Kushiel’s Dart

"So lies my grandfather the King," Ysandre said softly, twisting a heavy gold ring on the finger of one hand. I knew it; it was Rolande’s signet, on which Delaunay had sworn his oath. "So lies the ruler of our fair realm." She backed out of the doorway, and we hastened to get out of her way. "He suffered a second stroke in this Bitterest Winter," she murmured, closing the door and nodding to the Cassilines, who took up their pose, arms crossed at ease. "I have been ruling in his name. Thus far, the nobles of the realm have endured my pretence. But if we stand upon the brink of war…I do not know how long I can last before someone wrests the reins of control from my hands. I do not even know if it is a mercy or a curse that he lives still. How long can this last? I do not know."

Someone gasped for air. I glanced, startled, at Hyacinthe. He leaned against the wall, fumbling to unfasten the velvet collar of his doublet, and his skin beneath its rich brown tone was a deadly grey.

"Hyacinthe!" I uttered his name in fear, hurrying to his side to aid him. He waved me away, doubling over, then straightening with a great indrawn breath.

"Three days," he said, his voice faint. He steadied himself, reaching for the wall, and repeated it. "The King will die in three days, your highness." His gaze slid over toward Thelesis. "You did bid me to use the dromonde my lady."

"What do you say?" Ysandre’s voice had gone as cold and hard as a Skaldi winter. "You claim the gift of prophecy, son of Anasztaizia?"

"I claim the dromonde, though I do not have my mother’s skill at it." He passed his hands blindly over his face. "Your highness, when Blessed Elua was weary, he sought sanctuary among the Tsingani in Bhodistan, and we turned him out, with jeers and stones, predicting in our pride that he and his Companions would ever be cursed to wander the earth, doomed to call no place home. It is not wise to curse the son of Earth’s womb. We were punished, the fate we decreed sealed as our own, condemned to walk the long road. But in her cruel mercy, the Mother-of-All granted us the dromonde, to part the veils of time, that next time we might see truer."

Ysandre stood unmoving, then turned purposefully to the Cassiline Brothers on guard. "You will say nothing of this. I bid you by your oaths." They bowed, both of them, identical Cassiline bows. "Let us return."

Her man-at-arms had come back by the time we arrived, a nervous-looking Palace Guard in tow. He took one look at Joscelin and me, eyes widening.

"Those are the ones," he said, certainty in his voice. "Him in grey, and her in that dark red cloak. Asked to see the King’s Poet. But I thought-"

"Thank you." Ysandre de la Courcel inclined her head to him. "You have done us a service. Understand that this is a matter of utmost secrecy, and to speak of it is treason and punishable by death."

The guard gulped, swallowed and nodded. I didn’t blame him. She dismissed him then, and had a quiet word with one of her own guardsmen. He would be followed, I guessed. We all stood quietly, forgotten while Ysandre paced the audience room, her face strained with grief.

"Elua have mercy," she murmured to herself. "Who do I trust? What must I do?" Remembering us, she caught herself, and paused. "Forgive us our ingratitude. You have done us a service, a mighty service, and endured great hardship to do it. We are grateful, I assure you, and will see that your names are cleared, and reinstated with glory as heroes of the realm. You have the word of the throne upon it."

"No." The word came automatically to my lips. I cleared my throat, disregarding Joscelin and Hyacinthe’s incredulous stares. "My lady…your highness, you cannot," I said reluctantly. "Isidore d’Aiglemort is your first and closest enemy. He has an army at his command, assembled and at the ready. You have but one advantage: He does not know you know him for a traitor. If you reveal it now, you force his hand. Now, before he does, gather those peers you trust and seek their counsel. If you do not marshal your strength, he will strike. And he may win. Even if he does not, it will lay Terre d’Ange bare for the Skaldi to plunder at will."

Those cool purple eyes considered me. "Then you will still be named a murderess, Phèdre nó Delaunay, the engineer of your lord’s demise. And your companions with you."

"So be it." I straightened my backbone. "Hyacinthe’s part is unknown, he is safe enough. Joscelin…" I glanced at him.

He bowed to me, with sorrow in his wry smile. "I am already condemned. I have broken every vow but one to get us here alive, your highness. I do not fear the judgment of Terre d’Ange, when a greater judgment awaits me," he said quietly.