Kushiel's Avatar (Phedre's Trilogy #3)

Kushiel's Avatar (Phedre's Trilogy #3) Page 85

"None of the guards outside saw anything?"

He shook his head. "None would admit it."

"Either they lied, which means likely it's an Akkadian conspiracy, or they saw naught out of the ordinary, which still means it was likely an Akkadian. Not a woman; a woman unescorted would draw notice, at this hour."

"It could be a D'Angeline." Joscelin's voice was quiet. "Valère has D'Angeline servants in her entourage, enough to pass unremarked."

"True." Neither of us needed state the obvious, which was that Valère L'Envers was Duc Barquiel's daughter, and the Duc most as suredly would prefer Imriel dead. "Lord Amaury's men have the run of the Palace as well."

Joscelin sighed, dragging his free hand through his sleep-tangled hair. "Amaury . . . surely you don't suspect Amaury."

"Amaury, no. But the others ..." I stared at the dancing flame of the oil lamp. "How well do you know them? Vigny, de Marigot, Charves . . . Vigny's bitter, you said so yourself." I looked up. "It would be a stroke of genius for someone who wanted the boy dead to get himself placed on the mission to find him."

"Amaury's company was hand-picked," he said. "Valère's a likelier candidate."

"I agree." I thought of Melisande Shahrizai's description of Lord Amaury Trente in La Serenissima. A capable man, it is said, and loyal to the Queen, but not, I think, a clever one. "Nonetheless, we must consider the possibility."

"So what do we do?"

"Look for scratched faces," I said. "Imri drew blood; there were traces of it under his nails. If it's none of Amaury's men ..." I grimaced. "All we have to do is get him to Tyre alive."

"With the Lugal's generous escort," Joscelin observed. "Filled with Elua knows how many would-be assassins." He glanced toward the bedchamber. "You know ... all my life, from the time I was ten, I trained for this, for this very thing—to serve as a personal bodyguard to a member of House Courcel, the finest possible protection against the threat of assassination. And now?" He shrugged, the robe slipping from his bound shoulder. "I'm useless."

"Not useless," I said fiercely. "Never that! I'd rather have you one- handed than an entire company of Black Shields!"

He smiled, but his eyes were bleak. "I can't fight, Phèdre. You've seen it as well as I. Until this happened ... I didn't mind, not so much as I thought I might. After Daršanga, if I never have to kill anyone again, it will be too soon. But the boy..." He glanced back toward Imriel. "He needs a Cassiline, not a cripple."

"Joscelin." Tears stood in my eyes. "Anyone who wants to kill him will have to go through both of us first. And no one's done it yet."

After a moment he nodded, reaching out to brush my cheek. "Go to bed," he murmured. "I'll take the first watch and wake you before dawn."

I slept uneasily and rose when Joscelin, bleary-eyed, awoke me. While they slept, I studied the Jebean scroll which Valère L'Envers had restored to me. I'd learned a good deal more Jeb'ez than I realized, eavesdropping on Kaneka and her companions. I pondered the raiment of the figures, the bejeweled breastplate, the diadem placed upon Melek al'Hakim's brow after he was anointed. I pondered the two figures es caping from the ruin of the Temple, carrying the cloth-shrouded burden between them on two poles. Slowly, the mysteries I had studied filtered back into my mind, the long hours spent with Eleazar ben Enokh, with the Rebbe before him, the many texts I had perused. I thought on Eleazar's parting words. You must make of the self a vessel where there is no self. What did it mean, if not what I had undergone in Daršanga? Truly, the ways of gods were unknowable.

A breathless laugh broke my concentration and I jerked my head up, startled.

"You see?" Joscelin said to Imriel. "The Lugal himself could ride past her on a tiger, and she'd not notice."

"I would, too," I said. I don't think either of them believed me.

We spent the day in investigation, as best we might; no easy thing, in unfamiliar surroundings. Joscelin, with Imriel at his side, sought out Lord Amaury's men, examining them for scratches. For my part, I went to the women's quarters where the zenana was housed, hoping to find Uru-Azag. Alas, I was too late—already, Valère had put her plan in motion, and the Akkadians were being fitted for livery and decorative armor suiting their new appointment as the Lugalin's personal guard.

I spoke to Kaneka instead, valuing her wisdom. "Send him here, little one, if you fear for his safety in your keeping. We are enough still to protect one boy." She grinned, hefting her axe. "I have not forgotten how to use this!"

"I will, Fedabin," I said. "Thank you."

Kaneka shrugged. "The sooner we are gone, the better. My feet itch for home."

All was merriment in the women's quarters, aside from the pall my worries cast; Valère and Sinaddan had been generous in their gifts. In that, I could not fault them. New wardrobes, gifts of jewels, visitors coming and going throughout the day, bearing some new tribute. Already the messengers had gone out, and in some cases, among the Persians and Akkadians, negotiations were beginning for their return home.

In Daršanga, someone in the zenana would have known had there been an assassination attempt. Here, they were strangers, more so than I, and Nineveh only a way-station. I had no allies, no Rushad to bring me court rumor. The thought, tinged with a nostalgia that was not entirely rooted in sorrow at the memory of Rushad, was unsettling.

Remember this.

Some things I remembered too well.

After the zenana, I called upon Valère L'Envers. There was, I had determined, nothing to be gained in accusing her, nor in reporting the incident—ostensibly, all she could do was to express deep regrets and offer to appoint us guards, which would put her people even closer at hand. That, I wished to avoid at all costs. Still, I wished to see her, and deliver a subtle message.

Valère received me in her private paradise, which Sinaddan had had built for her. It is not so splendid, I am told, as the famous roof-top gardens of Babylon. Mayhap it is so; since I have not seen them, I cannot say. This was splendid enough, a tiny corner of Terre d'Ange recreated within the red-clay walls of Nineveh.

Fertile soil had been imported, and lush green lawn. The cost of the irrigation system alone must have been phenomenal, creating the gentle brook that wound throughout the garden, crossed by quaint, arching bridges. Flowers bloomed in profusion, quickened by the Akkadian spring—violets, roses, sweet alyssum, jumbled and out of season. Valère L'Envers was picnicking with her ladies-in-waiting beneath a cherry tree, luxuriant carpets spread on the petal-bestrewn grass.

"Phèdre nó Delaunay," she hailed me in Akkadian, lifting a glass of chilled D'Angeline wine. "Pray, come and join us. We are escaping the unpleasantness of the world for an afternoon of leisure."

"Is the world so unpleasant, my lady?" I inquired, kneeling on a carpet and arranging my skirts about me.

"Have you not found it so?" Valère's tone was light, but something in it caught my ear. She smiled blandly, gesturing for an attendant to pour a glass of wine for me. "Given your recent experience, I would have thought you to find it unpleasant indeed."

I sipped my wine. "And which experience would that be, my lady?"

Valère's lids flickered. "Why, Drujan, of course. Surely you've ex perienced no unpleasantness in Nineveh?"

"No, no." I shook my head. "Nothing of import. I slept poorly last night, is all. I trust it will not happen again. Poor Joscelin was up half the night."

At that, one of her ladies laughed behind her hand, and made a speculative comment about Joscelin's prowess, wondering if his beard less state indicated he was a eunuch. I assured her that his manhood was intact, and another of the women offered that she had heard he had been seen in the hallways of the Palace last night, in such a lack of attire as made it obvious he was indeed very much intact. This gave way to speculation as to why Joscelin Verreuil was roaming the halls mother-naked, the consensus being that with the exception of the Lugalin, all D'Angelines were mad and unpredictable, but nonetheless pleasant to look at, particularly the spectacularly naked ones, a sight doubtless wasted on the Palace guards.

Throughout it all, the bland smile never left Valère L'Envers' face.

I smiled too, and thanked her when my wine was done, taking my leave.

Well and so; it left no doubt in my mind, although I was sorry for it. She was the Queen's own cousin, and I owed my life to her father. Moreover, she was Nicola's cousin, too—Nicola, to whom I had given a lover's token, and who had taught me once a valuable lesson about my own suspicions. I would far rather, I thought ruefully, have them proved false. Valère L'Envers had done good things in Khebbel-im- Akkad. In my brief time in Nineveh, I had gathered that her influence with Sinaddan was to the good, tempering his Akkadian ferocity and nourishing his forward-looking method of rule, at odds with his father the Khalif s heavy hand. She had borne him three sons, and like as not the eldest would be named Lugal when Sinaddan assumed the Khalifate.

Why did she want Imriel dead?

Loyalty, mayhap; House L'Envers protects its own. It is why they are so fiercely loyal to the code of their password. What plans did Valère have for her younger sons? I could not say; did not know aught of the lads, who had been shielded from our presence here. Loyalty, or am bition? Ysandre was the first member of her House, insofar as I knew, to place the good of the realm above her family . . . but Ysandre, I thought, was a rare being by anyone's terms. I missed her, then; missed her terribly. Cool and calculating she might be, ruled by her intellect, but in her own way, she honored the precept of Blessed Elua to its fullest. Love as thou wilt. When it came to it, my icy and precise Queen was willing to stake her life on love. I remembered how she had ridden through the ranks of de Somerville's army, parting them like blades of grass bowing before the wind. And I remembered how she and Drustan mab Necthana had danced together at the fête where we had been honored, their eyes only for each other, smiling, evincing a love so profound it seemed a trespass to behold it.