Kushiel’s Dart

I had barely laced my stays when Joscelin came through the curtain, driving before him at knife-point a youngish man with a sailor’s queue and a discomfited look on his face.

"Call off your Cassiline hound," he said to me, grimacing as Joscelin shoved him into the marquist’s studio. "I’ve word that needs be delivered to Lord Delaunay!"

For what it was worth, I put on my sternest expression as I followed them through the far curtain. Joscelin gave the sailor one last shove, then sheathed his daggers efficiently, standing between me and the messenger. "Who are you?" I asked the man.

He rubbed at his midsection and made a face. "Aelric Leithe, of the Mahariel. I’m oath-sworn to the Admiral, Quintilius Rousse, and here under the standard of the Comte de Brijou of Kusheth. I’m supposed to be meeting with your lord, Delaunay."

I paused. "How do I know this?"

"Elua’s Balls!" He rolled his eyes. "There’s a password, isn’t there? What is it? I swear it, on the Prince’s signet, his only born."

The Prince’s signet. I thought of the ring that Ysandre de la Courcel had showed Delaunay, and schooled my features to expressionlessness. "Very well, then. Why are you here?"

"There are men, watching the Comte’s manor." He bent over, still trying to catch his breath. "Damn you, Cassiline, for a hasty fool! I saw 'em, and scryed out the situation at Lord Delaunay’s; he’s being watched too, they’re waiting for me. Someone slipped up, and gave 'em word. I saw you leave, and followed you here."

It chilled me to realize that Delaunay’s fears had merit. Motioning Joscelin to bide, I pressed the sailor. "What word, then, from Quintilius Rousse?"

Aelric Leithe drew in his breath, and loosed his message with it. "When the Black Boar rules in Alba, Elder Brother will accede. That’s my message. That’s the whole of it."

I fumbled at my purse, trying to cover my consternation, and found a coin at hand; it was a gold ducat, but I’d no doubt Delaunay would reimburse me for it. "My thanks, lord sailor," I murmured. "I will relay your Admiral’s message to my lord Delaunay, and of a surety, he will send word."

Aelric Leithe was no coward, I am sure of that; no man who sailed with Quintilius Rousse could be. But he was out of his element here, and fair frightened. He took the coin, bobbed a bow with fist to brow, and fled. Through the curtain I saw Master Tielhard and his apprentice staring after his disappearing figure.

Then I looked at Joscelin Verreuil, and the terrible expression on his face.

"The house," he said, and headed for the door.

I had seen Joscelin move quickly, and I have seen it since; but that day, he rode as if seven devils were after him, and I have never seen him move faster. How I kept apace of him, I don’t know, save that terror gave my heels wings, and Alcuin’s horse, whom I rode, seemed to sense it when I mounted and laid into his sides. We laid a trail of sparks from the marquist’s shop to Delaunay’s door, skittering amid a shower of them into the courtyard.

It didn’t matter; it wouldn’t have mattered how fast we’d ridden. We had dallied too long at Master Robert Tielhard’s, the sailor, the Cassiline and I.

It was too quiet in the courtyard, and no stable-boy came to take our mounts.

"No!" Joscelin shouted, dismounting in a flash and charging the door, both daggers drawn. "Ah, Cassiel, no!"

I followed him into the silent house.

Whoever had been watching it, they had been there before us.

Delaunay’s men lay where they had fallen, weltering in their own gore. They’d killed the housekeeper too, and thrown her apron over her face; I couldn’t look. So many servants, and I’d never bothered to know them all, why they’d chosen to share their lives with Anafiel Delaunay.

We found him in the library.

There must have been a dozen wounds or more on him; which had killed him, I do not know. His sword was still in his hand, blood-crusted the length of it. Delaunay’s face, unmarked, was strangely peaceful, at odds with the awkward sprawl of limbs. I stood in the doorway while Joscelin knelt and felt for a pulse. His expression, when he looked up, said all that was needed.

I stared uncomprehending, my world crumbling.

In the dimness of the unlit library, something moved, making a scraping sound.

Joscelin moved quicker than thought, shoving a path through the disarray, volumes and tomes strewn hither and thither. When he saw what it was, he cast his daggers aside, frantically clearing debris away from the source of the sound.

I had seen a swatch of hair like moonlight glimmer amid the strewn books. I followed slowly.

I saw Alcuin’s eyes, dark and flooded with pain.

Joscelin cleared away the books that had been tossed heedlessly across him, and I heard his breath hiss between his teeth to see the damage. He pressed both hands to Alcuin’s stomach, to the fine cambric shirt drenched with red blood, and shot me an agonized glance.

"Water." Alcuin’s voice was no more than a thread. I knelt beside him and fumbled for his hand. "Please."