Kushiel’s Dart

In the morning, I woke aching and sore, in clean linen sheets with stiff red bloodstains. De Morhban’s personal physician entered the room before I’d risen, eyes averted. He’d tended to me the night before, I understood; he checked such dressings as he’d applied, and rubbed salve into those weals that had opened in the night and bled. I felt better before he was done, and dismissed him.

Quincel had provided new clothing for me: fine stuff, fit for travel, but of a good quality, such as Kusheline noblewomen wear. I thanked him when we breakfasted together.

"I thought mayhap you’d no further need of your Tsingani rags," he said, grey eyes gleaming. I raised my eyebrows, knowing it was best not to reply. "Here," he said then, brusquely, and pushed something across the table.

It was a ring, a flawless circle of black pearls set in silver, small and immaculate.

"It is customary, is it not, to give a patron-gift?" De Morhban’s mouth quirked wryly. "It was my mother’s; I’d planned on giving it to my wife. But there are many women among whom to choose for a bride, and I do not think I shall meet another anguissette. Wear it then, and think of me sometime. I hope you will not give up Naamah’s service altogether, Phèdre nó Delaunay."

There are times to demur, and times not. This was not such a time. I slid the ring onto my finger, and bowed my head to the Duc de Morhban.

"When I think of you, my lord," I said, "I will think well."

He toyed with items on the table, restless and curious. "I shall await with great interest the resolution of the mystery you pose me," he said. "Pray that I do not regret my choice in this matter."

In truth, I did not know. All I had fathomed in our congress was that he had not determined where his loyalties lay. He was the sovereign Duc of Kusheth; whether the province stood with the Crown or against it was his to decide. In the end, I answered him simply.

"Your grace," I said, "I pray it too."

So we left it, crossed blades, unsure and unwary. He rang a bell and had Joscelin summoned, who burst into the room in a fury of agitation, eyes red-rimmed and sleepless, glaring accusations and fear at me. I looked mildly at him, over the rim of a teacup.

"Are you disappointed, Cassiline?" Quincel de Morhban asked, amused. "I am sorry. I would be curious, I confess, to try the mettle of one of your kind."

Joscelin shot him a look, then, that said he would be glad to try it, any time, any place, kneeling at my side. "Is it true, then? You’re all right, Phèdre?"

"His grace de Morhban honored his contract," I said, looking at Quincel, absently twisting the ring on my finger. It was easier than meeting Joscelin’s eyes, for he would see the deep languor in my bones, and disapprove, in his uniquely Cassiline manner. "And we are free to go, then, your grace?"

Quincel de Morhban made a face, at once frustrated and fulfilled. He gestured with one hand, setting us free, calling his servants to witness. "Our contract is complete," he said, brusque and formal. "You have free passage throughout Morhban, where you will. To the Royal Fleet and beyond." He paused, then added, "One day, Phèdre. I give you one day before I decide if it behooves me to question the Queen’s Admiral."

"Thank you, your grace."

Chapter Sixty-Six

Joscelin walked quickly through the stone halls of Morhban Castle, and I winced, hurrying to keep up. He paused to wait for me, the line of his jaw tight.

"Are you fit to ride?" he asked abruptly.

"I’ll manage." The words came out through gritted teeth. Joscelin looked at me and shook his head, setting out at a pace only slightly slower.

"I will never understand," he said, gaze fixed forward as he strode, "why you do what you do, and call it pleasure."

"With your temper? You should."

That stopped him in his tracks and he stared at me in shock, blue eyes wide. "I do not have a temper! And what does that have to do with it?"

"You have a terrible temper, Joscelin Verreuil. You’ve just buried it in Cassiline discipline." I rotated my arm, rubbing my shoulder where the joint ached. De Morhban’s stocks had been made for a taller person. "And not all that well," I added. "I’ve seen it, Joscelin, I’ve seen you lose it, against the Skaldi. I’ve seen you fight like a cornered wolf, when you had no chance of winning. What’s it like, that instant when you let it go? When you lash out, with everything in you, knowing you’re going to be beaten to the ground? Is it a relief, to surrender to that?"

"Yes." He said it softly, and looked away.

"Well." Something snapped faintly in my shoulder, and the soreness eased. "Imagine that relief compounding, ten times, a hundred times, with every blow, through pain, through agony, to become a pleasure so great and awful it fixes you like a spear." I shook my arm, finding it better. "Then," I said, "you will understand, a little bit, what it is to serve Kushiel."

He listened, and heard, then looked somberly at me. "Even among the Skaldi?"