Kushiel’s Dart

"My lord," I said politely. "You said I might return to the service of Naamah when the matter was resolved."

"Did I?" He looked a little startled; it hadn’t been uppermost in his mind, and I guessed he was a little short of sleep. "Yes, I suppose I did. Well, and I am willing to abide by it, on the strength of this news-though you will go nowhere without the Cassiline, mind."

"Yes, my lord. Are there offers to entertain?"

"Some few," Delaunay said dryly; there had been many. "Had you somewhat in mind?"

I drew a breath and steadied myself to say it. "I have a debt to settle with Lord Childric d’Essoms."

"D’Essoms!" Delaunay’s russet brows arched. "He made an offer this week gone by, Phèdre, but I am minded to let his anger cool before he sees you. D’Essoms has served his purpose; we’ll get no more of him, unless Barquiel’s up to somewhat I cannot fathom. I doubt it, though. He’s made his alliance and had his vengeance; he’s clever enough to keep his head down for a time."

"Send me where you will, my lord," I said and meant it, "but I am Naamah’s servant too, and I owe a debt to Childric d’Essoms for what I have done in her service."

"Well enough." Delaunay gave me a curious glance. "I’ll not gainsay you in this. I’ll have the other offers sent for your consideration, and sign the contract with d’Essoms." He rose to stroke my hair, the curiosity in his gaze turning to concern. "You’re sure of this?"

"Yes, my lord," I whispered, and fled his touch before tears could choke me.

Of that assignation, perhaps the least said, the better. Suffice it to say that d’Essoms' anger had not cooled, and I was glad of it, for it suited my mood. Never before had I used my service to escape any woes that troubled me, but I did that day. There was no artistry in what passed between us; given license by his rage and my contract, d’Essoms greeted me with a powerful blow across the face. It knocked me sprawling to the floor, and I tasted blood, the red haze of Kushiel’s Dart claiming me with blessed relief.

I did all that he ordered, and more.

When he bound me to the whipping-cross, I felt the grain of its wood caress my skin like a lover. I cried out at the first stinging kiss of the flogger, shuddering with helpless pleasure, and d’Essoms cursed me and wielded the lash with fury until pain overwhelmed the pleasure and I wept out of both, buffeted by pain, guilt and rage, sorrow and betrayal, no longer knowing the nature of the release for which I pleaded.

D’Essoms was tender when he was done; I hadn’t expected that. "Never again, Phèdre," he whispered, holding me gently and sponging the blood from the morass of welts he’d laid across my back. "Promise me, you’ll never betray me like that again."

"No, my lord," I promised, dizzy with agony and catharsis. In some distant part of my mind, I hoped Delaunay was right, and there was naught more to be obtained from Childric d’Essoms. "Never again."

He murmured something-I don’t know what-and continued to tend to my weals, squeezing the sponge. Warm water ran over my skin, and I felt good, languid with the aftermath of it all, and happy that the first of my patrons still wanted me. I loved him a bit for that; I could not help it, had always loved my patrons at least a little bit. I never told Delaunay, though I think he guessed it.

I cannot guess at my appearance as I entered d’Essoms' receiving room. I stumbled a bit, I know, but it must have been worse than that alone, for Joscelin’s eyes widened in shock and he sprang to his feet.

"Name of Elua!" he breathed. "Phèdre…"

It may have been pain or weakness, though I tend to think the sheer unexpectedness of hearing him say my name like that that made my knees buckle; either way, Joscelin was at my side in two strides. Without ceremony, he scooped me into his arms and headed for the door.

"Joscelin." Irritation cleared my head. "Joscelin, put me down. I can walk."

He shook his head, stubborn as any of his Brethren. "Not while I attend you!" He nodded to d’Essoms' liveried servant. "Open the door."

I was glad, as we emerged into the courtyard, that we were at d’Essoms' townhouse and not his quarters in the Palace; there was no one to see save a startled stableboy as Joscelin Verreuil, in his Cassiline drab, carried me to Delaunay’s coach, my sangoire cloak trailing over his ashen-and-steel arms. I tried to ignore the strength of those arms, and the firmness of the chest against which they held me. "Idiot!" I hissed as he set me carefully within the coach. "This is what I do!"

Joscelin gave the homeward command to the coachman and got in opposite me, folding his arms and glaring. "If this is your calling, would that I knew what sin I’d committed, that I should be ordered to witness it and stand idly by!"

"I did not ask to have you here." I winced as the coach lurched into motion, throwing me back against the seats.

"And you call me an idiot," Joscelin muttered.

Chapter Thirty-Two