Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [120]
"The D'Angeline sickness?" I repeated, feeling foolishly ignorant.
"You know." She raised her brows. "He likes boys."
"Ah." One undercurrent of their bitter exchange suddenly came clear to me. I turned my empty wine-cup in my hands, looking across the busy lagoon. "You name this a sickness, in La Serenissima."
"Yes, well, I told you, they are all provincial here." Lowering her voice, she added, "I do not say this to Marco, for when all is said and done, he loves his brother, but if I were to seek out someone with ties to a D'Angeline traitor, I would start at Ricciardo's doorstep. His ... proclivities ... have led him to stranger places, and he has no love for theLittle Court, whereas we still hope to make peace." Marie-Celeste patted my arm in a motherly fashion as Marco returned, exclaiming in a different tone. "Come inside and sit, my dear! I must know who made your gown. Are such plain lines the fashion this season?"
Still pondering her comments, I thought of Favrielle nó Eglantine and wondered what she would make of Marie-Celeste Stregazza's attire, which, from what I had seen, was the height of Serenissiman style—a long, sleeveless overdress gaudily adorned with appliques and cut-outs, bound beneath the breasts with gold net and worn over a fine silk tunic with tight-fitting sleeves. The whole ensemble, dreadful to my eyes, was topped with a gauze turban and finished at the bottom with a pair of wooden-soled sandals—pattens, they are called—a full four inches in height.
"Not exactly, my lady," I said diplomatically. "My seamstress is very particular."
"Well." Marie-Celeste de la Courcel Stregazza smiled, "You must tell me everything."
THIRTY-THREE
It was late afternoon when Severio returned to usher me out of the Doge's Palace, and the Square was awash in golden sunlight. I left Marie-Celeste with sufficient advice to ensure that her knowledge of current D'Angeline fashion was competitive with the Little Court—not that I saw her inclined to take it—and Marco with a final promise that I would consider his proposal.
The Immortali were waiting, and Ti-Philippe and Joscelin with them. I would have preferred a chance to speak privately with my retainers, but it was not to be, not yet.
"My lady Phèdre," Severio said gallantly, extending his arm. "Shall we promenade about the Square? It is a most pleasant afternoon for strolling."
"Of course." Hiding my impatience, I smiled at him andtook his arm, ignoring Joscelin's look of silent disapproval. At least, I thought, his Cassiline arms had been restored to him; that should please him. Ti-Philippe, by contrast, was in good spirits, trading jests with the Immortali.
I daresay I might have enjoyed it, if not for the pall Jos-celin cast. Like a pair of young noble-born lovers, Severio and I strolled about the Square, observing the goods for sale and the colorful throng of buyers and sellers. The Square itself was inlaid with paving stones of white marble etched with guild-markings for the various Scholae, delineating the allotted market stalls for each guild.
It was strange and exotic to me, seeing such vigorous commerce take place cheek-by-jowl beside the Doge's Palace and the Temple of Asherat. In Terre d'Ange we are more reserved, separating our royal seats and sacred places from the common milieu. But it was true, what Marco Stregazza had said; trade was the lifeblood of the Republic, and I supposed it was meet that its beating heart lay at the center of La Serenissima.
Hosiers, clothiers, glovers—a separate guild for each, and that was merely a beginning. There were stalls for shoemakers, coopers and carpenters, jewelers and soap-boilers, farmers and spice merchants, fishermen and butchers, barbers, smiths and saddlers. Commonfolk in rough fustian and shawled women bartered alongside silk- and velvet-clad nobles. Here and there, we saw other strolling lovers, though I noted that the young women who appeared unwed covered