Kushiel’s Dart

"All my life," she announced, her hands clasped behind her back as she walked, chin tilted, "I have been a pawn in the game of alliance by marriage. I have been courted and besuitored and fêted by D’Angeline lordlings who saw in me only a path to the throne, grasping inbred creatures, jaded to everything but power. The Cruithne did not come for power. They came following a dream, a vision so strong it swayed the Master of the Straits to allow them passage."

Ysandre glanced at Thelesis de Mornay as she said those words, and a memory sparked in me: Delaunay’s courtyard, after the audience with the Cruarch. I heard Alcuin’s voice echo in my mind. Still, I heard somewhat of a vision, of the King’s sister; a black boar and a silver swan.

A black boar. I mouthed the words to myself, repeating them silently in Cruithne. Black boar.

The Queen’s council stirred, most of them uncomfortable with talk of visions.

"Drustan mab Necthana does not desire rulership of Terre d’Ange," Ysandre said firmly. "We spoke of it, laughing, in broken tongues; a dream of the two of us grown, ruling our kingdoms in tandem. The idle dreams of romantic youth, yes, but there was truth in it. And I saw in him somewhat that I could love, and he in me. When he spoke of Alba, his eyes lit like stars. I am not prepared to abandon this alliance for mere political expediency."

"You are the Queen, my dear," Roxanne de Mereliot murmured. "You may not have the luxury of choosing."

"The House of Aragon-" L’Envers began.

The Lady of Marsilikos cut him short. "The House of Aragon will send aid, if we are invaded by the Skaldi, for they know where the Skaldi would turn next if Terre d’Ange falls. But the immediate danger lies within our own borders." She looked at Ysandre, her dark eyes rich with sorrow. "The simplest solution, my dear, is for you to marry Isidore d’Aiglemort."

"And set a traitor on the throne?" The Comte de Somerville was outraged. "If what they say is true…"

"If it is true," Roxanne interrupted, "and our first duty is to determine if it is, then we have no choice but to bind his loyalty, by any means possible. It is that, or conquest."

There were murmurs, grudging ones, of agreement. Ysandre paled, the blood draining from her face.

"No," I said, whispering the word. Conversation halted, and they stared at me. "That would not be the end of it. The Skaldi threat remains, and it is ten times more dire than anything Isidore d’Aiglemort could muster. And there is Melisande. She has…she has a private correspondence with the Skaldi, with Waldemar Selig, routed through Caerdicca Unitas. I have seen their numbers. If they know themselves betrayed…not even the full loyalty of the Allies of Camlach can save us."

"Then we will take Melisande Shahrizai into custody," Lord Rinforte, the Prefect, said brusquely. "It is a simple enough matter."

I laughed hollowly. "My lord…oh, my lord, there are no simple matters with Melisande Shahrizai. Do you think it is an accident that she is in Kusheth and not the City? I would not wager upon it."

"But why?" Tibault de Toluard pulled at his braid, a scholar’s abstract gesture, frowning. "Why would she betray the realm? What stakes are worth such risk?"

They looked at me, then, all of them. My hand stole up to close around her diamond, and I closed my eyes. "Not one realm, but two lie at stake; but it is the game, and not the stakes," I murmured. "When you come to it. The Shahrizai have played the Game of Houses since Elua’s footsteps echoed across the land, and Melisande plays it better than anyone." I opened my eyes, and gazed back at them. "She has made her mistake. I am the proof of it, and this slight advantage we bear as its sole outcome. Do not count on her to make another. And if you take the Duc d’Aiglemort to be our greatest foe, I fear it will be our undoing. Waldemar Selig is no fool either."

"We cannot ignore a province in revolt," Percy de Somerville protested.

"And we cannot know for sure that Camlach is in rebellion," Barquiel L’Envers said pragmatically. "That, then, is our first order of business. Establishing the truth of this confabulation."

"Without, of course," de Toluard reminded him, "tipping our hand."

"Of course." L’Envers inclined his head, only slightly sardonic.

Gaspar Trevalion scratched his chin. "Where," he asked Percy de Somerville, "are Prince Baudoin’s Glory-Seekers now? D’Aiglemort petitioned the King for them."

"You ought to know," the one-time Royal Commander said sourly. "In Trevalion, under Ghislain’s command, making trouble. I wonder Marc suffered their insubordinacy."