Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [39]
"I had." I gauged his thoughtful frown. "You think Ysandre will send for him?"
"Mm-hmm." He looked down at me. "He's her nearest kin. I think she'd confront him privately before accusing him for the world to see. How badly do you wish to ask him first?"
I thought about it. If Ysandre had a flaw, it was in her willingness to believe the best of people she loved. "Badly enough. Where is he?"
"Champs-de-Guerre." Joscelin raised his brows, offering an unspoken comment on Barquiel L'Envers' continued appointment to the role of Royal Commander. It had been a temporary thing, born out of necessity after Percy de Somerville's betrayal. But Ysandre had never revoked her uncle's appointment or named another commander. "It's less than a day's ride. We could arrive before she decides to send a courier if we left this afternoon."
"Well." I squeezed his arm gratefully. "It seems our business does require travel."
If I thought we would get away clean, I was mistaken. Ti-Philippe was awaiting our return, bursting with news. He could scarce wait for me to finish giving instructions to Eugenie to prepare an overnight travel bag for our journey to the training-grounds and barracks of the Royal Army.
"My lady!" he said, grinning fit to split his face. "You were wrong. There is a scholar at the City Academy who's studied Jebean lore, only she's a musician, not a linguist. Her father was a master drummer at Eglantine House fifty years ago; he travelled the world by sea after he made his marque, and studied in Jebe-Barkal many years. She made a fair-copy of the scroll, and thought she could have it translated on the morrow. And the Tsingano, Emile, he promised to call upon you in the morning.”
"Tomorrow?" I pulled a face. "I've made plans to go to Champs-de-Guerre. Tell the Jebean scholar . . . what's her name?"
"Audine Davul."
"Tell my lady Davul that I will call on her on my return, and tell Emile . . . tell Emile I'll do the same."
"In Night's Doorstep?" Ti-Philippe sounded skeptical. I laughed.
"Why not? It's been too long since I had a drink at the Cockerel. It was my haven, once upon a time. Do you remember, we went there when first I brought you to the City. Mayhap I've been too long in rarified circles."
"I'll tell him." Ti-Philippe paused. "My lady, he said to tell you that Manoj is dead, and the kumpanias of the Tsingani speak the name of Hyacinthe, son of Anasztaizia, at the crossroads."
I went still, remembering. Manoj was Hyacinthe's grandfather; the Tsingan kralis, King of the Tsingani. Anasztaizia was his daughter, Hyacinthe's mother, betrayed and reviled by her own people. It would mean more than words could say to Hyacinthe that the Tsingani had not forgotten him, the Prince of Travellers, that he was remembered as his mother's son. "Tell him ..." I said softly. "Tell him I am grateful for the knowledge."
"As you wish," Ti-Philippe said, keeping his reservations to himself.
With our affairs thus in order and Eugenie's admonitions ringing in our ears, Joscelin and I took our leave once more, and the white walls of the City of Elua fell behind us as we headed northward toward the Champs-de-Guerre. I told him as we rode what Ti-Philippe had related to me. Unlike my chevalier, Joscelin understood. He had been there, when Hyacinthe made his choice, turning his back on the inheritance that awaited him to lay the gift of the dromonde before me and assuage my terrors.
"The Prince of Travellers," Joscelin said, shaking his head. "Do you know, I truly never believed him before that? Until we met the Tsingan kralis himself, I thought it was just another damned Tsingano lie."
"So did I," I murmured. "Elua forgive me."
"Well, I'm not sure even Hyacinthe knew the truth of it until then." He jogged his mount alongside mine, eventually glancing sidelong at me. "Master of the Straits. It's hard to think of him thus. You do know she's in love with him?"
I gazed at the road before me betwixt my mount's forward-pricked ears. "Sibeal?”
"Mm-hmm."