Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [297]
"Rumors?" I inquired.
A servant entered the room to replenish our glasses of rich Caerdicci red. After months without, it was a luxury beyond words to drink good wine. Allegra thanked him graciously, waiting until he left. "Rumors," she said, then. "Of a secret cult of worship."
"Of Melisande?" My voice cracked.
Joscelin merely swore.
"She took the Veil of Asherat the minute she entered La Serenissima," Allegra said. "She claimed sanctuary and has endured exile in the Temple without complaint for twelve years. She is a mother bereaved. And though few have seen her face, her beauty is renowned. It takes little more to spark the beginnings of a legend."
"She is also," I observed, "a convicted traitor condemned to execution."
"So Terre d'Ange claims. It is easy for people to disbelieve, here. Whatever allegations have been made of her, nothing was proved in La Serenissima." Allegra's expression was grave. "They are rumors, nothing more. But you are right to fear."
"Wonderful," Joscelin said sourly, putting his head in his hands. "So now we worry that some Serenissiman fanatic will declare Melisande Shahrizai the living avatar of Asherat-of-the-Sea and set out on a holy mission to destroy her enemies?"
"No, love." I smiled at him. "That's why you and I are here."
We talked long into the night, the three of us, and Allegra agreed to the arrangements I requested. I slept poorly and woke early, spending my time composing a reply to Melisande's letter. It wasn't easy. In the end, I kept it simple and to the point.
Swear to me in Kushiel's name that I will have no cause to regret it and you shall see your son.
Summoned by Allegra, Ricciardo Stregazza arrived at Villa Gaudio that morning, and we went through the entire story again. This time, Imriel was present for it, listening with his eyes shadowed and wary, pained at the living reminders of his parents' treason. Not until Ricciardo and Allegra's son Lucio, now sixteen and filled with good-natured manful pride, took Imri to the stables to choose a mount of his own did his spirits lighten.
"He's a good lad, isn't he?" Ricciardo said, watching them go.
"Yes," I said. "That, and more."
My message was delivered by way of an anonymous courier, a stone-mason from one of the Scholae Ricciardo represented. We waited at Villa Gaudio for the man to make his slow return. Allegra took uson a tour of her gardens, where a few late-blooming blossoms lingered.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, glancing at Joscelin. "My lord Cassiline, this must be terribly dull for you."
"No." He gave her his best Cassiline bow. "Not at all, my lady Allegra. I am passing fond of gardens."
I remembered how we had first come here together at Ricciardo's invitation, when Joscelin and I had scarce been speaking to one another. Such a haven it had seemed! We had gardens in Montrève, too, although there are as many herbs as flowers. Richeline Purnell, who is my seneschal's wife, tends them lovingly. Joscelin knelt in one for many hours contemplating his anguish and his Cassiline vows, the day I told him I was returning to Naamah's Service to answer Melisande's challenge.
That seemed a very long time ago.
Ricciardo's stone-mason returned before dusk, bearing a letter with a single phrase written on it.
Iswear it.
The handwriting was shaky. It was not noticeable, not to one who didn't know it well, not to one whose own hand wasn't trained in the elegant formal script of D'Angeline nobility and adepts of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers. I noticed.
Melisande's hand had trembled as she wrote it.
My heart quickened within my breast and my breathing grew shallow. My blood beat in my ears, sounding out the Name of God, while a different name throbbed in my pulse. Blessed Elua, I prayed, let me be strong.
It was a sober