Kushiel’s Dart

Among the Cruithne and the Dalriada-the quick, dark folk of the Cullach Gorrym, the fair Eidlach Or, the brawny Tarbh Cro and the tall Fhalair Ban-not a one had departed for Alba’s shores, waiting on the promised wedding that would bond our two peoples and open the Straits for good. I rode often alongside Grainne’s chariot on that journey, to let her know that Eammon’s loss was not forgotten; not by me, at least.

I said nothing of the bloodstained sack that swung from her chariot. The Dalriada have their own superstitions. Eamonn’s body lay buried in the fields of Troyes-le-Mont; if his sister wished to ensure that his head would watch forevermore over the seat of the Dalriada in Innisclan, it was not my place to gainsay it. Drustan knew, I think; all the Cruithne did. I never told Ysandre, though.

So we came at last to the City of Elua, which had been long weeks preparing for our arrival, and rode in triumph through her streets, while the whole of the City turned out to greet us.

It was a strangeness to me, to ride in that procession. Only once before had I witnessed a military triumph in the City of Elua. It had been the day of Alcuin’s debut, and I remembered it well. How I had watched, from the terrace of Cecilie Laveau-Perrin’s townhouse, those who had passed; so many of them dead. The Lioness of Azzalle and Baudoin de Trevalion, at whose side Melisande had ridden. Ysandre with her grandfather, Ganelon de la Courcel. And oh, the Allies of Camlach, with Isidore d’Aiglemort at their head. It had seemed so clear and orderly, seeing it from above.

Nothing is as it appears from beyond.

And Anafiel Delaunay had been alive that day, winning at kottabos.

And Alcuin, Alcuin who had borne the auction of his virginity with such dignity.

I could not explain the tears that pricked my eyes as we rode in triumph through the City of Elua. Most took them for tears of joy for a safe homecoming, and I let it stand, the feeling running too deep in me for words.

Decimated by sickness and war, the City had room enough to hold us all; common soldiers in the barracks, and Alban nobles housed within the Palace. I had no home, but Ysandre retained me in her service, giving me a suite of rooms within the Palace itself, for she had need still of my skills as a linguist.

Then, there were joyful reunions.

Chiefest among them was Cecilie Laveau-Perrin, who came with Thelesis de Mornay to pay a visit. I was glad enough to see the Queen’s Poet, but I had not reckoned on how my heart would swell to see Cecilie, her beautiful face so gracefully aging, the gentle affection in her pale blue eyes. I fell on her neck and wept unabashedly.

"There, there," she murmured, patting my back. "There, there." When I had regained my composure, she took my face in her hands. "Phèdre, child, few of Naamah’s Servants ever know truly what it is to walk in her footsteps. I have prayed every day for your safe return."

Joscelin hovered awkwardly in the background, unsure how to respond to this unexpected display of emotion on my part. But Cecilie had lost none of the niceties of Cereus House, and put him at ease instantly, taking his hands and giving him the kiss of greeting.

"Such a beautiful young man, Joscelin Verreuil," she said lightly, turning his hands in hers and studying the Cassiline vambraces he wore, coupled now with midnight-blue Courcel livery. "And a true hero, as well." Cecilie’s eyes twinkled as she tapped his vambraces. "Never let it be said Naamah lacks a sense of humor."

He blushed to the roots of his hair, and bowed. "From the Queen of the Night-Blooming Flowers, I will accept such a compliment."

Thelesis de Mornay regarded us all fondly with her dark, glowing gaze. "Truly," she said in her musical voice, "Elua’s blessing is on this day. For all that is lost, yet so much is won."

Her words struck a chord in me, granting sanction to grief and joy alike. It was true, there had been so many losses, so many that I felt their absence like a stone in my heart. And yet, indeed, we had won so much: victory and freedom for the earth and soul of Terre d’Ange, love, liberty and our very lives. It was fitting and meet that we should celebrate these things. So say the tenets of Blessed Elua, who shed his blood for the land, for humanity, and smiled. Through war and death and betrayal…the bee is in the lavender, the honey fills the comb. We were home.

Chapter Ninety-Four

In defiance of death, D’Angelines celebrate life.

It is for this reason, I think, above all, that Ysandre and Drustan’s wedding became the grand affair that it did. And for anyone tempted to think that she kept me in her service out of kindness in those weeks of preparation, let me say: I earned my keep.