Kushiel’s Dart

In the past, I had worried about the spectacle we made, I in my sangoire cloak and Joscelin in Cassiline grey. This time, I could not have cared less, until I noted the look in the eyes of Thelesis de Mornay’s servants, who politely informed me that the King’s Poet was engaged, and like to remain so for some hours yet. Her verses, it seemed, soothed the King, and such sessions were not to be disturbed.

I pressed my hands to my eyes, and remembered the mirrored passage to the Dauphine’s quarters.

There are those who map the influence of the stars, and claim that our destinies may be charted within. Doubtless such would claim this meeting was fated; but I, who know better, could have guessed that there was no chance to our encounter. It is not such a difficult thing, to set a watch on those who guard. No trouble, to have word sent whenever an audience is sought.

So I know now; then, I merely started dumbly at the sound of Melisande Shahrizai’s voice.

"Phèdre?"

Joscelin’s hands sought his hilts. I simply looked up, feeling her voice like a tug on a bond I’d forgotten I wore. Her brow was furrowed with concern.

"What is it?"

Her compassion undid me; I felt the tears rise unbidden. "Delaunay," I said at a gasp. I tried to say the words, but they wouldn’t come; it didn’t matter. I saw her comprehend it. "Alcuin. All of them."

"What?"

I doubt many things in life. Even now, still. But I do not doubt that my news took Melisande Shahrizai by surprise. That was one emotion she never rehearsed; she had too little cause for genuine surprise. I heard the instrument of her voice in one word unstrung, untuned. Even Joscelin heard it, releasing his hilts.

The nature of her surprise, however, was another matter.

When she spoke again, her voice was under control, though she was pale. "You’re in search of the King’s Guard?"

"No," Joscelin said, at the same time I answered, "Yes."

Nothing, not even this, could render me so far out of my senses as to blindly trust Melisande Shahrizai. I dashed the tears from my eyes, impatient with them. "Yes," I said, repeating it more strongly, ignoring Joscelin at my side. "Do you know where they’re quartered?"

"I can do better than that." Melisande turned to an attendant in Shahrizai livery, standing some paces behind her. "Summon the Captain of the King’s Guard to my rooms; the Captain, and no less, you hear? Tell them it’s urgent." He gave a quick bow and headed off purposefully. Melisande turned her attention back to us. "Come with me," she said gently. "They should be there in a moment."

I had never seen the Shahrizai appointments in the Palace. They were luxurious, I remember that; the rest is lost. We sat at a long marble table in the great room, waiting for the Guard.

"Drink this." Melisande poured two glasses of cordial herself, handing them to us. "Both of you," she added, seeing Joscelin hesitate. "It will do you good."

I drank mine at a gulp. It had a clear fiery taste, with a faint aftertaste of honey and thyme and a hint of something else. It did seem to settle my nerves a little. Joscelin coughed at the burn of it, and a little color rose to his face. He looked better for it. Melisande refilled my glass unasked, but when she reached for his, he shook his head. "Tea, perhaps?" he asked faintly.

"Of course." She went to the door and summoned a servant, speaking in a low tone, then sat down, gaze dwelling on my face. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"No." I started shaking, and cupped both hands around my cordial glass. "My lady, I don’t know. We were…we were at the marquist’s shop, making the final arrangements for my marque." My mind raced desperately as I improvised; even my vision seemed out of focus. "I had to approve it, Master Tielhard had changed the design of the finial. It was…I don’t know how long."

"Three-quarters of an hour," Joscelin said, supporting my story. His voice was a little unsteady, but it sounded like it was due to shock, and not the half-truth. "Mayhap a little bit longer." The servant came with the tea, and he thanked her, sipping it. "When we arrived back at the house…" His hand trembled, and tea spilled into the saucer. He set it down, then willed both hands to steadiness and picked it up, taking a long drink. "There were signs of battle all over the house," he said grimly. "And no one left living to tell of it."

"Oh, Anafiel," Melisande murmured. She glanced toward the door, looking, I thought, for the King’s Guard. I looked too, but there was no one.

A thud sounded at the table.

Joscelin lay slumped, his cheek pillowed on cold marble. The teacup had overturned, and steaming liquid puddled under one limp, mail-clad hand. I felt dizzy staring at him, his oblivious, unconscious features swimming in my vision.

"No," I said. My grip loosened on the cordial glass, and I pushed it away, looking at Melisande with mounting horror. "Oh, no. No."