Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [153]
Her lips moved soundlessly and her eyes searched all our faces, lingering longest on mine, taking in the mark of Kushiel's Dart with a kind of awe. "You," she said wonderingly. "Phanuel spoke of you. You brought the Picti, the Painted Folk, when he fought the Skaldi. Men carried your banner. They ... they made up songs about it. You."
"Yes," I said softly. "These men. Signora, please accept our deepest sympathy."
"Why would they do it?" Her dark, stricken eyes pleaded for an answer. "His own brethren among the guard! Why? He was afraid, he would never tell me."
Behind her, Master Pidari shook his bald head dolefully and went inside. I watched him go, thinking. "Signora," I said to her. "If it was D'Angelines who did this, I will look into it myself, I promise you. But why do you think so? Your father does not."
She gave a despairing laugh that was part gulping sob. "My father! He thinks because Phanuel has a pretty face, he is girlish and weak. But he was a soldier, my lady. Ruffians could not have defeated him so easily, nor the bully-boys of the Vicenti. It was soldiers killed him, with steel." Serena Buonard pointed to her heart. "Right here, a blade." A fierceness lit her eyes. "I will ask along the harbor, and see if someone was not bribed to let D'Angeline guardsmen ashore!"
I turned to Remy, who nodded before I even spoke. "Remy. Take Fiorello, and go. If they demand payment to speak, do it. I'll reimburse the cost."
"Thank you, my lady, thank you!" Serena clutched my hands gratefully. I felt sick. "My father thinks I am mad, but I know I am not. Why? Why would they do this?"
"Signora." I fought down my rising gorge. "Why did your husband accept a post in La Serenissima?"
"He said his commander offered him money, much money," she whispered, dropping my hands. "Money to go far away. But there was something he wanted to forget, andthe Little Court was not far enough for that. So he ran to me." She lifted her chin defiantly; she was pretty, beneath her grief, in a Serenissiman fashion. "He thought Isla Vitrari was far enough," she added sadly. "But it was not."
"No," I murmured. "Signora, your husband was the first to discover a terrible deed, at the fortress of Troyes-le-Mont where the last battle against the Skaldi was fought, and I think mayhap that memory is what he fled. Did he ever speak of it to you?"
She nodded, looking into the distance. "Yes." Her voice was a faint thread of sound. "He told me, once. He thought... he thought the man was sleeping and jested with him, as guards will do. And then he saw blood on his tunic, and his eyes open and unmoving." Serena Buonard shook her head. "No more than that. Only dawn breaking grey in the east, and the scent of apples ripening on the morning breeze."
"Apples." I breathed the word, my heart cold in my breast. Troyes-le-Mont stood on a plain near the foothills of Camlach, scourged by the Skaldi for ten leagues in every direction.
There were no apples ripening in Troyes-le-Mont, that summer or ever.
What happened after that blurs in my memory, between the horror and guilt. I promised, extravagantly, to see justice brought to the killers of Phanuel Buonard. Pale and shocked, Fortun and Ti-Philippe seconded me. I daresay none of us believed it, before. I fumbled for my purse, untying it from my girdle and giving it whole into Serena's hands. It was heavy with gold solidi, and even through her grief, her eyes widened at it. I made promises to return at a better time regarding my Queen's commission.
All of that done, we departed, discarding solemnity for haste the instant we were out of sight. In the harbor, Remy met us, grim-faced. Serena Buonard was right. D'Angeline guardsmen had landed last night, bribing the harbormaster's second assistant.
"They should have hidden their tracks better," I said quietly. "Fiorello, take us back."