Kushiel’s Dart

"You," she said. "You, to whom Anafiel Delaunay gave his name, stand convicted of killing him, who was oath-sworn to ward me with his life. How do you plead to that, anguissette?"

It gripped me like a wave, a nameless emotion, rising from the souls of my feet to lift the very hair on my head. I had lost nearly all that I loved, had been through torture and slavery and the brutal killing cold of Skaldi winter to meet this accusation. I held her gaze and gave it back, a wash of red filming my vision, the words I’d been entrusted with so long ago coming to my tongue. "In the name of the King’s cygnet, his only born, I bring you a message, your highness. When the Black Boar rules in Alba, Elder Brother will accede!"

The words rang in the small room, oddly resonant. The Courcel guard shifted, and a curious expression crossed Ysandre’s face. "Yes," she said. "I know. Quintilius Rousse sent another messenger. Is that all you have to say?"

"No." I drew a deep breath. "But it is the message I was charged to bring, many weeks gone by. I am innocent of the death of Anafiel Delaunay and his household, may the earth rise and swallow me if I am not. Joscelin Verreuil of the Cassiline Brotherhood is innocent." He bowed silently in response. I kept my gaze on Ysandre’s. "You have been betrayed, your highness. The Duc Isidore d’Aiglemort plots to bring down the throne, and conspires with the Skaldi warlord Waldemar Selig. I have been two months and more a slave and a refugee among the Skaldi. They plan to invade. And they plan to betray d’Aiglemort. And unless they are stopped, they will succeed."

Whether or not she believed, I do not know, but the blood drained from her face, leaving her like a marble statue in her high-backed chair. Only those eyes continued to blaze. "You charge Isidore d’Aiglemort, hero of the realm, leader of the Allies of Camlach, with this terrible crime?"

"Not alone." I held my ground in the face of her awful stare. "I charge the Lady Melisande Shahrizai of Kusheth, who is d’Aiglemort’s ally. It was her word that betrayed Delaunay, and it is her word, conveyed in writing, that assures Waldemar Selig of the Skaldi that his plan will succeed."

Ysandre turned away, whispering something to one of her guards. He nodded and departed. She turned back to me, expressionless. "Tell me what you claim to have witnessed."

We told the whole story then, Joscelin and I both, beginning with the Longest Night, telling of the slaughter at Delaunay’s house, Melisande’s betrayal, and our sojourn among the Skaldi. The Dauphine of Terre d’Ange listened and stared into the distance, her chin propped on one fist. Thelesis de Mornay spilled the contents of our pack on the marbled floor at the appropriate time, displaying our worn Skaldi pelts and Trygve’s dagger. Hyacinthe stepped forward and testified to our condition, finding us in his stable.

"And that is all you have to offer?" Ysandre de la Courcel mused, contemplating the items on the floor. "A wild tale, and a heap of stinking hides as proof?"

"Summon Melisande Shahrizai, then," Joscelin said, his blue eyes flashing, "and let her be questioned! I swear by my oath that all we have told you is true!"

The guard sent on an errand returned unobtrusively, slipping through the door and closing it carefully behind him. Ysandre arched her fair brows at him, and he shook his head.

"The Lady Shahrizai," Ysandre murmured, "is not in residence, it seems. But if what you say is true, why would she let you live?" The cool gaze turned back to me. "No member of House Shahrizai is a fool, and that one least of all, I think."

I opened my mouth to answer, and found myself unable to frame a reply. How did one say such a thing to the King’s daughter? The blood rose to my face, a hot blush overtaking me. Her gaze never wavered as I began to stammer out a response. Hyacinthe and Thelesis spoke simultaneously. To my mortification, I heard his words clearly, "The answer, your highness, is worth a thousand ducats and would take some time to give"; while the King’s Poet quoted an Eisandine fishing proverb, "If you catch the speaking salmon in your shrimp-net, cast him back."

"Ah." One syllable, and the merest arch to the brows.

"Your highness." Joscelin bowed, having regained his composure, his voice coming calm and level into her pointed silence. "Even were that not so, for a scion of Kushiel to kill one marked by Kushiel’s hand would bring a curse upon the House," he said reasonably. "Nor is it counted lucky to murder a priest. Melisande Shahrizai did not kill us, but she deemed our survival a slender chance at best. That we would escape and return uncaptured, she never dreamed. No one in their right mind would have dreamt it," he added soberly. "That we stand before you is a measure of Blessed Elua’s grace."

"So you say. You have naught else?"

Thelesis de Mornay stepped forward. "They have my word, your highness. I knew Anafiel Delaunay. I knew him well. He trusted his pupils with his life."