"What do you see?"
He stared into the distance, his black eyes going blank and filmy, and finally shook his head. "I see a ship," he said reluctantly. "Nothing more. Where the paths branch in many ways, I cannot see far. It is only the straight road I see clearly, majesty. Such as your grandfather the King’s."
"Anyone could have foretold that," Percy de Somerville muttered. "Ganelon was on his deathbed."
"The young Tsingano foretold the day of it," Ysandre reminded him. She looked thoughtful. "If the Dalriada knew of the Master of the Strait’s pledge, mayhap they would lend Drustan their aid. Anafiel Delaunay would have gone, had he not been killed. It is a pity, for he spoke Cruithne, and his young pupil as well. And there is no one else I trust." She glanced apologetically at Thelesis. "I do not speak of you, of course; I trust you with my life, Queen’s Poet, and I know your spirit is willing. But I have spoken with the physicians, and a winter voyage across land and sea would be the death of you, Thelesis."
"So they tell me," Thelesis de Mornay murmured; and I did not doubt that she was willing to go anyway, though the ravages of the fever were clearly marked on her strained features. But her dark, luminous gaze fell on me instead. "My lady," she said to Ysandre, "Anafiel Delaunay had two pupils."
The shock of it went clean through me. "What are you saying?" I whispered.
"I am saying…" She had to pause, overcome by a fit of coughing. "Phèdre nó Delaunay, you could take Anafiel’s place as the Queen’s ambassador."
"My lady," I protested, looking from Thelesis to Ysandre, not sure which one of them I was addressing. My mind was reeling. "My lady, I am an anguissette! I am trained to be a Servant of Naamah! I’m not trained to be an ambassador!"
"Whatever you’re trained to do, you apparently do it damnably well," Barquiel L’Envers remarked laconically. "Did you know Rogier Clavel went into mourning for you and lost some twenty pounds? He’s as thin as a rail these days. Any pupil of Anafiel Delaunay’s is considerably more than a Servant of Naamah, little anguissette. You’re the first whore I’ve heard of to double-cross a Skaldi warleader and survive to warn a nation of treason."
"My lord!" I heard the terror in my own voice. "What I did to survive, I hope never to do again. I do not have the strength to live through it twice."
"The Cruithne are not the Skaldi," Ysandre said reasonably. "And you would be under the protection of Quintilius Rousse, who is one of the greatest admirals ever to set sail. Phèdre, for what you have done, I am grateful. Never think it is not so. I would not ask this thing if our need were not urgent."
I sat without answering, unseeing with shock. Near to me, Joscelin rose, giving his smooth Cassiline bow to the Queen. He turned to me, then, and I gazed up at him, his face shining with bright fearlessness. "Phèdre," he said, his voice ringing with a hero’s courage. "We have survived worse adventures. I will go with you. I have sworn it. To protect and serve!"
For a moment, his courage kindled my own. Then the Prefect’s voice came hard on the heels of Joscelin’s ringing tones, like a dash of icy water.
"Brother Joscelin!" he said crisply. "We are glad that your innocence has been established in the matter of Anafiel Delaunay’s death. But you have confessed yourself in violation of your vows and remanded yourself to our justice. For the salvation of your soul, you must atone and be shriven. Only those who strive to be Perfect Companions are fit to serve the scions of Elua."
Joscelin blinked, staring at him open-mouthed, then regained his composure. "My lord Prefect," he said with a bow. "I am sworn still to the household of Anafiel Delaunay." There was a note of anguish in his voice. "If there is salvation to be found for me, it lies in honoring that vow!"
"You are relieved of your vow to Delaunay’s household," the Prefect said flatly. "I decree it so."
"My lord!" Joscelin winced as if struck. "My lord Prefect, please, no!"
The old Prefect leveled his hawk’s glare at Joscelin. "What transgressions have you committed, young Brother?"
Joscelin looked away, unable to hold the Prefect’s gaze. "I have failed to safeguard my charge," he said dully. "I have slain in anger instead of defending. I have…I have committed murder. And I have…" He looked at me for a moment, his expression grave. I remembered Elua’s Cavern, and what had happened between us there. Then his gaze slid away from mine and he glanced at Hyacinthe. "I have drawn my sword merely to threaten," he finished.
"These are grave sins." The Prefect shook his head. "I cannot allow it, Brother Joscelin. Another will go in your stead."
It was very still in the King’s hunting lodge. No one, not even Ysandre, would intervene in a Cassiline matter. Joscelin stood alone, lost in thought. He raised his blue gaze toward the ceiling, then looked once again at me. I remembered him standing alone in the deadly veils of snow, casting down his sword before the Skaldi. He had made choices no other Cassiline ever had faced. He had been tempered, by chains and blood and ice, and not broken. I did not want any other protector to stand in his stead.
"Your majesty." Joscelin turned to Ysandre with a bow, speaking with the utmost formality. "Will you accept my sword in your service as the protector of Phèdre nó Delaunay?"
"Do it and be damned, young Brother!" the Prefect said harshly. "Cassiel’s vows bind for a lifetime and beyond!"
Ysandre de la Courcel sat in consideration, her face expressionless. At last she inclined her head. "We accept your service," she said formally. To the Prefect, she said, "My lord Rinforte, we grieve to cross your wishes. But we must follow the precepts of Blessed Elua in such matters, and not the will of the Cassiline Brotherhood. And by Elua’s teaching, he is free to choose his course."
"There will be a reckoning upon the Misguided!" the Prefect muttered through clenched teeth. "So be it. Is that your will, Brother Joscelin?"
"It is." Joscelin’s voice sounded hollow, but he stood unwavering.
The Prefect gave an immaculate Cassiline bow, then made a gesture with both hands, as though breaking something. "Joscelin Verreuil of the Cassiline Brotherhood, I declare you anathema." He bowed again, to Ysandre. "I remand this man into your service, your majesty."
"Good," she said simply. "Phèdre nó Delaunay, do you accept this charge to take up your lord’s duty and carry my words to Prince Drustan mab Necthana of the Cruithne?"
After what Joscelin had done, it left me little choice. I stood, my stomach a mix of sinking terror, pride and excitement, and made obeisance to my Queen. "Yes, your majesty. I will go."
"Good," Ysandre repeated, adding thoughtfully, "Then the only problem that remains is how to get you safely to Quintilius Rousse."
"Where is he?" I knew where he had been. I dreaded the answer.
"Kusheth." The word fell like a stone.
"Your majesty," Hyacinthe said unexpectedly. "I have an idea."
Chapter Sixty
It seemed that there was a Tsingani route to Kusheth, something neither I nor anyone else in the Queen’s Council had known. The Tsingani live among the D’Angelines and travel our roads, and yet we know little of their ways. Hyacinthe knew. It had always been his half-secret passion, while he played in Night’s Doorstep at being the Prince of Travellers, to claim his birthright from his grandfather’s kumpania. I think, other than his mother, only I knew it.
They are great horse-traders, the Tsingani, and breeders as well. Eisande boasts the most famous, for they are dearly sought after by the taurieres who perform their deadly games with the great Eisandine bulls, but inland Kusheth holds another great center of Tsingani horse-breeding. And some few of the kumpanias journey there in early spring to have their pick of the first foaling.