L’Agnace, in the person of de Somerville; Azzalle, in the person of Trevalion, and de Somerville’s son Ghislain by proxy; Namarre, represented by L’Envers, and Eisande and Siovale. Kusheth, I thought, was not represented. Nor was Camlach. There was no one Ysandre had dared trust.
These tallies I made later, when the council had begun, for they assembled first, waiting on the Queen’s arrival. She had chosen one of the larger rooms, comfortable and well-appointed, but informal; there were chairs and couches both, that guests might situate themselves as they chose. Light refreshments were served and the wine poured, and then the servants withdrew.
I was there when Ysandre de la Courcel entered, for she kept the three of us in attendance, not wanting word to leak in advance of her arrival. She bid her Cassiline guards-for she had inherited those who served the King-to await her outside, then stood before the doors and gathered herself, schooling her features to calm. No older than I am, I thought, and pitied her.
But she was the Queen.
Ysandre entered the room, the unlikely three of us in tow, and the Queen’s Council was met.
It was strange, standing behind her, to see these seven peers come instantly to attention, offering deep bows and curtsies.
"Rise, gentles," Ysandre said. "We will not stand on ceremony here. You may find it difficult indeed, when I have told you why I’ve asked you here."
"Phèdre!" Gaspar Trevalion’s voice rang out with unadulterated surprise, and to my gratitude, joy. He crossed the room with long strides, embracing me. "You live," he said, taking my shoulders and looking to make sure it was I. "Blessed Elua, you live!"
Barquiel L’Envers approached, with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Delaunay’s anguissette," he drawled. "And the Cassiline. Didn’t you enjoy my largesse in the Khalif’s court? I heard I sent you to Khebbel-im-Akkad after paying you to betray your master."
I turned toward him, but Joscelin stepped forward. "Your grace," he said in his even tone, "it is not a matter for jesting."
L’Envers gave him a long gauging look. "You’ve grown some spurs, lad. Well, I hope you’ve brought them to clear my name, Ysandre."
"It is one reason, but the least of them, I fear," she murmured.
"My lord Rinforte!" Joscelin’s voice held all the relieved surrender I’d felt at Kushiel’s temple; I looked, and saw why. He had recognized the Prefect. He went to kneel at the Prefect’s feet, crossing his forearms and bowing his head. "My lord Rinforte," he said formally, "I am in violation of my sworn vows. I remand myself to your justice."
"You stand condemned of betraying the household you swore to protect and serve, Joscelin Verreuil," the Prefect said grimly. "That is no mere violation, young Brother."
"Of that he is innocent." Ysandre de la Courcel raised her voice; it carried clearly, reminding them that they stood in the presence of the Queen. "My lord Rinforte, the integrity of your Order is unbreached. Believe me when I tell you that I wish it were not so. Hear their story, and judge."
And so we told it once more.
They listened in silence and varying degrees of disbelief. For that, I did not blame them. Ysandre had been right, they took to their seats as the tale unfolded. I didn’t blame them for that, either. It was a long story and hard to hear. When we were done, there was silence.
I could not read most of their faces, not even Gaspar Trevalion’s, who had been like an uncle to me. Those I could, did not bode well.
"Surely, Ysandre," Barquiel L’Envers said with deceptive insouciance, "you don’t expect us to believe this ludicrous confabulation?" Of all of them, he lounged at his ease on a couch, dangerous as a hunting leopard, toying idly with the ends of his burnouse that lay unwrapped around his neck. I could see only the danger in him, but he was Ysandre’s nearest kin.
"Not on their word alone." Her voice held firm, and she lifted her chin on her elegant Courcel neck. "My guard has asked questions, as discreetly as they dared. There are four among the Palace Guard who saw them that night, seeking audience as they claim, and one indeed who saw them in the presence of Melisande Shahrizai. They were examined by my own personal physician, who has attended me since childhood, and he will testify that their condition was consonant with the hardship they claim to have endured, from exposure to direst cold down to the weals on Joscelin Verreuil’s wrists, where he was confined in chains."
"And yet these things may have other explanations, and other causes," murmured the Comte de Toluard, his expression thoughtful.
"They may," Ysandre said. "Yet the most damning piece of evidence in their conviction was their absence. Here they stand before us."
"Is there no other evidence that we may consider?" Roxanne de Mereliot inquired. Past the age when suitors battened the walls of Marsilikos, she retained a lush, rounded beauty, streaks of white in her coal-black hair. I liked her, for her dark eyes were both kind and clever.
"Yes, my lady," I said, curtsying to her. "You may send to the Comte de Bois-le-Garde of Camlach, whose men came upon us in the woods. Or," I added, glancing dourly at Barquiel L’Envers, "you may venture into the Skaldi lands, if you wish. I can point out Gunter Arnlaugson’s steading on a map, it is no difficulty. Ask him about the D’Angeline slaves he bought from Camaeline soldiers, if you so desire."
"And if it’s true, either way we show our hand to d’Aiglemort, if we’re not killed for our troubles," Barquiel remarked, scratching his cropped fair hair, so odd to see on a D’Angeline nobleman. But whether I trusted him or no, he was no fool. "A pretty trap, if you’ve laid it. Delaunay taught you well. If it’s not, Elua help us all."
"Elua help us, indeed," Gaspar Trevalion said quietly. "I have known Phèdre nó Delaunay since she was a child, and I cannot believe she would be party to Anafiel Delaunay’s murder. If that is so, then she tells the truth, as she believes it. And as for the Cassiline…look at him, Barquiel. He bears his honesty on his face. I do not know you," he added to Hyacinthe, "but I see no gain in this for you."
Hyacinthe cleared his throat, flushing slightly at the company he addressed. "I have known Phèdre longer than anyone," he said. "Even Delaunay. I saw her the night they returned to the City. She does not lie."
"But why," Tibault de Toluard said in his thoughtful manner, "would Isidore d’Aiglemort desire Delaunay’s death?"
Gaspar Trevalion and Thelesis de Mornay exchanged a glance, but it was Ysandre de la Courcel who answered, color rising to stain her alabaster skin.
"Because," she said with dignity, "I asked his aid in a certain matter, which d’Aiglemort may have believed dangerous to his plans."
"No." Barquiel L’Envers came upright on his couch. "Oh, no. You can’t mean to abide by it!"
"I can," she said, eyes blazing at him, "And I do!"
"No." He glared back at her. "If there’s a measure of truth to this tale…Ysandre, I can arrange a union with a Prince of the royal House of Aragon, who can bring two thousand spears to your aid!"
"The Lioness of Azzalle," Gaspar Trevalion remarked conversationally, "came a great deal closer to overthrowing the Crown than anyone realized. If she had succeeded in bringing the army of Maelcon the Usurper, the old Cruarch’s son, across the Strait, they would have swept across the country like a scythe."
Percy de Somerville shook his gold-grey head, speaking for the first time. "They’d have taken us unprepared, but they wouldn’t have made it across. Ghislain tried near the same tactic, at the King’s command. The Master of the Straits left no vessel unturned."