Kushiel’s Dart

For all of our fears, gaining admittance to the City proved the easiest of our trials. Two tired-looking members of the City Guard halted us at a distance, glanced up and down at our bizarre attire, and demanded our names without much interest. I gave false names and a history, citing Taavi and Danele’s village; they asked a few cursory questions, mostly about our health, then bid us to stick out our tongues for examination.

Bemused, we obeyed without protest, and one of the guards drew near enough to look, then waved us through.

"It’s true, then," Joscelin said in a low voice. "There’s sickness in the City."

I said nothing, overwhelmed at being once again within the City walls. It didn’t mean as much to him; it wasn’t his home, he’d not been born and raised here, as I had. The beauty of the place made me want to weep, the elegance of the cobbled streets, lined with gracious trees, now barren in winter. And the people, ah! Despite the cold and the rumored fevers, there were people about, D’Angelines all, and the sound of their voices was music to my ears.

As twilight fell, we made our way on foot to Night’s Doorstep, winding through the poorer districts, where our appearance went largely unremarked. The scent of food cooking in homes and inns made my mouth water; D’Angeline cuisine, real food! We reached Night’s Doorstep in good time. The street-lamps were fresh lit, and the first revelers taking to the streets, their numbers thinner than I remembered, but still glorious in their silks and velvets, brocade and jewels shimmering in the lamplight.

"Joscelin, we can’t go inside," I murmured, as we stood in a shadowed alley across from the Cockerel. "The place would be turned upside down, and word would reach the Palace by midnight. Tongues wag faster than you can blink, in Night’s Doorstep."

"Do you have an idea?"

"I think so. Listen," I said, and told him.

Hyacinthe’s stable was quiet, too early for business, the horses drowsing in their stalls with the smell of good hay all around. There were two attendants on duty, boys of twelve or thirteen, tossing dice; we took them by surprise. One of them squeaked, seeing Joscelin with drawn sword, and then both cowered. I couldn’t blame them for being terrified. Even without the pelt of the White Brethren, with his clothing and his tangled hair, he looked more like a changeling Skaldi warrior than a Cassiline Brother.

"You work for Hyacinthe?" I asked them; they nodded. "Good. You." I pointed to the one who hadn’t squeaked. "I need you to do something, and your friend’s life depends on it. Find Hyacinthe, and bid him to come here. Privately. Tell him an old friend needs his help. If he asks who, tell him we used to eat tarts under the bridge at Tertius' Crossing. Have you got that?"

He nodded again, rapidly. "Old friend," he said breathlessly. "Tarts. Tertius' Crossing. Yes, my…yes."

"Good." I wouldn’t have accorded me a title either, not in this state. "If you breathe a word of it, a word, mind you, or if anyone overhears, your friend will die. Do you understand?"

"Yes!" His head bobbed so fast his forelock flopped in his eyes. "Yes, I swear it!"

"Good," I repeated, adding ominously, "and if we don’t kill you, you may be sure Hyacinthe will, if you make a mistake in this. Now go!"

He was out the door like a bolt, and we heard the sound of his running feet in the street. Joscelin sheathed his word. "You’re safe if he keeps his word," he said to the other lad, who stared white-faced at us. "Just don’t think of following him."

Hyacinthe’s stable attendant shook his head in fervid terror.

We waited, strung tighter than harpstrings. Ever since I’d awakened in the covered cart, it seemed, aching and soul-sick, I’d been listening for approaching steps. I knew these. I knew the sound of Hyacinthe’s casual stroll, boot-heels scraping against the cobblestones.

And then he entered the stable and closed the door, and any pretense of ease disappeared. He turned around, his expression strained with hope and disbelief.

"Phèdre?"

I took two steps, and threw myself into his arms.

It fell to Joscelin to guard the door, sword drawn once more, against both anyone seeking entrance, and escape by Hyacinthe’s assistants. The boy we’d sent had slipped in behind him, and stood staring with his fist pressed against his teeth. To my shame, I was worse than useless, weeks' worth of pent terror releasing itself in shaking sobs, my face pressed to Hyacinthe’s shoulder. He held me hard and made soothing noises, his voice trembling a little with astonishment. When I could, I regained my composure and stepped away from him, wiping the tears from my eyes.