Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [289]
"Credit your fast-talking chevalier," he said shortly, and then nodded to Ricciardo. "Hello, Uncle. Aren't you supposed to be under house arrest?"
Ricciardo was breathing hard; I learned later that he'd fought a pitched battle to win past the guards at his estate. "The riot in the Campo Grande is contained," he said, ignoring the question. "And the instigators in custody. Severio, I'm sorry, but they will swear to your father's part in it."
After a pause, Severio nodded curtly. "You tried to warn me. Thank you." He turned to his fellow Immortali. "Escort my maternal grandfather's wife to his side," he said withloathing. "Let her offer comfort in his agony, since she has brought him to this impasse."
Melisande said naught to him. I remembered well his bitterness at Benedicte de la Courcel's regard for his half-breed children and grandchildren; 'twas that cruel regard that Melisande had turned, drop by drop, into the poison of treason. She would find no sympathy here. Without a second glance, she went of her own accord.
Ti-Philippe bent to retrieve Joscelin's dagger, thrusting it in his belt. "My lady," he said to me. "I think it is time we saw our Queen."
Whatever else was true of him, Cesare Stregazza had the stuff of command in him. By the time we made our way to the center of the Temple, he had established the semblance of order. Marco and Marie-Celeste knelt at his feet, pleading clemency for their part in the conspiracy, claiming they had been deceived by Benedicte and his treacherous wife.
His withered eyelids flickered; he did not give an inch. "Is it true?" he demanded of Melisande, who stood tall and straight beside the bleeding form of her royal husband.
"Not in the least, your Grace," she replied calmly. "Your daughter-in-law herself bribed the Priestess of the Crown to ensure the false prophecy and see to it that the rioters were admitted to the Temple. Two votes in the Consiglio Maggiore, I believe was the price. I would not stoop to blasphemy."
Marie-Celeste Stregazza drew a hissing breath and made some sharp reply; I did not stay to hear it, for I had won through at last to Ysandre's retinue. And there ...
"Joscelin!" I flung my arms around him, assuring myself that he was alive and whole; and so he was, save for a few minor wounds about the arms. He laughed at my onslaught, holding me off only long enough to kiss me.
"You make a dramatic entrance, near-cousin," the Queen of Terre d'Ange said wryly.
"Oh, Phèdre, get up." There was a familiar impatience inYsandre's voice; only a trace. "I'm sorry I doubted you. You were right, and more, and we will speak of it at length later. Come, you have earned the right to bear witness to this encounter."
I would rather not have gone, but one does not refuse an order from one's sovereign. The throng of Serenissiman nobles and guardsmen parted as Ysandre de la Courcel made her way to her kinsman's side, and even the Doge fell silent. My struggle lay with Melisande, always Melisande; I had nearly forgotten that Benedicte de la Courcel was Ysandre's great-uncle, her nearest living kin on her royal father's side.
She took his betrayal hard.
"Why?" Ysandre asked, disregarding Melisande to kneel beside him. "Why have you done this thing, Uncle?"
Benedicte's eyes rolled in his head; his lined features worked, a bloody froth appearing at the corners of his mouth. They had laid him on a cloak of cloth-of-gold, and he was not long for this world. His roving eye fell on Severio Stregazza, standing close at hand, and contempt suffused his face. "Barbarian ... blood ... tainting Elua's line," he spat. "Bad enough here ... there ... blue-painted barbarian Pícti in your bed ..."
It was enough; Ysandre straightened even as he seized convulsively, her face hardening. "Tend to him," she said sharply to the Eisandine chirurgeon who travelled with her. "If he lives, he will face our justice." Her gaze fell on Melisande, who had drawn back her veil at last. For a long moment, neither spoke. "Your life," Ysandre said at length, expressionless, "is already forfeit.