Kushiel's Chosen (Phedre's Trilogy #2)

Kushiel's Chosen (Phedre's Trilogy #2) Page 37

"And by our commandments," the Immortali said menacingly, "you should have your eyes put out!" He drew his belt-knife and nodded to his companions. "Grab him!"

The crowd scattered back, abandoning the Yeshuite; the Immortali charged. They got so far as to snatch the cap from his hair, and I heard, ringingly, the sound of two daggers clearing their sheathes in precise simultaneity.

"My lady." Ti-Philippe appeared at my side and spoke in irritated D'Angeline. "It is Southfort all over again, and I do not wish to die for that idiot's heroics, but if you ask me to, I will."

"No." I sighed, looking across the Square to where Joscelin stood before the Yeshuite, crossed daggers forming a deadly barrier of protection against the Immortali, bright steel blazing in the sunlight. I had taken the measure of Severio's comrades, and I did not think they meant to do aught more than scare the Yeshuite. "My lord," I appealed to Severio "if you would woo me, pray bid your companions not spill the blood of my men in my presence."

No coward, Severio Stregazza; he waded amid the Immortali, shoving down raised arms. "Enough, enough! You've given him a fright to remember, now let my lady's guardsman be! What are you, noblemen or thugs?"

It was over in seconds, the Immortali giving way good-naturedly, forgetting their quarrel; two of them clapped Joscelin on the shoulder, which he bore with frigid tolerance. Ti-Philippe retrieved the Yeshuite's cap and brought it to me. I made my way over and spoke to the poor man. "Are you all right?" I asked in Caerdicci, handing him his cap.

"Yes, thank you." He replied absently in the same tongue, settling the yellow cap atop his curls, his gaze fixed intently on Joscelin. He lacked the traditional sidelocks, I noted, and his hands clenched into fists with the undissipated force of his anger. One of the schismatics, I thought; even so, his interest in Joscelin was peculiar. All the more so when he murmured beneath his breath in Habiru, "And he shall carve out the way before you, and his blades shall shine like a star in his hands."

Like a secret code, a shared tongue carries over a crowded space. I saw Joscelin turn, eyes wide and startled as the murmured Habiru reached his ear. The Yeshuite made a bobbing bow in his manner, and stepped back, the milling throng closing around him. I met Joscelin's wide-eyed gaze and wondered.

"So the Immortali bear insults to the Gracious Lady of the Sea," spoke a taunting voice from somewhere behind me; I spun about to see us surrounded by another noblemen's club, its fellows clad in green-and-white striped hose, their leader wearing a blue chlamys over his tunic. He gestured, making the short cloak swirl. "You have grown fearful, since losing the support of the D'Angeline Prince. The Perpetui of Sestieri Navis would not abide such a slap in the face to the Dea Coelestis!"

"Pietro Contini," Severio said through clenched jaws, "I am in the mood to kick in someone's teeth today, and it might as well be yours. If you don't want to pick them up from the Square, go tell Lorenzo Pescaro I said so!"

"And miss such a glorious opportunity?" The leader of the Perpetui smiled and drew a short truncheon from his belt. "I think not."

And with that, he swung hard at the head of Severio, who ducked with an oath and planted a punch in his midsection. The Perpetui leader grunted, and in short order, fists and bats were flying, and the crowd was scattering anew. I saw some of the strolling lovers watching, one of the young women clapping her hands in glee at the entertainment. A horde of Perpetui descended on Severio, scion of their Sestieri's greatest enemy; he struggled against them, shielding his head. Pietro Contini had caught his breath and was roaring for blood. The Immortali flung themselves into the fray, and I heard Ti-Philippe's voice call out my name like a paean as my chevaliers waded into battle. "Phè-dre! Phèdre!"

Bodies surged, and the dull thwack of wood and knuckles on flesh resounded. Benito Dandi had gotten hold of a Perpetui truncheon, and laid about him fiercely. Somewhere in the fray, Fortun surfaced at Severio's side, broad shoulders heaving as he thrust attackers aside by main force, his expression calm as Remy and one of the Immortali defended him from behind, clubbing down attackers with a sickening crunch. Young men fought, and blood flowed freely on the marble squares of the Campo Grande.

I watched the whole fracas at the side of the Jebean bird merchant, whose merriment was erased by concern for his feathered charges. He need not have worried. Cursing in a most un-Cassiline fashion, Joscelin stood guard before his stall, and fought without drawing his daggers. One spinning kick to the head of a would-be assailant sent one of the Perpetui staggering away, and an unceremonious chop with a vambraced forearm caused another to measure his length on the paving stones of the Great Square; after that, they stayed well away.

"Now that" Ti-Philippe enthused later, lying with head tilted back in the Immortali's bissone, "was a good fight!"

"Shut up and press," Joscelin muttered, shoving a wadded kerchief beneath my chevalier's spurting nose.

There were bruises and lumps all around, and I was not even certain who had won. The Irnmortali could not have been in better spirits. "Your men look like girls, Contessa," Benito Dandi said to me, "but they fight like tigers. Like ten tigers! No wonder Lord Marco has not tried to settle with the Little Court by force."

"Benito," Severio murmured futilely. "We should not talk politics."

"My lord," I addressed him. "At Midwinterfest, you were fearful that your father would lose Prince Benedicte's support, and with it his bid for the Doge's Seat, should election prove imminent. Well, and from what I hear, the first has proved true, and the latter is likely. What has come to pass?"

Severio sighed, but he answered candidly; I had guessed aright, he had no secrets from the Irnmortali. "Benedicte's son by the Tourais woman was bora this spring," he said bluntly. "And my grandfather named him heir to all his D'Angeline titles and holdings. My mother ..." he searched for words, "... took exception, and they have not spoken since. You see, my father was counting on the leverage that gave him, to influence the Consiglio Maggiore. Without the promise of D'Angeline support..." He shrugged. "His election to the Sestieri Dogal is secure, but the Consiglio might just decide that a naval commander could do more for La Serenissima."

"Or a banker," one of the Irnmortali added, spitting over his oar into the green waters.

"Or a banker," Severio agreed glumly. "Or even my damned Uncle Ricciardo, if he makes good on his threat, and rouses the Scholae to strike. I don't think anyone's reckoned how much damage that would do, if it includes the salt-panners."

For all that she is built on trade, La Serenissima is primarily a gateway; her greatest commodity is and has always been salt. I knew that much from my reading.

"Why not make peace with Prince Benedicte?" I asked. "It seems to me your father has little to lose, and much to gain."

"My mother will not swallow the insult, that her own father should cut her off, and he is adamant in leaving his D'Angeline properties to this, this ... puling infant, this Imriel de la Courcel, they named him." Severio made a wry face. "My half-uncle, as it were. Mother has not spoken to Grandfather since the day he announced it. And she has a right to her anger," he added reluctantly. "By Serenissiman law, my grandfather cannot name a woman his successor. Mother cannot inherit the Little Court."

"What?" The question, happily for me, came from Ti-Philippe, struggling to a sitting position, kerchief clamped to his nose. If he'd not asked it, I would have, and just as incredulously. "What do you mean he can't appoint a woman his heir?"

"It is Serenissiman law," Severio repeated patiently. "He could cede it to my father's custody in her name, but he is loathe to do it since Dominic's betrayal. Don't worry, though." He caught up my hand and toyed with my fingers, smiling. "Grandfather will come 'round in the end. Sestieri Angelus has no viable candidate; he must endorse someone, or lose all influence in La Serenissima. If Father cannot persuade Mother to swallow her pride and beg forgiveness, then perhaps a D'Angeline love-match will do the trick."

And if it does not, I thought, smiling back at Severio, mayhap a D'Angeline malcontent dropping Alban trade in Marco Stregazza's lap will do the same, Well, my young lord, you are not so canny as your parents, but you play well into their scheme. And this is all very interesting, but it does not answer me one thing.

Where in the seven hells is Melisande Shahrizai?

THIRTY-FOUR

I thought myself skilled in court intrigue, but after a day- one day!-in La Serenissima, my mind fair reeled. I have always thought that the notion of a Republic is a noble one, dating back to the glory days of Hellas, which all D'Angelines regard fondly as the last Golden Era before the coming of Elua. Now, seeing it in action, I was not so sure. At any rate, I took to my bed at an unwontedly early hour. It has been my experience, faced with a bewildering perplexity of information, that sleep is an excellent remedy for confusion. My recent excursion to Gentian House only confirmed it.

Whether it is true or not, I awoke feeling refreshed, and better able to face the tangles of La Serenissima. Over the breakfast table, we plotted our strategy.

"Fortun," I said gravely. "Of you, I ask the hardest chore. I have dropped word into the ears of Marco and Marie-Celeste Stregazza, and I am minded to see if it spins out any thread that might lead to Melisande. It may be too late, indeed, but I would be pleased if you would keep an eye on the Doge's Palace, and follow any Stregazzan retainers where they might go."

"Of a surety, my lady," Fortun said quietly. I had chosen him because I knew I could rely on him, for obedience and discretion alike.

"Philippe." I eyed Ti-Philippe thoughtfully. His nose looked rather like a burst strawberry, which didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. "The Immortali seem passing fond of you. Learn what you may of these clubs, and the candidates they endorse. If any espouse enmity to Prince Benedicte and the Little Court, it would be worth knowing. He is the only force in the city who would seek to oust Melisande on principle; for the rest, it is a matter of benefit.

Anyone seeking to bring down the Little Court might well be her ally."

"And what benefit might a hunted D'Angeline traitor offer?" Joscelin asked quietly.

I knew he was merely trying to offer the voice of reason; nonetheless, I looked hard at him. "Joscelin, I saw Skaldi in the Great Square the day we arrived. Marco Stregazza is ready to sell his son into wedlock if it will secure him trade with Alba; what price would you set on Skaldia? If Melisande had an agreement with Waldemar Selig, like as not she had other contacts in Skaldia as well. I would not be surprised to learn she could deliver a trade agreement with one or more of the southern tribes."

"Mayhap," he said gently. "And mayhap you are haunted by ghosts of the past."

I could bear anything but compassion from him. It was hard enough, believing I was not wraith-ridden, without Joscelin's quiet censure. I turned to Remy. "You," I said, "I will send to the Little Court, to gain admittance if you may, with a request for audience with Prince Benedicte. He may not entertain it, if gossip has reached him-it had obviously reached the Stregazza-but learn what you may of the Little Court nonetheless."

"Aye, aye, my lady!" Remy grinned, and gave me a crisp salute.

Would that I could have accepted it at face value, but I saw the glances they exchanged when they thought I was looking elsewhere; I knew full well that my chevaliers were of the same opinion as Joscelin. They were merely less open in voicing it, and more willing to go through the motions of a hunt for the sport of the thing.

"One more thing," I said, more sharply than I'd intended, playing my trump card. "This is a matter I did not wish to press with the Stregazza, lest I give our hand away. Find out for me who is the astrologer to the family of the Doge. Whoever he is, he is the conduit. Gonzago de Escabares' friend called upon this man; on the following day, he was visited by Melisande. All of you, inquire as you may. When we find the astrologer, we find the trail."

It did as I intended, giving them a tangible quarry. I wrote out the letter for Remy to carry-shocking Leonora yet again with my perverse literary quirk-and dispersed my chevaliers to their various errands.

"So." Joscelin looked at me. "You have the lay of the land, and a Serenissiman lordling begging for your hand. What shadows will you set me to chasing before you wed him, Phèdre nó Delaunay?"

"I'm not going to wed Severio Stregazza," I said irritably. "I've no mind to wed anyone."

"You let him court you." Joscelin got up from the table and walked to the window overlooking the balcony. "Is it because he can give you what you desire?" he asked, his voice muffled.

"No." I sat gazing at his back, broad-shouldered and graceful, bisected by the cabled length of his wheat-gold braid. Kushiel's gift is cruel; I have never, ever, found any man so beautiful to me as Joscelin Verreuil, and no man has ever caused me such pain. One does not, I suppose, reign over hell without a well-developed sense of irony. There were no living anguissettes with whom I could compare notes, but surely, I thought, Kushiel must be pleased with this arrangement. Nothing else could have ground my heart so fine. "Joscelin, it is because that is the game Marco Stregazza and his wife Marie-Celeste de la Courcel Stregazza have decreed, and I see no way out of it but to play along and stall, if I wish to learn anything."

Back to me, he shuddered, but when he spoke, his voice was hard. "And if there is nothing to learn?"