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Authors: Jacqueline Carey
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seen it in the steading of the Skaldi warlord Waldemar Selig, when I realized with sinking horror the infinite depth of her treachery.
Now I read it in my own home, and when I finished, set down the letter and pressed steepled fingers against my lips.
“Name of Elua!” Ti-Philippe exploded. “What does the she-bitch want?”
I looked up at him, lifting my head, and answered simply. “My help.”
“ What ?” It was Joscelin, incredulous, who snatched up the letter and read it for himself, passing it to Ti-Philippe and taking an abrupt seat in a nearby chair. He stared at me open-mouthed, shaking his head in unconscious denial. “Phèdre. No. She’s mad. She has to be!”
Dear Phèdre, the letter read, I am writing to ask your aid in a matter of vital importance. There is no one else I may trust. I swear to you, in Kushiel’s name, that this is no ploy and poses no threat of harm to your loyalties. Make haste to La Serenissima, and I will explain .
That, and no more. I heard a stifled expletive from Ti-Philippe as he finished reading.
“No,” Joscelin said again, although I had not spoken. The color was returning to his face. “Phèdre, you can’t possibly consider it. Whatever it is, it’s bound to be a trick.”
“No.” I look ed past him at the bust of Anafiel Delaunay which sat on a black marble plinth in my salon. My lord Delaunay gazed back at me, silent as ever, a wry tenderness to his austere features. I remembered how I had first met Melisande in Delaunay’s gymnasium, how she had touched my face, and my knees had turned to water. She was the only one he had ever allowed to see me before I entered Naamah’s Service. They had been friends, once; and lovers, too. He might be alive today, but for her treachery. So might countless others. I have never dared number those dead by Melisande’s deeds. “She swore it in Kushiel’s name. Even Melisande has rules.”
“You can’t think it.”
There was a ragged edge to Joscelin’s voice I had not heard in more than ten years. My eyes stung with tears as I turned my gaze to him, swallowing hard. “It’s Sibeal’s dream, don’t you see, and Hyacinthe’s vision. Joscelin, I don’t pretend to understand. But I have to go.”
He was silent for a moment. “You would let her put her leash on you again.”
“No.” I took back the letter that Ti-Philippe had thrown onto the table, running the ball of my thumb over the waxen seal. “Melisande remains under the purview of the Temple of Asherat. She’s not free to make claims on me. And I will not offer what I did once before.”
“Melisande Shahrizai doesn’t need her freedom to make claims on you,” Joscelin whispered. “And you don’t need to offer. Do you think I don’t know that?”
“Joscelin.” I dropped the letter and rubbed my temples. My head ached fiercely. “What do you want me to do? Stay here and slowly go mad, thinking about Hyacinthe and spending my days praying some poor, God-ridden Habiru mystic will stumble across the Sacred Name? I don’t want to see Melisande; Blessed Elua knows I don’t want to help her! But there have been dreams and visions pointing the way, and I prayed to Elua to show it to me. Now my prayer is answered; a letter, like a portent. What am I to do? Ignore it?” I let my hands fall to my lap and shook my aching head. “I can’t.”
“I’ll go.” Ti-Philippe’s words sounded abrupt. “The Tsingano said the path would be dark. Well, I’m not afraid of darkness.” He cleared his throat. “I can’t imagine we’ll see aught worse than we’ve seen before, my lady. And I’m not afraid of your facing Melisande Shahrizai. Whatever it is between you, you’ve outfaced her twice before, and won.” He glanced at Joscelin. “People forget that.”
“I don’t forget!” Joscelin raised his voice sharply. In the old days, they had quarrelled often; this was the first time since La Serenissima. “But I don’t trust anyone’s luck to
Now I read it in my own home, and when I finished, set down the letter and pressed steepled fingers against my lips.
“Name of Elua!” Ti-Philippe exploded. “What does the she-bitch want?”
I looked up at him, lifting my head, and answered simply. “My help.”
“ What ?” It was Joscelin, incredulous, who snatched up the letter and read it for himself, passing it to Ti-Philippe and taking an abrupt seat in a nearby chair. He stared at me open-mouthed, shaking his head in unconscious denial. “Phèdre. No. She’s mad. She has to be!”
Dear Phèdre, the letter read, I am writing to ask your aid in a matter of vital importance. There is no one else I may trust. I swear to you, in Kushiel’s name, that this is no ploy and poses no threat of harm to your loyalties. Make haste to La Serenissima, and I will explain .
That, and no more. I heard a stifled expletive from Ti-Philippe as he finished reading.
“No,” Joscelin said again, although I had not spoken. The color was returning to his face. “Phèdre, you can’t possibly consider it. Whatever it is, it’s bound to be a trick.”
“No.” I look ed past him at the bust of Anafiel Delaunay which sat on a black marble plinth in my salon. My lord Delaunay gazed back at me, silent as ever, a wry tenderness to his austere features. I remembered how I had first met Melisande in Delaunay’s gymnasium, how she had touched my face, and my knees had turned to water. She was the only one he had ever allowed to see me before I entered Naamah’s Service. They had been friends, once; and lovers, too. He might be alive today, but for her treachery. So might countless others. I have never dared number those dead by Melisande’s deeds. “She swore it in Kushiel’s name. Even Melisande has rules.”
“You can’t think it.”
There was a ragged edge to Joscelin’s voice I had not heard in more than ten years. My eyes stung with tears as I turned my gaze to him, swallowing hard. “It’s Sibeal’s dream, don’t you see, and Hyacinthe’s vision. Joscelin, I don’t pretend to understand. But I have to go.”
He was silent for a moment. “You would let her put her leash on you again.”
“No.” I took back the letter that Ti-Philippe had thrown onto the table, running the ball of my thumb over the waxen seal. “Melisande remains under the purview of the Temple of Asherat. She’s not free to make claims on me. And I will not offer what I did once before.”
“Melisande Shahrizai doesn’t need her freedom to make claims on you,” Joscelin whispered. “And you don’t need to offer. Do you think I don’t know that?”
“Joscelin.” I dropped the letter and rubbed my temples. My head ached fiercely. “What do you want me to do? Stay here and slowly go mad, thinking about Hyacinthe and spending my days praying some poor, God-ridden Habiru mystic will stumble across the Sacred Name? I don’t want to see Melisande; Blessed Elua knows I don’t want to help her! But there have been dreams and visions pointing the way, and I prayed to Elua to show it to me. Now my prayer is answered; a letter, like a portent. What am I to do? Ignore it?” I let my hands fall to my lap and shook my aching head. “I can’t.”
“I’ll go.” Ti-Philippe’s words sounded abrupt. “The Tsingano said the path would be dark. Well, I’m not afraid of darkness.” He cleared his throat. “I can’t imagine we’ll see aught worse than we’ve seen before, my lady. And I’m not afraid of your facing Melisande Shahrizai. Whatever it is between you, you’ve outfaced her twice before, and won.” He glanced at Joscelin. “People forget that.”
“I don’t forget!” Joscelin raised his voice sharply. In the old days, they had quarrelled often; this was the first time since La Serenissima. “But I don’t trust anyone’s luck to