Kushiel’s Dart

Happily, the Skaldi women were intrigued by my charcoal scratchings, and their hostility eased as I explained what it was I did. They taught me songs, then, that I had never heard: Skaldic songs, but not of war…songs of life, of the harvest, of courtship, of love, of childbearing and loss. Some I still remember, but I wish I’d had paper to write them down. What the Skaldi lacked in melody and tone, they made up for in surprisingly beautiful imagery, and I do not think any scholar has catalogued these homely poems of house and hearth.

So it was that I had more songs to sing that night, D’Angeline and Skaldic alike, and they were well received. Gunter dandled me on his knee and beamed; I was something of a luck-charm to the Skaldi, it seemed, with this sorcerous gift of tongues.

The second night passed much like the first. I saw that Gunter was well pleased and slept the sleep of deep exhaustion, and repeated my request in the morning. Again he denied it, and I bided, to ask again after the third night.

"When he is tamed, I will show him kindness," he repeated to me, tugging at my curls and grinning. "Why do you persist, little dove? Have I not pleased you well enough between the furs? Your cries say as much." He shared his grin with the room, then.

"That is my gift from my patron-god, my lord," I said somberly to him. "I am marked with his sign." I touched the outer corner of my left eye.

"Like the petal of a rose, floating on dark waters," Gunter agreed, drawing me forward to plant kisses on both eyelids.

"Yes." I pulled away from him, kneeling and gazing upward. "But I am bound to Joscelin Verreuil, by his oath to his patron-god. And if I may not see him, our gods may turn their faces away in disfavor. Such gifts as I have will turn to dust in my mouth." I paused, then said, "It is a matter of honor, my lord. He will die, rather than answer to your hand. But if he sees that I have yielded to you and Kushiel favors me still, he may relent."

Gunter considered it. "All right, then," he said, and hoisted me to my feet, clapping me on the behind. "You may see the boy, that he may make peace with his gods. But let him know, eh, that if he does not calm soon, I’ll have no use for him! He eats more than a hound, that one, and less value in his service!" He shouted for his thanes. "Harald! Knud! Take her to see the wolf-cub, eh? And see that he doesn’t harm her," he added ominously.

They sprang up grinning, eager to escort me anywhere. I retrieved my fur cloak, and went with them as the doors of the great hall were opened.

It was not far to the kennels, and the snow was trodden solid. Still, Harald and Knud escorted me with care, helping me solicitously over the rough patches. Whatever I was here, I was something to be valued. The dogs were penned in a crude fence, and had a low building to shield them from the weather. Harald the Beardless leaned over and pounded on the roof of it, shouting. I heard the sound of chains stirring from within.

When Joscelin emerged, I gasped.

The Cassiline looked awful, his long hair was matted and wild, his eyes glaring through it. He bore a manacle about his neck that had chafed him raw, and his ashen attire was wholly unsuited to the cold. He crouched on his haunches in the packed snow, ignoring the dogs that sniffed around him, treating him as one of their own.

For all of that, he was D’Angeline and beautiful.

"Let me in to see him," I said to Knud. He gave me a dubious look, but opened the latch on the gate. I went in and crouched opposite Joscelin. "Joscelin," I murmured in our shared tongue. "I need to talk to you."

"Traitor!" he spat at me, scrabbling at the fetid snow of the kennel-yard and hurling a handful at me. "Skaldic-speaking treacherous daughter of a whore! Leave me alone!"

I dodged most of the snow, and wiped the rest from my face. "Do you want to know the face of treachery, Cassiline?" I retorted angrily. "Isidore d’Aiglemort is paying the Skaldi to raid Camaeline villages. How do you like that?"

Joscelin, who had turned away to dig up another handful of snow, turned back to me, a questioning-and thankfully human-light in his eyes. "Why would he do that?"

"I don’t know," I said softly in D’Angeline. "Save that it has allowed him to rally the Allies of Camlach around his flag again, and build up his own armies. He even asked for command of Baudoin’s Glory-Seekers, you know. I heard it."

On his haunches, Joscelin sat still and stared at me. "You really think he seeks to overthrow the Crown."

"Yes." I reached forward and took his hands. "Joscelin, I don’t think I can make it through these lands. You can, and I can free you. Gunter has no guard on me, no chain. I can get out of the great hall tonight. I can get you arms, and clothing and a tinderbox, at least. You have a chance. You can make it to the City, and deliver Rousse’s message, and tell them what d’Aiglemort is about."

"What about you?" He was still staring.