Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [298]
The Cassiline, whose name was Brys no Rinforte, breathed hard, hands twitching above his daggers, sweat beading his brow as he struggled to remain impassive. Like Joscelin, he had witnessed one of his Brethren betray his oath in the most incredible fashion, and he knew full well Melisande was the reason, if not the cause.
"Let him be." Joscelin's sword rang free of its sheath and he pointed it full at her, eyes grim and implacable. "I havefaced damnation from more angles than you can number, Kushiel's scion. One more is of no account. Leave be."
"Cassiline." Melisande regarded him coolly, fingertips still resting on the Brother's heaving chest. "Have you faced the loss of your beloved Phèdre's affection? For surely you will earn it, if you take my life."
He looked at me; they all looked at me, even the priestesses and attendants, and I could not think for the clamor in my head, the sound of my blood beating in my ears. I pressed my fingers to my temples and shouted, "Sit down!"
No one sat, but Melisande took a step back and lowered her hand, gesturing for me to speak. Brys no Rinforte exhaled; the Secretary's pen scratched. Ysandre watched without speaking. I looked at Melisande.
"My lady," I whispered. "You know what we seek. Is there any price not named that you will accept?"
I had not planned it, this offer; if I had thought on it, I would have faltered. And yet it was a bargain that had lain on the table between us since those dreadful days and nights when I languished in the prisons of the black isle.
They treated her as royalty, here in the Temple of Asherat—and how not, for she was, noble-born, with a courtier's deadly skill and a mother bereft of her son besides. I had spent many a dark night on La Dolorosa; I knew the extent of Asherat-of-the-Sea's grief. I knew what it meant to those who served the goddess. They would shelter her, for so long as she desired. And they would accommodate her, if she wanted me. Not a small price, no; but mayhap worth it, if it bought peace.
It would bring an end, at last, to the chain of blood-guilt I had seen my life's course forging in the cavern of the thetalos.
There was that.
Slowly, regretfully, Melisande Shahrizai shook her head, setting the blue-black curtain of her hair rippling down her back. "No," she said softly. "Not for this. Not for my son."
I heard Joscelin release a long-pent breath and I straightened, turning to face my Queen. "You have asked." Mycomposed voice sounded like a stranger's to me. "You have been answered, your majesty. Will you hear my counsel?"
"I would," Ysandre said.
"Go home, your majesty," I said simply. "There is a game being played out whether you will it or no, and naught to be won here. Percy de Somerville moves against your throne, even now awaiting word that flies to him on winged hooves. Go home, and defend it."
Ysandre heard me out expressionlessly, and nodded once, rising. "My offer stands," she said to Melisande. "For now. Remember that I have made it." And without waiting for a response, she swept out of the salon, members of her retinue falling in behind her. Melisande remained standing, watching her go, thoughtful behind her gleaming veil.
I gazed at her one last time before I turned to follow my Queen, and what she was thinking, I could not say. Even in defeat, Melisande was unhumbled. Wrenching my gaze away, I followed the departing retinue, and Joscelin's hand rested on my elbow, guiding me when my feet stumbled, anchoring me, his love the dagger by which I fixed the compass of my heart.
In the Temple proper, Lord Amaury Trente railed against the newly annointed Priestess of the Crown, she who had spoken in defense of Melisande's claim of sanctuary and stood now in the place of her predecessor. "Her life is forfeit by D'Angeline law!" he shouted, venting futile anger. "How can you defend such a one, whose honeyed tongue has shed more blood than a warrior's blade?"
Although she was young enough to tremble, she was old enough to stand her ground,