Kushiel's Dart - Jacqueline Carey [117]
The room was beautifully appointed with Akkadian tapestries and furniture of unusual design, low and cushioned. One chair, with carving elaborate enough for a throne, was clearly the Duc's, but it stood empty. One of the men-at-arms-one of those I guessed to be Akkadian-left, while the Captain and the others lined the walls and stood at attention. I watched Delaunay, taking my cue from him. He was calm and watchful, betraying no sign of unease. It heartened me to see it. In a few moments, we heard the sound of booted strides in the hallway, and the Duc L'Envers entered the room.
Though I'd never seen him, I'd no doubt who it was; his men made him instantaneous bows, and Delaunay and the three of us followed suit.
To my surprise, when I straightened from my deep curtsy, I saw that the Duc himself was dressed in Akkadian style. A burnouse of L'Envers purple shrouded his face, and instead of a doublet, he wore loose robes over his breeches, with a long, flowing coat. Only his eyes were visible, but I knew them, once I had the chance to look him full in the face. They were a deep violet, House L'Envers' coloring; the color of Ysandre de la Courcel's eyes, who was his niece.
"Anafiel Delaunay," the Duc drawled, taking his seat and unwinding the long scarf of his burnouse. He had the white-blond hair, too, and pale skin, though it was sun-darkened around his eyes and his hair was cropped shorter than I'd ever seen a nobleman's. "Well, well. So you've come to apologize for your sins against my House?"
Delaunay stepped forward and gave another bow. "Your grace," he said, "I have come to propose we put that matter behind us, in the past, where it belongs."
Barquiel L'Envers sat at his ease, legs crossed before him, but I did not doubt for an instant that he was a dangerous man. "After you named my sister a murderess for all the realm to hear?" he asked smoothly. "Do you suggest I simply forgive this slight?"
"Yes." Delaunay said it without losing an inch of composure. I heard several of the men-at-arms murmur. The Duc raised his hand without looking to see which ones.
"Why?" he asked curiously. "I know what you have to offer, and I wish to hear it. But it settles nothing between us, Delaunay. Why should I forgive?"
Delaunay drew a long breath and something smouldered in his voice. "Do you swear, your grace, on Elua's name and your own lineage, that my song was untrue?"
His question hung in the air. Barquiel L'Envers considered it, then moved his head slightly, neither a nod nor a shake. "I do not swear either way, Delaunay. My sister Isabel was ambitious, and jealous in the bargain. But if she had aught to do with Edmee de Rocaille's fall, I will swear she never intended her death."
"The intent does not matter; the cause alone suffices."
"Perhaps." Barquiel L'Envers continued to study him. "Perhaps not. Because of your words, a traitoress may name my sister a cold-blooded killer to the King's own face, and no one will gainsay it. You have not given me sufficient reason to forgive. Have you more?"
"I have sworn an oath," Delaunay said softly, "by which you stand to profit."
"Oh, that!" L'Envers' voice rose in surprise. He laughed. "You mean to stand by that, after the way Ganelon's treated you?"
"I did not swear it to Ganelon de la Courcel."
I wished, fervently, that one of them would say more of the matter, but neither did. Delaunay stood tautly upright, while L'Envers' thoughtful gaze wandered over the three of us, pausing longest on Joscelin.
"Well, Ganelon takes it with some degree of seriousness, it would seem," he observed. "Though I have never seen a stranger retinue. Two whores, and a Cassiline Brother. Only you, Anafiel. You always had a reputation for being unpredictable, but this is downright eccentric. Which one knows who killed my sister?"
Alcuin stepped