Kushiel’s Dart

"No," he said wryly, and ran his hands absently over his hair, which fell wheat-gold and loose over his shoulders, unbound from its Cassiline club. "I think I have learned the merits-and the dangers-of paying heed to your words, Phèdre nó Delaunay. Your lord would be proud of you."

"Mayhap." I met his eyes. "Thank you," I said softly.

We had not spoken of the choice he had made. Joscelin looked away, picking with his thumbnail at a flaw in the carven arm of his chair. "Well," he murmured. "I could not leave you to suffer the guardianship of some dried-up old stick of a Cassiline." He looked at Hyacinthe and smiled. "And the Brothers would despair of you, Tsingano. I may at least hope to survive our companionship without being driven mad."

"I hope so." Hyacinthe flashed his imperturbable grin. "You’ve come a long way since Phèdre had to rescue you from the degradations of Eglantine tumblers, Cassiline. I hope we face nothing worse together."

"Elua grant that it’s so." Joscelin stood, bowing, catching himself out with crossed arms. He shook his head. "Forgive me. It’s late, and I’ve need of sleep."

We bid him good night, and watched him go.

"You know," Thelesis said in her soft, compelling voice, "I had a great-uncle who was a Cassiline. There is a name for what he did today." She looked at me with those darkly luminous eyes in her wasted face. "They call it Cassiel’s Choice."

I did not need her to explain. I understood.

The days that followed passed in relative isolation, as our forces dispersed to the four corners of the realm. At my request, Ysandre had several volumes sent from the Royal Library, texts on Alba and books in Cruithne, and treatises on the Master of the Straits. I wished I had Delaunay’s library at hand. I remembered how Alcuin was studying the history of the Master of the Straits, and wished he were there. I wished, too, that I had been present at that fateful audience, when Ganelon de la Courcel had received the old Cruarch. But no, Alcuin had gone with Delaunay, and I had been glad of it, going instead to Valerian House to dote over flagellaries and pleasure-chambers.

Such things seemed as child’s play to me now. I knew firsthand the ravages that could be perpetuated against the soul. The torments of the flesh were as nothing to them.

On the fourth day, Ysandre summoned me into her presence.

"I have brought someone to see you, Phèdre," she said judiciously. "Someone whom I have gauged worthy of trust."

It was my first thought that it was Cecilie Laveau-Perrin, for I had missed her sorely since returning to Terre d’Ange, and Thelesis had confessed to me that she had confided in Cecilie, who had wept tears of joy to hear that I was alive. But Ysandre beckoned, and the frail figure that stepped forth was not Cecilie.

It was Master Tielhard, the marquist.

I knelt at the sight of him, my eyes blurred with tears, grasping his gnarled hands and kissing them. He drew them back, fussing.

"Always this," he complained, "with anguissettes. My Grandpere warned me it was so. Well, child, we have a contract unfulfilled between us, and my Queen commands me to see it finished. Will you disrobe, or have these old bones made this journey for nothing?"

Still kneeling, I gazed through tear-flooded eyes at Ysandre. "Thank you, your majesty."

"You should thank me." She smiled faintly. "Master Tielhard was not easy to persuade. But it is best to start a journey with all unfinished business concluded, and Thelesis de Mornay told me of yours."

She left us, then, and the servants of the lodge led us to a private room, where the marquist’s things had been laid out for him. They even had a table made ready. I stripped naked and lay down upon it. He grumbled at the nearly healed weals left by the priests of Kushiel’s temple, but it seemed I would do.

"Where is your apprentice, Master Tielhard?" I asked him as he pottered muttering among his things.

"Gone," he said shortly. "The fever took him. You will be my last great work, anguissette. I am too old to start anew, training one to take my place."

"Naamah will surely bless you for the service you have given," I whispered. Master Tielhard grunted an unintelligible response and laid the tapper against my spine, striking it smartly.

A hundred needles pierced my skin, bearing pigment to limn it indelibly. I closed my eyes, awash in pleasure at the exquisite pain of it. And no matter what else happened, this much I was granted. My marque would be made. No matter that I ventured forth into certain danger; I would do it as that which I had claimed to be to Waldemar Selig: A free D’Angeline.

"At least you’ve learned to lie still," Master Tielhard said irascibly, and struck the tapper again.