Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [73]
Barquiel L'Envers was on it; so was Gaspar Trevalion, and Percy de Somerville. He remembered them well enough. None, however, had been near the ledger recording members of the Cassiline Brotherhood attendant on House Courcel. Indeed, Bernard swore up and down that no one — no one! — had ever desecrated the archives on his watch.
"What did they want to see?" I asked him. "Do you remember?"
He nodded, swallowing hard; the apple in his throat bobbed with it. "Some one of them at least asked after the folios on the trial of Lyonette and Baudoin de Trevalion.”
Nothing for it then but that I must look through the folios, poring over transcribed records and supplementary materials. The letters were there—all there, insofar as I could tell. Letters written by Foclaidha of Alba to Lyonette de Trevalion, the Lioness of Azzalle, plotting the invasion that would have put Baudoin on the throne.
Baudoin, infatuated, had showed them to Melisande; even worse, in extravagant, idiotic proof of his love, had given several of them to her. And Melisande used them to destroy him, and any claim to the throne House Trevalion may have held.
She gave him a farewell gift, though.
Me.
Well, and so; it was the past, and should have been over and done, if not for the endless intrusions of old quarrels, old betrayals, into the present. Whatever was there, if it could incriminate one of those three, it was gone now, the allegedly watchful eye of Bernard of Siovale notwithstanding. Some one of them, he said; mayhap others. More than one person had asked to see these folios. I had a good guess about Gaspar's apprehensions; about the Duc L'Envers and the Royal Commander, I could only wonder. And, of course, there were eight or nine others Bernard had named whom I hadn't even begun to suspect.
"Thank you," I said to him, making ready to leave. One last thought struck me. "Bernard, my lady de Parnasse said the Queen visits the Archives, sometimes. Does she bring her Cassiline attendants, when she does?"
"Of course!" His eyes widened. "Not that she'd come to harm, here, mind, but... she is the Queen. It is their sworn duty to protect and serve the scions of Elua."
"Have any ever come alone?" I asked.
Bernard shrugged. "Oh, once or twice, mayhap, the Queen has sent one of her Cassilines on an errand. One must make allowances for royalty, my lady; even the Archivist herself would not turn away the Queen's Cassilines!"
Alas, his description of the Cassiline Brothers he had seen in the archives was predictably vague; of middle years, dour,grey-clad. In short, it fit nearly every Cassiline I'd ever seen, save for Joscelin. "So you do not keep watch over them," I said, discouraged.
"No." He blinked at me, puzzled. "Why would we watch over Cassiline Brethren? They're ... Cassiline! They, they ... you know. Protect and serve."
"Yes," I sighed. "I know."
Since there was no more to be learned in the Royal Archives, I collected Remy from the wineshop where he was awaiting me and returned home in a pensive mood.
"You're back," Joscelin said flatly. "I was worried."
"If you're so damnably worried," Remy said, eyeing Joscelin, "you should have gone yourself, and left off your hang-dog sulking, Cassiline."
Joscelin smiled tightly. "Should I not worry, then, that Phèdre nó Delaunay entrusts her safety to dice-playing sailors without the sense to remain sober when warding her?"
Remy swore once, and swore again, with a sailor's eloquence, and threw a punch at him. Joscelin shifted his balance, turning at the waist, and Remy's fist struck the wall of the entryway. Cursing and shaking his bruised knuckles, Remy drove his left elbow backward into Joscelin's ribs, forcing him back a step. Catching himself against the wall, Remy turned to face him, spitting out an epithet. "Sour-faced, vinegar-sucking cleric!" He threw another angry blow. With the ease of long training, Joscelin slid out of its way, caught Remy's arm between crossed wrists, grating the small bones together, and with an effortless twist