Kushiel’s Dart

Rousse would honor his word, I knew; he released Phèdre’s Boys to ride with us, over my protests. Thirty-odd sailors would make no difference on the Rhenus, but it had become a point of honor with them. Catching the adamant look on Joscelin’s face, I left off protesting and acceded with grace. They, too, had the right to choose.

We made good time on that day’s march, and reached the meeting-place before nightfall.

If Marc de Trevalion was astonished by the sight of three thousand and more Albans, he hid it well, bowing to Drustan with grave courtesy. I knew him only from his trial, where he had shown the same demeanor. Ghislain de Somerville, he greeted as a son; indeed, de Somerville was betrothed now to his daughter Bernadette, recalled from exile along with her father.

Who among them actually held title to the duchy of Trevalion was unclear. Later, I came to understand that it was to be held in trust for Ghislain and Bernadette’s firstborn. They were both sensible men, and it was no point of animosity between them, neither seeing cause to quarrel over a parcel of land when the whole of Terre d’Ange stood at stake.

To me, he said kindly, "My cousin Gaspar spoke well of your lord Delaunay. He held him always in the highest regard, and indeed, I have never had aught but respect for him."

I nodded my thanks and swallowed; no matter how distant the grief was, it always brought it on fresh, to hear Delaunay’s name spoken familiarly.

Ghislain de Somerville laid out our story, in blunt terms. De Trevalion listened without interrupting as he sketched our plan. When Ghislain was done, he rose to pace slowly, hands clasped behind his back. "You know the odds of your survival?" he asked somberly.

"I know. We all do."

Marc de Trevalion nodded. "Then you must try," he said quietly. "I’ll coordinate with your captain-at-arms. Never fear, we’ll hold the Rhenus, for as long as Troyes-le-Mont stands."

"Thank you, Marc," Ghislain said simply.

So are such things decided. I left them to the debate of maps and strategies, begging paper and ink of de Trevalion and setting to composing a letter.

"What are you doing?" Joscelin asked, straining to see over my shoulder. I sanded the wet ink and shook it off.

"Thelesis de Mornay," I said, showing him. "If…if neither of us live through these next weeks, she’ll be able to carry word to Alba. The Master of the Straits has allowed her passage before, and Hyacinthe knows her." I smiled wryly at his expression. "Did you think I was counting on doing it myself? I know the risk my choice entails."

Joscelin shook his head. "I’m not sure whether to be glad or frightened that you grasp it," he said softly.

I blew on the still-damp ink. "Be glad," I said, "for the sake of Alba."

I was glad in turn, then, that Phèdre’s Boys were with us. With Joscelin at my side, I found Remy and held up the scrolled letter, in a leather carrying-case.

"I’ve a mission," I said to him, calculating, "for the boldest and shrewdest among you. I’ve need of seeing this letter carried across hostile terrain to the City of Elua, and delivered into the hands of the Queen’s Poet. Have you men who will serve, Chevalier?"

"Have I?" he exclaimed, holding out his hand and grinning. "Give it here, my lady, and they’ll see it reaches safe berth, sure as any ship that ever sailed!"

I gave it to him with a good will, watching as four riders set out with alacrity, armed with de Trevalion’s latest intelligence, on a course that would take them wide of battle. Better odds than we would have, at least, and it would ensure my promise to Drustan would be kept. I would have sent them all, if I could.

"You’re not quite as foolhardy as you seem," Joscelin said thoughtfully, watching them go.

"Not quite," I agreed. "Only just almost. I wish you’d go with them, Joscelin."

He gave me his dryly amused look. "Will you never be done testing my vow?"

"No." I swallowed against an unexpected pain in my heart. "Not if I have my choice in the matter, Cassiline."

It was as close as either of us had ever come to a declaration of feeling; moreover, it was a flag of defiance waved in the face of despair. Joscelin did not smile, but bowed, with the deep-bred Cassiline reflex. "Elua grant you the chance," he murmured. "I’m willing to live with it, if it means your survival."

Another time, we might have spoken more, but this was war. I was soon called back, to serve as translator for Drustan mab Necthana and our D’Angeline commanders, as we plotted our dangerous course.