This much we knew, so it was no surprise when the escort arrived en masse and the Captain of L’Envers' Guard knocked on the door. Delaunay’s horse was saddled and ready; although Joscelin was prepared to accompany him, he was minded to go alone. If it went well, he had said, there would be no need of Joscelin’s aid; if it did not, then one Cassiline Brother alone would not suffice to protect him, not against those odds. A half-dozen might, or even four, but not one.
Delaunay’s plan, however, was laid in vain; Barquiel L’Envers had made other plans. The Captain of the Guard looked Delaunay up and down, folding his arms. He wore light chain-mail, under a tunic of deep purple with the L’Envers' crest on it in gold: a stylized bridge over a fiery river. "I was told to bring the others."
"What others?"
"D’Essoms' girl and the other, the boy who claims to know." The Captain looked smug; Barquiel L’Envers had done his schoolwork. Delaunay paused, then shook his head.
"I vouch for their word. They stay here."
"Then so do you." Turning on the doorstep, the Captain gave his men a hand-signal, and they wheeled their mounts.
"Wait." Alcuin pushed past Delaunay. "I’ll go." He turned before Delaunay could speak. "There is a score to be settled. Do you deny I have the right to be there, my lord?" he asked coolly.
He wanted to, I could tell; but it was not in him to deny Alcuin this last ounce of pride. "Very well." He gave a brief nod, then looked back at me. "No. Don’t even say it."
"My lord." I lifted my chin and gambled. "I have risked as much as anyone to gain you this audience. If you would jeopardize it by going without me, do not think to find me here when you return."
Delaunay took a step in my direction and lowered his voice. "And do not think I will fail to do as I have threatened."
It was hard to look him in the eyes, but I did. "Will you, my lord?" I swallowed, then pressed onward. "To whom? Melisande Shahrizai, perhaps, who would use me as I’ve been trained in a game even you cannot guess at?"
"Agh!" Delaunay threw up his arms in disgust. Behind him, I could see bemusement on the Captain of the Guard’s face. "I taught you too well by half," he snapped at me. "I should have known better than to buy the marque of someone who enjoys risking her life!" He turned to Joscelin, hovering in the entryway. "You’ll come too, then, Cassiline, and ward them both well. By Cassiel’s Dagger, it’s on your head if you don’t keep them alive!"
Joscelin made his impassive bow, but I saw a hint of apprehension nicker in his blue eyes. Still, I had to admit, he made for an impressive companion; the L’Envers Captain took a startled step backward when he emerged.
The team was hitched to the coach and Alcuin’s horse saddled for Joscelin in short order, and we were under way, our breath rising in clouds of frost in the chill morning air. The purple-and-gold L’Envers standard rose above our small party, and the gleaming mail the men-at-arms wore gave us a martially festive air-I was naive enough, then, to find it thrilling. Besides, four or five of the men, I was sure, were not D’Angeline. They rode with a particularly wary air about them, and dark burnouses wrapped their heads and swathed their faces. The Khalif of Khebbel-im-Akkad had given L’Envers land and horses and men; I was willing to bet these riders were Akkadian.
The Duc L’Envers' country estate was surprisingly charming. I had never been to a country estate save Perrinwolde, but this was no working manor. We crossed a small river-the arched bridge echoed the design on L’Envers' arms-and rode through fanciful grounds, where gardeners labored over all manner of imported trees, binding them with burlap against the cold.
Still, we were seen from the parapets of the modest chateau, there was no doubt of that. The standard-bearer rode a little ahead and hefted the banner three times; there was an answering flash from atop the walls, and the gate was raised to admit us into the courtyard. And if we were politely received, we were nonetheless conducted by our full escort into the Duc’s receiving room.
The room was beautifully appointed with Akkadian tapestries and furniture of unusual design, low and cushioned. One chair, with carving elaborate enough for a throne, was clearly the Duc’s, but it stood empty. One of the men-at-arms-one of those I guessed to be Akkadian-left, while the Captain and the others lined the walls and stood at attention. I watched Delaunay, taking my cue from him. He was calm and watchful, betraying no sign of unease. It heartened me to see it. In a few moments, we heard the sound of booted strides in the hallway, and the Duc L’Envers entered the room.
Though I’d never seen him, I’d no doubt who it was; his men made him instantaneous bows, and Delaunay and the three of us followed suit.
To my surprise, when I straightened from my deep curtsy, I saw that the Duc himself was dressed in Akkadian style. A burnouse of L’Envers purple shrouded his face, and instead of a doublet, he wore loose robes over his breeches, with a long, flowing coat. Only his eyes were visible, but I knew them, once I had the chance to look him full in the face. They were a deep violet, House L’Envers' coloring; the color of Ysandre de la Courcel’s eyes, who was his niece.
"Anafiel Delaunay," the Duc drawled, taking his seat and unwinding the long scarf of his burnouse. He had the white-blond hair, too, and pale skin, though it was sun-darkened around his eyes and his hair was cropped shorter than I’d ever seen a nobleman’s. "Well, well. So you’ve come to apologize for your sins against my House?"
Delaunay stepped forward and gave another bow. "Your grace," he said, "I have come to propose we put that matter behind us, in the past, where it belongs."
Barquiel L’Envers sat at his ease, legs crossed before him, but I did not doubt for an instant that he was a dangerous man. "After you named my sister a murderess for all the realm to hear?" he asked smoothly. "Do you suggest I simply forgive this slight?"
"Yes." Delaunay said it without losing an inch of composure. I heard several of the men-at-arms murmur. The Duc raised his hand without looking to see which ones.
"Why?" he asked curiously. "I know what you have to offer, and I wish to hear it. But it settles nothing between us, Delaunay. Why should I forgive?"
Delaunay drew a long breath and something smoldered in his voice. "Do you swear, your grace, on Elua’s name and your own lineage, that my song was untrue?"
His question hung in the air. Barquiel L’Envers considered it, then moved his head slightly, neither a nod nor a shake. "I do not swear either way, Delaunay. My sister Isabel was ambitious, and jealous in the bargain. But if she had aught to do with Edmée de Rocaille’s fall, I will swear she never intended her death."
"The intent does not matter; the cause alone suffices."
"Perhaps." Barquiel L’Envers continued to study him. "Perhaps not. Because of your words, a traitoress may name my sister a cold-blooded killer to the King’s own face, and no one will gainsay it. You have not given me sufficient reason to forgive. Have you more?"
"I have sworn an oath," Delaunay said softly, "by which you stand to profit."
"Oh, that!" L’Envers' voice rose in surprise. He laughed. "You mean to stand by that, after the way Ganelon’s treated you?"
"I did not swear it to Ganelon de la Courcel."
I wished, fervently, that one of them would say more of the matter, but neither did. Delaunay stood tautly upright, while L’Envers' thoughtful gaze wandered over the three of us, pausing longest on Joscelin.
"Well, Ganelon takes it with some degree of seriousness, it would seem," he observed. "Though I have never seen a stranger retinue. Two whores, and a Cassiline Brother. Only you, Anafiel. You always had a reputation for being unpredictable, but this is downright eccentric. Which one knows who killed my sister?"