Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [302]
On the second day, we reached Pavento and were met outside the city walls by an honor guard sent by the Principe, Gregorio Livinius. While an encampment was set up in the fertile fields surrounding the city, Ysandre and a hand-picked company of nobles—which included me—were escorted inside.
It is a pleasant city, Pavento, although I saw little enough of it. We rode straightaway to the palace of the Principe, wrought of grey stone quarried from the mountains to the north, but softened by brightly-woven tapestries; they are famous, in Pavento, for their dyes.
Gregorio Livinius was a robust, energetic man in his mid-forties. He had been eager to secure ties with Ysandre, hoping to better his city's fortunes through increased trade with Terre d'Ange. It had fallen off in the years of Skaldic raiding threatening the overland routes, but since the defeat of Waldemar Selig, the Skaldi had withdrawn their aggressions.
It was to our fortune that Principe Gregorio remained eager to support this fresh alliance, although he bargained hard for the price of his aid. Most of what he demanded, Ysandre gave unhesitatingly. In exchange, he would provide stores for our journey and open the city to her entourage, giving safe haven to nigh onto two hundred folk—"Anyone who cannot hold a sword," Ysandre said grimly.
There were exceptions, of course; as the Secretary of the Presence, the Lady Denise Grosmaine was bound to accompany the Queen, and some few of the grooms, attendants and cooks were reckoned vital, as was the chirurgeon.
And there was me, although I was not reckoned vital.
In the end, it was sheer pleading that swayed her; two others among her ladies-in-waiting accompanied her, too, for she could scarce refuse their pleas having heeded mine.
Ysandre would fain have left us all. Fewer to endanger; fewer to protect.
"My lady," I begged, kneeling before her. "I have been deceived, imprisoned, bludgeoned, near-drowned, abducted, storm-lost, driven nigh out of my wits and held at knifepoint. If you grant me nothing else, let me go home!"
"Phèdre," Ysandre sighed. "The more I try to set you out of harm's way, the deeper in it I find you. All right. Like as not, you'd only turn up with an army of brigands at your back if I tried to leave you. You may come." She cast an acerbic eye at the high-spirited Baronesse Marie de Flairs, already moving to add her plea to mine, and the Lady Vivienne Neldor a step behind her. "Elua, enough! My lord Cassiline, will you take responsibility for their safety?"
At her side, Brys nó Rinforte looked queasy; but it was Joscelin the Queen had meant. He took a step forward, bowing deeply with crossed vambraces. I had washed most of the dye from his hair at the Little Court, and trimmed the ends so that he looked somewhat presentable. "Your majesty," he said calmly. "I will."
So it was decided, and Joscelin Verreuil placed in command of those men-at-arms attendant on the Queen's ladies. If I feared they would balk at it, I was wrong, for his battle in the Temple with David de Rocaille was already spoken of in hushed murmurs. Ti-Philippe bore it with amusement when he learned of Joscelin's appointment. The days of animosity were long gone between them, replaced by bonds of mutual respect.
Ysandre asked no military aid of Principe Gregorio, and if Lord Trente bridled at it, he held his tongue; Pavento was small, and had few troops to spare. His hopes were pinned on Milazza, and the argument remained open between them.
The other piece of good news to come from our sojourn there was that Melisande's couriers had not stopped to spread word of Ysandre's supposed assassination. 'Twould have slowed their course, but it would have made