Kushiel’s Dart

Chapter Thirty-Two

Delaunay offered little comment on my condition afterward save to say in his very driest tone that he was glad to see I was in one piece, and to bid me use the Yeshuite doctor’s salve unstintingly, which I did. As I have said before, I have good-healing flesh, and the marks of Childric d’Essoms' wrath soon faded from my skin.

During the time of my convalescence from this assignation-for whether I ailed or no, it would not do to go to one patron with the tracks of another still on me-Delaunay held a small dinner-gathering for a number of his friends. Thelesis de Mornay was among them, and when she returned some days later, I assumed it was to visit Delaunay, but I was wrong.

Instead it seemed she had come to invite me to a performance by a troupe of players, staging a play written by a friend of hers.

No one except Hyacinthe had ever made me an invitation for the pleasure of my company, and I was thrilled by it. "May I go, my lord?" I asked Delaunay, not caring that he heard the note of pleading in my voice. He hesitated, frowning.

"She will be safe with me, Anafiel." Thelesis gave the gentle smile that warmed her dark, luminous eyes. "I am the King’s Poet, and under Ganelon’s own protection. No one would be fool enough to trifle with that."

A faint twinge, as of an old wound, crossed Delaunay’s face. "You’re right," he conceded. "Very well, then. Only you," he added, pointing at me, "will behave yourself."

"Yes, my lord!" Forgetting I was still upset with him, I kissed his cheek and ran to get my cloak.

I had seen players often enough in Night’s Doorstep, and heard them declaim bits of this and that from the season’s newest plays, but I had never, in truth, seen an actual performance. It was enthralling. The play was performed in the old Hellene style, with the players in gorgeous masks, and the verses were resonant with poetry. All in all, I enjoyed it most thoroughly. When it was over, I was fair glowing with the excitement of it all, and must have thanked Thelesis a dozen times at least.

"I thought you would like it," she said, smiling. "Japheth’s father was an adept of Eglantine House, ere he wed; 'tis the first play written outside the Night Court to tell Naamah’s story thusly. Would you like to meet him?"

I went with her to the players' quarters, behind the stage. In contrast to the well-orchestrated performance, it was chaos in their dressing rooms. The masks were treated with care-players are superstitious about such things-but garments and props were thrown hither and thither, and the sounds of players squabbling mingled with a triumphant rehashing of the night’s performance.

I knew the playwright straightaway, for he was the only one in sober garb. Spotting Thelesis, he came toward her with arms outstretched and eyes aglow. "My dear!" he exclaimed, giving her the kiss of greeting. "What did you think?"

"It was wonderful." She smiled at him. "Japheth nó Eglantine-Vardennes, this is Phèdre nó Delaunay, who very much enjoyed your play."

"It is my pleasure." Japheth kissed my hand like a courtier. He was young and handsome, with curly chestnut hair and brown eyes. "Will you join us for a drink at the Mask and Lute?" he asked, shifting his attention eagerly back to Thelesis. "We were going to celebrate the triumph of our debut."

Before she could answer, there was a stir at the door. One of the players gasped, and a hush fell over their quarters as a tall man in courtier’s finery entered. I knew him by his long, clever face and his habit of waving a perfumed kerchief under his nose: Lord Thierry Roualt, the King’s Minister of Culture. Japheth composed his features and bowed.

"My lord Roualt," he said carefully. "You honor us."

"Yes, of course." The Minister of Culture waved his kerchief, sounding bored. "Your play was not displeasing. You will perform it for His Majesty’s pleasure five days hence. My undersecretary will see to your needs." Another flourish of the kerchief. "Good eve."

They held their breath until he had departed, then burst into cheers and hugs. Japheth grinned at Thelesis. "Now you must join us!"

The Mask and Lute is a players' house, and only Guild-members and their guests are allowed. As the King’s Poet, of course, Thelesis de Mornay would have been welcome at any time, but I would not have been admitted alone, and so was happy at the chance. I sat and sipped my wine, marveling at how the players carried on like children with their quarrels and dramas, when they held such power onstage. It reminded me of the bitter rivalries that went on behind the scenes among the adepts of Cereus House.

Thus I paid little heed while Japheth and Thelesis spoke of poesy, but when their talk turned to politics, it caught my Delaunay-trained ear. "I heard a rumor," he said, lowering his voice. "One of my troupe had it from the steward of the Privy Chamber, who is enamored of her. It is said that the Duc d’Aiglemort met in secret with the King, to bid for the Dauphine’s hand. Is it true?"

Thelesis shook her head. "I had not heard it. But I have no contacts in the Privy Chamber," she added with a smile.

"Well, indeed." Japheth made a face. "Who would, were it not for the merits such gossip may afford? But I bade her keep it silent, for the nonce. I’ve no wish to jeopardize our chances of playing before the King."

"And you shall, splendidly."

I held my tongue for all of three seconds, but could not resist. "What was the King’s answer?" I asked as innocently as I could.

"He declined, and would give no reason." Japheth shrugged. "As he has to every suitor. That is what I heard. Mayhap d’Aiglemort thought he was owed a boon, for bringing House Trevalion to justice. And mayhap he is, but not this one," With that, he turned the talk to other matters.

Though I was neither poet nor player and could not follow all their talk, I am well enough read that I enjoyed it and the whole of the evening most heartily. When Thelesis' coach took me back to Delaunay’s house, I thanked her again. She gave me her warm smile and took my hands.

"It gladdened me to cheer your spirits, Phèdre," she said kindly. "I have known Anafiel Delaunay a long time. If you have care in your heart for him, do not judge him too harshly for it. He has lost a great deal in his life, and not the least of it is his verses. Were it not for…well, for several things, he, and not I, might be the King’s Poet. Alcuin is good for him, though Delaunay himself may not know it. Allow him this small happiness."

"I will try, my lady," I promised, abashed by her goodness. She smiled again, and bid me good night.

If it had not been for what happened later, I might have taken no notice of the playwright’s bit of news. Of a surety, I told Delaunay, who heard it without surprise; he was only surprised, I thought, that it had taken Isidore d’Aiglemort this long to ask. What he thought of the King’s response, I do not know, save that it was no more than he expected. And with that, I would have put it out of my mind, save that a day later, an invitation arrived for Delaunay, bidding him to attend the royal staging of Japheth nó Eglantine-Vardennes' Passion of Naamah.

Being Delaunay, he made little of it; it was hardly the first time he had been invited to court. But I saw the invitation, and it bore the seal of House Courcel.

As matters fell out, I was contracted the very day of the performance to fulfill my promise to Lord Rogier Clavel, who had returned from Khebbel-im-Akkad with the Duc L’Envers. I half looked forward to it, for it would be easy work, and I had hopes that his second patron-gift would equal his first. He had offered to send his own coach, an offer Delaunay had declined, but he sent word to accept Clavel’s conveyance after the invitation arrived. He gave me no reason for it, but I knew he had need of his team. It would not do to arrive sweated and on horseback for a royal audience.

Joscelin, of course, would accompany me. We had spoken little since my assignation with Childric d’Essoms, though I knew he was no happier with his posting than before. Well, I thought, he should be glad enough of Rogier Clavel, then, whose desires were so simply met.

So it was that Joscelin cooled his heels in Lord Clavel’s quarters-rather finer than the ones he’d had before, I noted-while we disported ourselves. I daresay Lord Clavel was well enough pleased, and if a good portion of my mind was elsewhere, he never noticed it. For my part, I could not help but think of Japheth’s play being staged in the Palace theatre, and Delaunay’s mysterious invitation to attend it. Rogier Clavel favored afternoon assignations, and I knew full well when the hour arrived for the performance to commence. 'Twas early evening by then, and we had finished with our sport; I fanned him while he lay on soft cushions, the sheen of exertion drying on his skin. By the time he donned his robe and went to his coffer, I had an idea.

"Thank you, my lord," I murmured, tying the generous purse to my girdle.

"You’ve kept your word, and more." He looked eagerly at me. "So’ve I, Phèdre. The King has awarded me an estate in L’Agnace. Do you think your lord Delaunay might allow me to see you again?"

"Perhaps." I eyed him thoughtfully. "My lord Clavel, tell me this; is there another exit from your quarters?"

"There is the servants' route to the kitchens, of course." He blinked at me. "Why do you ask?"

I had thought about it, and had an answer ready. "There is…someone…I must see, who made an offer to Delaunay," I said, putting a hesitation in my voice that suggested it was a patron I dared not name. "He would take it amiss, to have a Cassiline Brother on his doorstep, but they are rigorous in their service. Still, Delaunay bid me deliver word, if I chanced to do it without the Cassiline present."

"I could send word for you."

"No!" I shook my head in alarm. "My lord, the Servants of Naamah are known for discretion. I pray you, do not put mine to the test. But if you would send your coach to the west wing, and bid Brother Verreuil to meet me there, I…and perhaps others…would be indebted to you."

Rogier Clavel mulled it over, and I could see him assessing the risks and possible gain. The gain won out and he nodded, his plump chin wavering. "Easily enough done. You’ll put in a good word for me with Delaunay?"

"Of course." I swung my cloak about my shoulders and smiled, kissing his cheek. "I will do so gladly, my lord."

I do not pretend to know the Palace so well as those who live there, but I thought I knew it well enough to make my way to the King’s theatre in the west wing. It is a vast and impressive construction, which even a provincial would be hard-put to miss. Still, I was unfamiliar with the servants' passages, which were far narrower and more poorly lit than the main hallways, and managed to lose my way in them. At last I found an exit into the Palace proper, and stumbled into an empty hall, blinking at the light.

Around the corner, booted footsteps were approaching; two men, I gauged by the sound, and moving swiftly. I heard their voices before I saw them.

"Camael’s Sword!" one of the voices exclaimed, livid with disgust. "It’s not so much to ask, for the protection of the realm. You’d think the old fool owes me somewhat!"

"Mayhap he’s right, Isidore. Do you really think the Glory-Seekers would follow you, after you betrayed Baudoin?" the second voice asked diffidently. "Anyway, they’re not Camaeline."

"They’re a hundred warriors, trained to fight in the mountains. They’d have followed, if I led; all but a handful, and we’d have soon been rid of them. Never mind, I’ll recruit in the villages if I have to. Let Courcel see how he likes it, when D’Angeline peasants start dying in his name. He’ll give me the Glory-Seekers." Isidore d’Aiglemort strode around the corner and halted, seeing me. "Hold, Villiers," he said, putting up a hand to his companion.

With no other course of action open to me, I gave a quick curtsy and continued forward, my head bowed, but d’Aiglemort caught my arm and gave me a hard look. "Who are you and where are you bound?"

"I am on Naamah’s business, my lord."

He took in my cloak and studied my eyes, and it was the latter he recognized. "So it would seem. I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? You offered Baudoin de Trevalion joie, the night of the Midwinterfest." He released my arm, which felt as if it still bore the impress of his fingers. His gaze glittered at me like ice over black rock. "Well, keep Naamah’s silence and take care you don’t bring me the same luck, little adept, for I’m about Camael’s business."

"Yes, my lord." I curtsied again, truly frightened, and thankful for once that a peer of the realm had no cause to recognize me as Delaunay’s anguissette. They continued onward, his companion-the Comte de Villiers, I guessed-casting one quick glance back at me. Then they were gone.

Had I not been lost, I might have been shaken enough to abandon my plan, but as it was, I’d no choice but to make my way to the west wing. By the time I arrived, my nerves had settled and curiosity had the uppermost.

One thing, however, I had forgotten; this was the Palace, and members of the King’s Guard stood at every entrance to the theatre, standing firm with spears upright. Beyond their reach, I gazed into the darkened theatre and saw the players onstage, lit by an ingenious system of torches and lamps, but I couldn’t make out faces in the audience. Still, I could see the royal box, and it was empty. Disappointed, I turned to make my way to the western doors exiting the Palace.

I was just in time to see Delaunay emerging from the theatre, glancing at a note in his hand.

If I went forward, he would see me. Thinking quickly, I took off my sangoire cloak and folded it over my arm, walking purposefully around toward the rear of the theatre. If its design was anything like the other, I could hide in the players' quarters, for I didn’t like to think on Delaunay’s anger if he caught me at this. I’d sooner take my chances with Isidore d’Aiglemort, if it came to it.

As luck would have it, I guessed aright, and found the first chamber of the players' dressing rooms to be open and untenanted, save for the now-familiar heaped disarray of props and garments. Beyond the next door, I could hear an urgent commotion, but it seemed this room was far enough from the stage to go unused during the performance. Indeed, the quarters were likely more generous than those to which they were accustomed. This one held a great bronze-framed mirror, taller than I was, which must have come dear. I paused to glance in it and compose my features, when the mirror began to swing open like a door on cunningly hidden hinges.

Between Delaunay in the hall and whatever lay beyond the mirror, my choices were few. If I hadn’t been in the King’s own Palace, I’d have trusted Japheth nó Eglantine-Vardennes to hide me, but I dared not risk it here. I took the only refuge I could, crawling under a chair heavily draped with clothing. Reaching between the legs of the chair, I dragged a pasteboard shield in front of it. Cramped and confined, I prayed to Elua that it was refuge enough to hide me. There was a gap between the edge of the shield and a trailing gown of tawdry fabric. I reached out to twitch the fabric to cover it, then stayed my hand and peered through it instead.

The mirror swung outward, giving back a crazily angled reflection of the dressing room. I could see my own hiding place, nothing of my person visible in the gaudily cloth-hung shadow beneath the chair. A woman, tall and slender, slipped into the room. She wore a heavy cloak with a deep hood, rendering her features invisible, but I gauged her to be young by the way she moved as she closed the secret door behind her.

Anafiel Delaunay entered the chamber.

I nearly betrayed myself with a gasp, and held my breath to contain it. Delaunay gave the room a careful study, then inclined his head to the hooded woman. "I am here in answer to this message," he said simply, holding it out.

"Yes." The woman’s voice was young, albeit muffled in the depths of her hood. She folded her hands in opposite sleeves, not taking the note from him. "I am…my lady bids me ask you what news you have of a…a certain matter."

"A certain matter," Delaunay echoed. "How may I be sure of who you serve, my lady?"

From my hiding place, I could discern that her hands were working within the sleeves of her robe. She extended one, briefly, and handed him something that gleamed. It was a gold ring, that much I saw. Delaunay took it, and she withdrew her hand quickly. "Do you know this ring?" she asked.

Delaunay gazed at it, turning it over and over. "Yes," he murmured.

"I…my lady bids me ask, is it true that you have sworn an oath upon it?"

Delaunay looked up at her, and the emotions writ on his face were too many and too complex to decipher. "Yes, Ysandre," he said gently. "It is true."

She drew in her breath sharply, then raised her hands and pulled down her hood, and I saw the pale gold hair of Ysandre de la Courcel. "You knew," she said, and I knew her voice too, now that it was no longer muffled. "Then tell me what news you have."

"There is none." Delaunay shook his head. "I wait on word from Quintilius Rousse. I would have told Ganelon, the minute it arrived."

"My grandfather." There was an edge in her voice, and the Dauphine moved restlessly, though I could tell her gaze stayed on Delaunay. "My grandfather would use you, and keep you from me. But I wanted to see for myself. I wanted to know if it was true."

"My lady," Delaunay said, in that same gentle tone, "it is not safe for you to be here, nor for us to speak of…this matter."

She laughed, a trifle bitterly. "It is the best I could manage. I have the Queen’s quarters, you know, since my mother died. There was a Queen, once, some hundred years gone, who was enamored of a player. Josephine de la Courcel. She had this passage built." She crossed to the mirror-door, and pressed the hidden catch to open it. I could see Delaunay’s brows rise a fraction. "My lord Delaunay, I am alone in this, with no friends to aid me and no way of knowing who I can trust. If you honor your vow, will you not give me counsel?"

Delaunay bowed, as he had not done when she’d drawn back her hood. Straightening, he returned the ring to her. "My lady, I am at your bidding," he said softly.

"Come with me, then." She stepped behind the mirror, and I could see her no more. Without hesitation, Delaunay followed. The mirror closed behind them, once more blending seamlessly into the wall.

Cramped and uncomfortable, I remained crouching beneath the chair for some minutes, until I was certain they had gone. Then, pushing the pasteboard shield out of the way, I crawled out of my hiding place and glanced in the mirror to see if I looked as dumbstruck as I felt. I did.

Taking a deep breath, I gathered my composure and steeled myself to find the western doors and deal with the next confrontation.

This one came in the form of a very irate Cassiline Brother. I had seen Joscelin white with rage; this time, waiting with Rogier Clavel’s coach, he was apoplectic.

"I will not" he began in a tight voice, "have my vows compromised because you-"

"Joscelin." Weary with the exhaustion that prolonged tension can bring, I cut him off. "Is not your order vowed to protect the scions of Elua?"

"You know it is," he said uncertainly, unable to guess my intent in asking.

I was beyond caring. "Then hold your tongue and ask me nothing, because what I have seen this day might endanger House Courcel itself. And if you’re fool enough to mention it to Delaunay, he’ll have both our heads for it." With that, I climbed into the coach, settling myself for the homeward journey.

After a moment, Joscelin gave the coachman the order and joined me. His glare was no less furious, but it held something new besides: curiosity.