Kushiel’s Dart

"Yes," Barquiel replied sarcastically, "I’m aware of this, as is much of the realm, as was Ganelon, which is why he was inclined to break their betrothal, which, of course, was never made public in the first place. Is this the extent of your vast intelligence, for which Anafiel Delaunay was slain?"

"No." Thelesis de Mornay intervened softly, but with the poet’s command of tone that summoned their attention. "Delaunay was in contact with Quintilius Rousse, who carried a request to the Master of the Straits. We pleaded that he grant passage to Drustan mab Necthana and his folk. Were they to gain D’Angeline soil, he and Ysandre could wed. Terre d’Ange would aid him in regaining the throne of Alba, and Alba would aid Ysandre in retaining the throne of Terre d’Ange."

"The very plan of the Lioness of Azzalle," Roxanne de Mereliot murmured.

"Which nigh succeeded," Gaspar reminded her. "Yes. Except we sought the compliance of the Master of the Straits."

"Which," Tibault de Toluard observed, "I take it he did not give."

"He answered thusly," Thelesis said, and quoted. " ‘When the Black Boar rules in Alba, Elder Brother will accede.’ Those were the words of Quintilius Rousse, and the message for which Delaunay was killed."

I knew the words, knew them well; and yet they tugged at my mind, an echoing memory.

"A message which makes no sense," L’Envers said acerbically.

"Not so." Thelesis shook her head. "There are dozens of tribes in Alba and Eire, but they fall into four peoples. The folk of the Red Bull, to whom Maelcon and Foclaidha are born; the folk of the White Mare, whom the Dalriada follow; the folk of the Golden Hind, to the south, and the folk of the Black Boar, to whom Drustan mab Necthana was born, Cinhil Ru’s line. The Master of the Straits is saying that he will grant our request if Prince Drustan can reclaim Alba."

"Ah, well then." L’Envers shrugged. "Likely he would grant our request if Blessed Elua returned from the Terre d’Ange-that-lies-beyond and asked him a boon. It is a moot point."

The memory that had evaded me at last came clear.

"Do not discount the Cullach Gorrym," I said aloud. "Hyacinthe!" I shook him in my excitement. "Do you remember? Your mother said it to me. Do not discount the Cullach Gorrym." I repeated it. "Don’t discount the Black Boar!"

He frowned. "I remember. It didn’t make any sense."

"It does now," I said. "It means Prince Drustan."

"You say your mother had this gift?" Ysandre asked, bending her gaze on Hyacinthe.

"Yes, your majesty." He bowed. "Greater than I. And she said this, it is true."

"What do you see?"

He stared into the distance, his black eyes going blank and filmy, and finally shook his head. "I see a ship," he said reluctantly. "Nothing more. Where the paths branch in many ways, I cannot see far. It is only the straight road I see clearly, majesty. Such as your grandfather the King’s."

"Anyone could have foretold that," Percy de Somerville muttered. "Ganelon was on his deathbed."

"The young Tsingano foretold the day of it," Ysandre reminded him. She looked thoughtful. "If the Dalriada knew of the Master of the Strait’s pledge, mayhap they would lend Drustan their aid. Anafiel Delaunay would have gone, had he not been killed. It is a pity, for he spoke Cruithne, and his young pupil as well. And there is no one else I trust." She glanced apologetically at Thelesis. "I do not speak of you, of course; I trust you with my life, Queen’s Poet, and I know your spirit is willing. But I have spoken with the physicians, and a winter voyage across land and sea would be the death of you, Thelesis."

"So they tell me," Thelesis de Mornay murmured; and I did not doubt that she was willing to go anyway, though the ravages of the fever were clearly marked on her strained features. But her dark, luminous gaze fell on me instead. "My lady," she said to Ysandre, "Anafiel Delaunay had two pupils."

The shock of it went clean through me. "What are you saying?" I whispered.

"I am saying…" She had to pause, overcome by a fit of coughing. "Phèdre nó Delaunay, you could take Anafiel’s place as the Queen’s ambassador."

"My lady," I protested, looking from Thelesis to Ysandre, not sure which one of them I was addressing. My mind was reeling. "My lady, I am an anguissette! I am trained to be a Servant of Naamah! I’m not trained to be an ambassador!"

"Whatever you’re trained to do, you apparently do it damnably well," Barquiel L’Envers remarked laconically. "Did you know Rogier Clavel went into mourning for you and lost some twenty pounds? He’s as thin as a rail these days. Any pupil of Anafiel Delaunay’s is considerably more than a Servant of Naamah, little anguissette. You’re the first whore I’ve heard of to double-cross a Skaldi warleader and survive to warn a nation of treason."

"My lord!" I heard the terror in my own voice. "What I did to survive, I hope never to do again. I do not have the strength to live through it twice."