Kushiel’s Dart

Afterward, she was well-pleased and let me stay, toying with my hair. "Delaunay saw to your training well," she said in her rich voice, sending a thrill through every fiber of my being. "You could match your skills against any House in the Night Court, my dear." She drew one finger up the line of my marque and raised her brows. "What will you do when it’s done?"

Even now, I shivered at her touch with the aftershocks of pleasure. "I don’t know. I’ve not decided."

"You should think on it. You’re near enough to it." She smiled. "Or has Delaunay some target left for you?"

"No," I said. "I don’t know, my lady."

She wound a lock of my hair around her fingers. "No? Perhaps he’s satisfied, then. He used you to gain access to Barquiel L’Envers, didn’t he? And used the Duc to gain revenge on the Stregazza." She laughed at my expression. "Who do you think taught Anafiel Delaunay to manipulate others, my dear? Half of what he knows, I taught him; he taught me in turn to listen and observe, and the two skills together are more formidable than either alone could hope to be."

"He said you were well-matched in many ways," I said.

"All but one." Melisande tugged gently at my hair and smiled. "Sometimes I think we should have wed anyway, for he’s the only man who truly makes me laugh. But then, his heart was given long ago, and I think a large part of it died with Prince Rolande."

"Rolande?" I sat upright, staring at her, my wits scrambled into a dazed sort of alert. "Prince Rolande?"

"You really didn’t know, did you?" Melisande looked amused. "I wasn’t sure. Yes, of course, ever since they were together at the University of Tiberium. Even Rolande’s marriage couldn’t come between them, though of a surety, Delaunay and Isabel detested each other. You’ve never read his poetry?"

"There’s no copy to be found in the City." My mind reeled.

"Oh, Delaunay keeps a book of his verse, locked in a coffer in his library," she said idly. "But what’s he up to, then, if he’s no longer using you as his eyes and ears?"

"Nothing," I said absently, trying to remember. There was a coffer; I’d seen it, atop a high shelf on the eastern side of the room. It was dusty and uninviting, and I’d never wondered what was in it. "Reading. Waiting for word from Quintilius Rousse. Nothing." Too late, I remembered where I’d heard him mention Quintilius Rousse, and glanced quickly at Melisande, but she was disinterested.

"Well, mayhap he’ll have sent a message with the Duc de Morhban’s party; Rousse’s fleet is anchored just north of Morhban." She drew me back down, tracing the lines of a sigil carved into my skin. The bleeding had long since stopped, but the lines were clear. "He’ll want to see you."

"De Morhban?" Delaunay, Prince Rolande, oaths and poems and coffers; Melisande’s mouth moved on me, following the lines she had graven, and it all went out of my head.

"Mmm. He’s a Kusheline lord, albeit a half-bred line." Melisande drew back and watched the flush mount to my cheeks, amused. "Choose as you will, but remind him who he has to thank for the knowledge of you." With no bonds, no blades, no pain to compel me, she parted me effortlessly and slid her fingers inside me. "Say your little friend’s name again, Phèdre. Say it for me."

There was no reason for it, no reason to give the signale.

"Hyacinthe," I whispered helplessly, and the long-cresting wave broke over me once more.

In the morning, I woke in a guest-room, and one of Melisande’s efficient servants drew me a bath and brought my own clothes to me, neatly laid out upon the bed. When I was conducted to the dining hall, Joscelin was there, and I was hard-put to meet his eye. For his part, he was inclined to ask no questions, seeing me apparently hale. Indeed, I had been in far worse condition-physically, at least-after my assignation with Childric d’Essoms, and I think Joscelin was somewhat relieved.

As she had before, after the night with Baudoin, Melisande came to bid me farewell. She greeted Joscelin graciously and he bowed stiffly in response. "Perhaps 'twould be best if you kept this, Cassiline," she said, tossing him a purse. "On Naamah’s honor." To me, she turned smiling, and slid something over my head.

It was the velvet cord; she tied it off, and settled the teardrop diamond in the hollow of my throat. I felt the relentless tide of desire surge in me.

"That," Melisande said softly, "is for remembrance, and not for Naamah." Then she laughed, and gestured to a servant behind her. He came forward with a bow, and filled my arms with a tattered mass of diamond-studded gauze. "I’ve no need of rags," Melisande added, wickedly amused, "but I’ve a certain curiosity to see what an anguissette trained by Anafiel Delaunay will do of her own accord."

"My lady." It was all I could get out, meeting her gaze. She laughed once more, kissed me lightly, and left.

Across the table, Joscelin stared at me. With my arms full of gauze and diamonds, I stared back.

Chapter Thirty-Six