Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [75]
No less menacing was Quincel de Morhban, a lean wolf of a man with a watchful look in his grey eyes. Despite themachinations of House Shahrizai, he retained sovereignty over Kusheth, and was no one to be toyed with lightly— and Barquiel L'Envers had done just that, with his investigation. De Morhban's men stood at ease, as watchful as their lord.
In the face of all this, Barquiel L'Envers gave a lazy smile. "My apologies for the irregularity of my methods. But it is a matter of state, Ysandre, and your Lord Marmion Shahrizai is involved in it up to his eyeballs. He's been concealing knowledge of Melisande' s escape and whereabouts, which you ..." he bowed ironically to her, "... chose not to believe. Since I cannot prove that, I have proven instead that he was complicit in his sister's death, which matter neither his House nor his sovereign Duc thought worthy of pursuing."
There were murmurs all around at that; a couple of the Shahrizai surged forward. Duc Paragon raised one hand, and they subsided. Quincel de Morhban narrowed his eyes. For my part, I stood unobtrusive as I could behind Nicola. How Ysandre had learned it, I do not know—never underestimate a ruler's network of informants within their own demesne— but when I arrived at Nicola's quarters in the Palace, there was already a curt order awaiting that I attend the hearing with her.
"I've done nothing!" Marmion declared angrily, shifting so his chains rattled. "You've proof of nothing, for there's nothing to prove!"
Barquiel L'Envers raised his eyebrows, and gave a cool nod to one of the Palace Guardsmen. Opening the door to Ysandre's private hearing room, the guard ushered in the first in a long line of witnesses.
There must have been over a dozen of them, all told; the guardsmen my chevaliers had questioned were among them. But too, there were maidservants and kitchen staff, stewards, hostlers, and most telling, a daring poacher's boy who'd espied two figures fleeing the burning manor-house and riding west on horses they'd concealed in the wood. It had taken him two days, but he'd tracked them to Lord Marmion's estate. If it had been aught but an internecine affair, he'd have sought an award for the information, but he feared to come forward among quarreling Shahrizai, who were as like to string him up for poaching as reward him. How Barquiel had found him, I'd no idea.
Ysandre sat formally to hear the testimony, and her face turned unreadable as it wore on. Two Cassiline Brothers flanked her, upright and motionless, hands on daggers, nearly identical in their ash-grey mandilion coats and clubbed hair. They were fixtures, part of the trappings of royalty, as much as the gilded sconces and the elegant tapestries. Small wonder, I thought, Bernard could not describe them individually; I was hard put to do it myself.
I could consider such things, because it had grown evident, long before the testimony ended, that Marmion Shahrizai was guilty. After the poacher's boy, his shoulders slumped, chains hanging slack from his wrists. I glanced at the Duc de Shahrizai, and saw an implacable sentence writ in his gaze.
When it was done, Ysandre spoke, her voice cool and measured. If ever she had cared for him, no one would know it to hear her. "What do you say, my lord Marmion?"
His answer, by contrast, was strained. "I didn't intend it." He gave her an agonized look. "I sent them, but only to search the manor! When yon steward summoned the guard, they panicked and fled, throwing down their torches." Marmion Shahrizai turned out his elegant hands, shackles clanking. "I never intended a fire," he whispered.
One by one, beginning with Duc Paragon, the members of House Shahrizai turned their backs upon him. I pitied