Anafiel."

"Your grace." Delaunay lifted his brows.

"All right, all right." Barquiel L’Envers waved his hand. "You are dismissed. Beauforte, take them to the kitchens, bid them well-fed. We must not be remiss in attending to our guests. Oh, and give word that Lord Delaunay and his companions are indeed to be considered guests." He gave a wolfish grin. "No doubt it will set their mind at ease. So, Anafiel Delaunay, shall we converse?"

I didn’t think I had any appetite, after the tension of the day and the audience with the Duc, but I was wrong. We were given a table and served warm, crusty bread, sharp cheese and a good stew-fit provender for the Duc’s men, though not meant for the Duc’s table, I guessed-and I set to almost as heartily as Alcuin and Joscelin.

No one spoke for some time, unavoidably conscious of the presence of L’Envers retainers bustling around the kitchen. Alcuin and I would not have risked it in any case, but we hadn’t reckoned with Joscelin’s naiveté. On his second helping of stew, he burst out with it, dropping his spoon with a clatter.

"Who is he?" he demanded of us. "There’s no House Delaunay in Siovale! Who is he, and why am I commanded to attend him?"