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

Kushiel's Chosen (Phedre's Trilogy #2) Page 78

"But no one in the city saw anything," I said. "How could they?"

Micah smiled. "One did, though. He was hunting geese on the far side of the lagoon and hid himself when he saw a boat land, with D'Angeline soldiers and a woman, hooded and stumbling, a collar of pearls about her neck."

I had forgotten the Doge's gift. It had been enough to convince Joscelin and Ti-Philippe. With the aid of Micah and three others, they had crossed the lagoon hidden in the bottom of a fishing boat and picked up my trail on the mainland. Benedicte's men had been cautious enough, but the guards of La Dolorosa had been less discreet; the beekeeper who sold honey to the garrison had heard rumor of my existence. With a pang, I remembered Tito licking his fingers, devouring the evidence of his kindness.

As it transpired, Joscelin had not assailed La Dolorosa wholly on his own; Ti-Philippe and the four Yeshuites- who had begged to go, wanting to test their blades and new-won skill-had aided him, securing the watchtower and their retreat. But all had gone for naught when I plummeted over the cliff, and after a fruitless search, they made their way back to La Serenissima, adopting the ragged disguises they wore still and electing to wait for Ysandre's arrival.

"I didn't know what else to do," Joscelin admitted wearily, scrubbing at his tangled hair. "Mayhap 'twas a mistake to return, for it's well-nigh impossible to get out and worse since the riots began. But all I could think was that if we failed, if we missed the progressus and ended up chasing over half of Caerdicca Unitas ..." He shook his head. "At least we knew Ysandre was coming here. If it hadn't been for your message, we'd be on our way to the Little Court by now. It's a risk, still, but we stand a chance. I don't know how many of the guard have turned, but de Somerville's men don't dare act as openly with the Queen's entourage in residence. If I can hold them off long enough ... mayhap Ti-Philippe can reach Ysandre with word of de Somerville's betrayal. I didn't dare, when it was only Prince Benedicte, but Ysandre will know from whence the message came."

I stared at him, cold with shock. I had lived with it so long I had forgotten, beginning my story in the middle, at La Dolorosa. "You don't know," I whispered. "Oh, Joscelin! Blessed Elua have mercy ..."

"What?" he asked, frowning. "What is it?"

A peal of wild laughter escaped from me; I pressed my hands against my face. "Melisande," I gasped. "That's who Prince Benedicts wed. Melisande Shahrizai."

"What?" Joscelin's voice was high and strained; next to him, Ti-Philippe went white. The Illyrians and the Yeshuites stared uncomprehending, lost to the politics of it.

"Oh, yes," I said simply. "That's what I was met with at my audience at the Little Court. Benedicte de la Courcel's pious war-bride who fled her homeland to claim sanctuary in the Temple of Asherat."

"Does he know?" Joscelin asked in a sickened tone. "Surely he would not..."

"He knows." I looked at him with pity, remembering my own horror. "Joscelin, he gave the order for Remy and Fortun's deaths. He wants a true-born D'Angeline heir on the throne. Melisande could give him that.. . and put the Royal Commander and his army in his hand. She's done both. He knows."

Ti-Philippe cursed steadily and methodically. Joscelin rose to his feet, pacing restlessly, unable to contain his fury at the betrayal. "We thought the guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont took you," he said aloud. "We thought the summons was a ruse, that there was a plot operating in the Little Court that Benedicte was insensible of. Elua! Phèdre, do you know how many times I thought of trying to gain access to him? If I hadn't chosen to wait for the Queen's arrival..." He stopped, realization dawning across his face. "They're going to kill her, aren't they?"

"Yes," I said. Our eyes met in silence.

"Do you know where, and when, and how?"

"I think so." I swallowed. If I were wrong ... "Or at least where and when. It will be in the Temple of Asherat, at the ceremony of investiture. These riots ..." I shook my head.

"They're being staged. You met Ricciardo Stregazza, Joscelin; he's not behind them, I'd stake my life on it. It has to be done out in the open, where the world can see that neither Benedicte nor Melisande nor Marco Stregazza had a hand in it. That's the only place it could be done convincingly, and they've allies in the Temple. 'Twas a false prophecy bid the Doge to step down."

"And gave Melisande Shahrizai sanctuary," Joscelin said grimly.

"No," I said. "That was fairly done, as far as I know. It is Marie-Celeste Stregazza who suborned the Temple. And I have sworn a promise to Asherat-of-the-Sea to cleanse her worship of corruption. It will be there, Joscelin. Tomorrow."

He sat down and set his head in his hands.

"So we will go there, eh?" Kazan's voice broke the silence, cheerful and fierce. Lounging at his ease, propped on one elbow, he glanced around the seated company. "Seven men may die, or eight or nine, yes, but here we are almost twenty, we. I saw this temple from the ship, I. Twenty men is enough, maybe, to take the door and hold it for a little while."

"No." Joscelin spoke without looking up. "Not the Yeshuites."

"Joscelin." Micah protested, and one or two others. "You risked your safety to aid us, when we had naught to offer in return. It is not for you to say how we will repay it."

"You've done enough, and more." Joscelin lifted his head to give him a level stare. "No, Micah. This is not like taking the watchtower. The odds are bad, very bad, and there is no avenue of retreat. It is near-certain death."

"A warrior's death, yes," Kazan added helpfully.

Micah flushed. "Have you not trained us to be warriors?" he asked Joscelin bitterly. "Then treat us as equals and let us fight."

"I trained you that you might fulfill your prophecy and lead your people north." Joscelin's tone was gentle. "Not die in La Serenissima defending my Queen.”

"You'll let the Illyrians fight!" another lad burst out in anger.

I glanced at Kazan, wondering how he would take it; fortunately, he was amused, eyebrows raised at the notion of a D'Angeline determining where and when he was allowed to do battle. All the Illyrians, even Ushak, who had seemed so young and green to me when I thought of him risking his life, looked like seasoned veterans next to the Yeshuites. I listened while Joscelin overrode their objections, hoping they would hear reason.

In the midst of it all, the young woman spoke, knitting her brows.

"Joscelin," she said, a soft trace of a Habiru accent in her voice. "What if it was like the watchtower?"

SEVENTY-ONE

It is impossible to say when the hands of the gods intervene in the affairs of mortals and to what purpose, but of a surety, there are times when they do. Although the Yeshuites have no tradition of women fighting alongside the men such as one finds among the Albans and the Dalriada, the girl Sarae came of a family of notoriously strong-willed women.

She had chosen to learn to defend herself, that she might travel at the side of her beloved, Micah ben Ximon, when they followed Yeshua's prophecy and journeyed northward. In so doing, she had broken ties with her equally strong-willed mother, who had arranged a different marriage for her.

Sarae was not the first woman in her family to have thus defied her parents' wishes.

"My great-great-aunt Onit," she murmured, suddenly shy at speaking to so many attentive listeners, "ran away rather than marry a fat rag merchant, ran away and joined the Temple of Asherat-of-the-Sea. When she was very old, she came home to die. We children were not allowed to see her lest we be corrupted, but we would sneak into her room, to hear tales of the worship of the terrible goddess Asherat." Glancing around, she cleared her throat. "There is a balcony above the temple where the Oracle stands to give prophecy twice a year to the city entire, facing the altar and the people gathered below. Onit told us how it is staged, with an echo chamber to make her voice mighty and a bronze sheet that is rattled for the sound of thunder. We laughed, to think a goddess would need such tricks. There is a secret passageway, too, so it may seem that the Oracle vanishes without descending, while in truth it leads to a tunnel beneath the canals."

There was silence as we considered the implications, save for the murmur of Kazan translating her words into Illyrian for the benefit of his men.

"Where does the tunnel emerge?" Joscelin asked with reluctant interest.

She pushed her hair back from her face, frowning in thought. "To a warehouse, where some things are stored in winter; oil, dried goods and such. It was only to stay for a little while. When the Temple was empty, the Oracle would come back and descend the stairs. Only the priestesses and the temple eunuchs know about it. It would be lightly guarded, if at all."

"Joscelin," I said.

He looked at me. "No. Oh, no."

"It could work."

"In a temple," he said slowly, "full to bursting with Benedicte's and Marco Stregazza's supporters, with the likelihood of rioters breaking in the doors."

I shrugged. "There is an avenue of escape, and a great many folk present who are not their supporters, including Cesare Stregazza, who is still technically the Doge."

"You don't have any idea how they mean to kill Ysandre, do you?"

"No." I shook my head, recalling Melisande's words with regret. I had asked. You know enough. "A rioter, like as not. They'll seek to lay it at Ricciardo's doorstep, and get rid of him for good. I'm sure witnesses will be found to testify as much. It doesn't matter, Joscelin. If we're there, we stand a chance of preventing it. If we're not, she will die."

"It is a good plan, D'Angeline," Kazan remarked. "Better than storming the door, eh? If we die ..." he grinned, "... many Serenissimans will die with us, yes."

"He likes that idea, doesn't he?" Joscelin asked me, then turned resolutely to Sarae. "All right, then. Do you know where to find this warehouse?"

"Yes." Her voice was strained, her face pale and stubborn. "I will show you ... if you take us with you to fight at your side."

Joscelin swore and clutched at his tangled hair. "I said no!"

"It is not your choice, apostate," Micah said calmly. "It is ours."

Joscelin opened his mouth to protest again when Ti-Philippe interrupted him. "Joscelin, he's right; it's not our choice. Let them come if they will, and obey orders. They can ward the tunnel and safeguard our retreat. It's no more risk than La Dolorosa, and," he added, eyeing Micah, "I suspect you'd find them in the Square if you don't let them come. At least this way they'll be out of sight, and less likely to be arrested for bearing arms unlawfully."

In the end, there was nothing else for it. Once it was agreed, Sarae went willingly enough with Ti-Philippe to examine the warehouse's security. I misliked the risk, for 'twas near enough to the Great Canal that there would be guards about, but I had to admit, with his gaunt features, rough-spun garb and a farmer's wide-brimmed hat atop his dyed, cropped hair, Ti-Philippe looked nothing like himself. As for Sarae, no one was looking for Yeshuites.

Like as not, I thought, if aught happens, it will be that they are turned away and forced to make a detour; and even at that, Ysandre should have arrived by now, and the net of security will have drawn tight around the Little Court. Still, I would not rest easy until their return.

Kazan and his men set to making windbreaks for the night's shelter, since it seemed we had little choice but to remain on this nameless isle, at least until the small hours of the night. The Yeshuites aided them warily, and Joscelin and I sat together with too much to say and not enough time to say it.

"I'm so sorry," he said at length. "For everything."

"No." I took his hand. "I am. I hurt you in my actions, and wronged you in my thoughts. I drove you to cruelty, I pushed you to breaking, and I took pleasure in it when you did. Joscelin, the fault was mine."

"I gave you reason," he said dryly. "Phèdre, I fell in love with you with both eyes wide open, and fighting against it every step of the way. When you told me you were returning to Naamah's Service, I thought I had bent as far as I could without breaking. When you began spending so much time with Severio, I was sure of it. And when you disappeared, I realized that I hadn't even begun to fathom what I could endure." Glancing down at the silver khai pendant that rested still on his chest, he took it in his free hand and gave a short, sharp jerk, snapping the thin chain. "The Yeshuites will have to wait a while longer for Cassiel the Apostate to bow his head before the Mashiach's throne," he said, holding the bright object in his palm. "Elua's priest spoke truly; I choose the path of the Companion."

I folded his fingers over the pendant and leaned over to kiss his hand. "Keep it. You've done what you could for them. You've given them the means to survive."

"If I can keep them alive long enough." He brushed my hair with his fingertips, saying my name with wonder. "I thought I had lost you, truly."

"And I thought I was truly lost," I said. "More than once. But here we are."

"Until tomorrow, at least." Joscelin gave his faint smile. "Is there any chance I can convince you not to go?"

I shook my head. "No. I began this, after all, and I've faced too many kinds of death and madness not to see it through."

"I thought as much." He pondered our joined hands. "Is there any chance we'll live to see the end, do you think?"