Kushiel’s Dart

"All right?" Hyacinthe raised his eyebrows at me, and I nodded, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He beckoned to the boys, and fished in his purse. "Listen to me, you two. What you saw tonight, never happened. Understand?" Both nodded silent acquiescence. "Here." He gave them both a silver coin. "You did well. Take these, and keep your mouths shut. Don’t even talk to each other about it. If you do, I swear, I’ll call the dromonde upon you, and curse you so you wish you’d never been born. Understand?"

They did. He dismissed them, and they ran, with fearful glances at Joscelin.

Hyacinthe hadn’t looked closely at him. He glanced over now as Joscelin sheathed his sword and blinked hard. "Cassiline?"

Joscelin smiled wryly, inclining his head. "Prince of Travellers."

"Blessed Elua, I thought you couldn’t draw your blade…" Hyacinthe shook himself, as if waking from a dream. "Come on," he said decisively. "I’ll take you to the house. You were right, it’s not safe for you to be seen."

I closed my eyes. "Do they think…?"

"Yes. You were tried and convicted in absentia," Hyacinthe said, his voice unwontedly gentle. "For the murder of Anafiel Delaunay and the members of his household."

Chapter Fifty-Six

Hyacinthe lived still in the same house on Rue Coupole, but alone. To my sorrow, I learned that the fever of which we’d heard rumors had claimed his mother’s life. She’d taken pity on a Tsingani family whose youngest was ill, and caught it from them; there were no tenants now, and Hyacinthe was grimly set against taking others until the sickness had run its course. It manifested first, we learned, with white spots on the back of the tongue; that was why the City Guard had examined ours, and had little interest in anything else.

It was strange, to be in that house without the presence of Hyacinthe’s mother, muttering over her cookstove. He used it to heat water for the bath, sending one of his runners to the Cockerel for hot food, with word only that he was entertaining in private that night.

To be warm and clean and safe seemed a luxury beyond words. We sat around the kitchen table and ate squab trussed in rosemary, washing it down with a rather good red wine Hyacinthe had procured, taking turns telling what had happened between famished bites, sketching in the events. To his credit, Hyacinthe never interrupted once, listening gravely as Joscelin and I unwound our tale. When he learned of d’Aiglemort’s betrayal and the Skaldi invasion plan, he looked sick.

"He wouldn’t," he said. "He couldn’t?

"He thinks to pull it off." I gulped a mouthful of wine, and set down my glass. "But he has no idea of the numbers Selig can muster. We have to talk to someone, Hyacinthe. The Dauphine, or someone who can reach her."

"I’m thinking," he murmured, reaching for his own glass. "Your lives are forfeit, if anyone knows you’ve set foot in the City."

"How…why? Why would they think we did it?" Joscelin had had a bit of wine too, and was impassioned with it. "What possible gain would there have been?"

"I can tell you the popular theory." Hyacinthe swirled the wine in his glass, gazing into its depths. "Rumor has it that Barquiel L’Envers paid a fabulous sum for you to betray Delaunay-and you your oath, Cassiline-and admit his Akkadian Guard into the house, to settle the old score for Isabel, and set you both up in Khebbel-im-Akkad. There’s no proof of it, of course, and he’s not been formally charged, but the stories about the assassination of Dominic Stregazza haven’t helped his cause."

"I would never-" I began.

"I know." Hyacinthe raised his gaze, dark eyes meeting mine. "I knew it for a lie, and told whoever would listen. There were a few others who spoke on your behalf, I heard. Gaspar Trevalion, and Cecilie Laveau-Perrin both did, and the Prefect of the Cassiline Brotherhood sent a letter protesting his order’s innocence." He inclined his head to Joscelin. "But Parliament wanted a conviction, and the courts obliged. It won’t do to have people thinking D’Angeline nobles could be slain out of hand, and their killers go unpunished."

"Melisande?" I asked; I had already guessed.

Hyacinthe shook his black curls. "If she was behind it, she kept her hand well hidden."

"She would. She played that card at Baudoin’s trial, she’s too canny to play it twice." I fingered the diamond without thinking. "It would look suspicious," I added dourly.

Hyacinthe began to clear away the remains of our dinner without comment, stacking the plates in a washtub for later. "All I have is at your disposal, Phèdre," he said presently, returning to sit at the table, propping his chin on his hands. "Poets and players go everywhere, know everyone; I can get word through them to whomever you like. The problem is, not a one of them can be trusted to keep silence."

I looked instinctively at Joscelin, who frowned.