Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [165]
I was raving; 1 knew I was raving. And worse, I could not seem to stop. As the torrent of my voice continued, I saw the warden nod once to Fabron, who came forward to grip my arms, driving me backward. He maneuvered his body close to mine, licking his lips.
It was not easy, but I regained control of myself and shook him off. Melisande's bond of protection held; he let go of me ostentatiously, raising both hands in the air.
"Elua grant you may regret this, my lord," I said quietly to the warden.
"You may pray so, if you wish." No more than that did he say, but opened the door to my cell, beckoning Fabron ahead of him and exiting after. The door closed and locked, leaving me alone once more.
One hope, gone.
It left only Joscelin and Ti-Philippe ... or Melisande.
I did not much like my chances either way.
FORTY-FOUR
Melisande did not come without warning.
I knew, the next time a guard brought a wash bucket and soap, what it meant. I took no pleasure in it this time, only a certain bitter amusement. It would not do for the Princess-Consort of Benedicte de la Courcel to find me unwashed and unkempt in a foul and reeking cell, of course. No, Melisande would order me bathed, like some battle-chieftain with a choice captive of war.
I did it, though I was tempted to defiance. But having already been forcibly fed, I had no wish to repeat the experience with a scrubbing, and something in the guard's expression—he was a new one, whose name I did not know—suggested that it was likely. When I had done, I donned the clean dress he'd brought and sat cross-legged on my pallet to wait.
I did not have overlong.
This time, I did not flinch, nor retreat. I remained as I was, while Melisande's presence filled the cell like a candleflame or a song. I was proud of that small act of will. If she had brought me low, well then, that was the territory I would claim for my own. Let her stoop, if she wished to reach me.
So I thought; being Melisande, of course, she did not, but merely looked down at me, gauging to a nicety what I did, and why. A faint smile hovered at the coiner of her mouth. I had no tricks she did not know. What my lord Delaunay had taught me, he taught her, too, long ago. And in turn, she taught him to use people.
As he had used me.
"Have you decided?" Melisande inquired.
I tilted my head back against the stone walls of my cell. "What would you do with me?"
Another might have mistaken my meaning; Melisandedidn't. "There is a dungeon in the Little Court. You would be held there until. .. matters in La Serenissima were resolved. Or mayhap longer. It depends on you." She glanced mildly around my cell. "It is a good deal more pleasant than this, being built for the enjoyment of Kusheline guests. Light, you will have, and comforts; decent clothing, food, a proper bath. Texts, if you wish; the library is good. Is it less secure for it, you wonder? No." She shook her head. "Not by much."
"By some."
"Yes," Melisande said thoughtfully. "Some."
"There is the chance that I might play you false and win your trust."
"Yes." A glimmer of amusement lit her glorious eyes. "There is that, too. Although I daresay if you thought it likely, you'd not say it aloud."
Since it was true, I didn't bother to answer, asking instead, "Why risk it at all? All that you have striven for lies within your reach. Is it worth jeopardizing, no matter how slight the risk, merely to toy with me? I don't believe it, my lady, and I mistrust this offer of yours."
"Do you?" Melisande walked to gaze through the barred window at the distant horizon, filtered daylight rendering her lovely features serene. "The game of thrones is a mortal one, my dear. Even if this gambit were to fail—and it will not— still, I have secured my endgame. My son, who is innocent in all things, stands third in line to the