Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [30]
"No." He gave me a hard look. "But a viper is no less dangerous for being small. And if Marmion Shahrizai arranged the death of his own sister, he'll scruple at naught."
"I'll be careful."
"Ysandre favors him," Ti-Philippe announced. "So the guards say. He makes her laugh."
Well he might; from time out of mind, House Shahrizai has produced deadly skillful courtiers. None of them have ever held the throne—nor even the sovereign duchy of Kusheth—but they have amassed tremendous amounts of wealth, and a network of influence rivaled by none. If Marmion was in league with Melisande, then he had sacrificed some of his allies in gaining Ysandre's trust. If any survived, they must be nervous.
"Well," I mused aloud. "If the Captain of the Guard allows it, maintain contact with these disgruntled Shahrizai retainers, and learn what you may. More than ever, it's important that we find the men on guard that night at Troyes-le-Mont.”
"Yes, my lady!" Grinning, Remy gave me a crisp salute. "We didn't do too badly, though, did we?"
"No," I said. "Not badly at all. Except for the fighting part."
"My lady!" Ti-Philippe protested. "He said we were lackeys to a—"
"Stop," I said mildly, cutting him off. The words died in his mouth. "Philippe, you have pledged your service to an anguissette and a Servant of Naamah. If the jests you hear are no worse than the ones you have made yourself, then you will be quiet and swallow them."
Muttering, he subsided into some semblance of acquiescence.
"What if they are worse?" Remy inquired.
"They couldn't be," I answered him dryly.
It may seem at times as if a riddle has been chased to ground, all possibilities exhausted, all avenues of inquiry covered. So it seemed to me that night, but in the morning, a new thought struck me. Thelesis de Mornay, the Queen's Poet, had interviewed many of the survivors of Troyes-le-Mont, taking copious notes for her epic of the Ysandrine Cycle. Mayhap there was somewhat in her notes that might prove useful.
I voiced my suggestion to Joscelin as he came in from his morning's exercises, and he nodded agreement. "It's worth a try, at any rate." He smiled. "I missed her visit, the other day. I'd not mind seeing her."
We arrived at the Palace at midday, and were swiftly granted audience. Thelesis' rooms in the Palace were spacious and well-appointed, with an elegant mural of Eisheth at her harp on the eastern wall and a lovely bronze statue of the Tiberian poet Catiline. For all of that, they were a mess, strewn about with books stacked in teetering piles, carelessly heaped scrolls and half-scratched parchments. Truly, a working poet's quarters.
"Phèdre, Joscelin!" The ink smudged on her cheek took nothing away from her glowing welcome. "I'm pleased you've come. Joscelin Verreuil, let me look at you." Thelesis took his hands, regarding him with pleasure. "You look splendid," she declared. He bent to kiss her cheek. Thelesis de Mornay was one of the few people for whom Joscelin felt unalloyed affection.
"So do you," he said fondly. "I hope you've been keeping well."
"Well enough." Thelesis gestured to her blazing fireplace. "Ysandre makes certain there's no chance of my taking a chill," she said, amused. "It's hot enough for a steam bath in here, most of the time. I hope you don't mind. So tell me, what brings you here?"
I told her, and watched her expression turn keen and thoughtful.
"I took some notes, I remember that much. Ghislain de Somerville was dreadfully upset; his father had entrusted the watch to his command that night."
Joscelin and I exchanged a glance. He shook his head slightly.
"You don't suspect—" Thelesis began, then stopped. "Ghislain. You do."
"I don't want to," I said. "We travelled under Ghislain's command from the banks of the Rhenus to the mountains of Camlach. He could have laughed in my