Kushiel's Dart - Jacqueline Carey [331]
Easier to shout down than up; the shining figure gave an exaggerated bow.
"Go," I said to Remy and his two companions. "Elua keep you."
"You promised to throw open the doors of the Night Court," he reminded me.
"All that you desire, and more." I laughed, a sob catching in my voice. "Come back safe and claim it, Chevalier."
Spurring their mounts, they rode down a narrow mountain path, to be met by d'Aiglemort's men. We had no choice but to wait. If d'Aiglemort played us false, we could exact a terrible revenge, from this vantage, but their lives were forfeit. We watched as they were led to d'Aiglemort, relaying our request.
Those are surely the longest moments I have passed, atop that mountain, waiting to see if Isidore d'Aiglemort would honor the concords of war.
In the end, he did. A number of Camaelines surrounded Remy and his companions in clear warning. The white flag showed vivid against the valley floor. And Isidore d'Aiglemort and a handful of chosen warriors rode-slowly up the winding trail.
He came armed and mailed, but helmetless, pale hair bright in the sun, black eyes narrowed and glittering. Without the least sign of fear, he rode straight to Ghislain de Somerville, ignoring the L'Agnacite bowmen who fell in around him, arrows nocked and pointed at his head.
"I am here, cousin," Isidore d'Aiglemort said with exaggerated courtesy; all the Great Houses are kin, in some manner. "You wished to speak with me?"
"The emissary of Ysandre de la Courcel, Queen of Terre d'Ange, wishes to speak with you," Ghislain replied, his broad, handsome features impassive. "Your grace."
D'Aiglemort turned, scanning the arrayed forces, gazing over my head. I saw him take in the blue-whorled faces of the Cruithne and check himself, startled. Drustan mab Necthana ground his teeth. But this was a D'Angeline affair. I stepped forward and raised my voice.
"My lord," I said.
"You." Isidore d'Aiglemort looked down at last, and frowned. "I know you."
"Yes, my lord." I inclined my head. "I gave yore to you at the Midwinter Masque, when Baudoin de Trevalion played the Sun Prince. You remembered, when last we met." I saw him remember, placing me. "You were fostered among the Shahrizai," I said softly. "They should have taught you to recognize the mark of Kushiel's Dart, my lord."
Thoughts flickered across his face, too quick to follow. His emotions, he concealed. "Delaunay's anguissette" he said dryly. "I remember. Melisande begged a favor, for a plan gone awry. I thought you gone, among the Skaldi. But your lord's death was not of my will, anguissette."
"So I am given to understand," I said, with a calm I did not feel.
He raised his pale brows. "You are not here for revenge? Then what?" D'Aiglemort glanced around at the Alban army, pressing close around us. "You bring the Picti? Why?" One could see the thoughts connect behind his eyes. "Delaunay. That's what he and Quintilius Rousse were about."
"My lord." It took all of my training to keep my voice level and my gaze upon his. "This is the army of the Cruarch of Alba and Ghislain de Somerville. And we are here to offer you the choosing of the manner of your death."
D'Aiglemort's men reacted, then, reaching for their swords despite the vast number arrayed against them. The Duc held up his hand, expressionless. "How do you say?"
"You are a dead man, Kilberhaar." I saw the blood leave his face at the Skaldi name, and was glad. "Waldemar Selig used you for a fool. He'll not let you live, if he defeats us; the D'Angelines know you for a traitor, and will not abide it. Selig's smart enough to clean up after himself, and wise enough to leave no blade aimed at his back. I know, I spent considerable time in his bed, thanks to you. You're dead, no matter who wins. We can offer you a chance to die with honor."
Isidore d'Aiglemort threw his head back, eyes blazing. "What possible reason would I have to take it, anguissette?"
"I am Phedre no Delaunay," I said softly, "and I can give