Alcuin stepped forward and bowed. "My lord," he said calmly, "I do."
I had never been prouder of him, not even when he made his debut; I could swear, he was more composed than Delaunay. Even when L’Envers pinned him with his violet gaze, Alcuin didn’t flinch. "Do you?" the Duc mused. "Which one of the Stregazza was it, then?" He saw a flicker of consternation on Alcuin’s face, and laughed. "I have ears in the City, boy. If Isabel was killed, it had to be by poison, and no true D’Angeline would resort to such means. I hear tell you were attacked, and one man killed; now Vitale Bouvarre, who trades with the Stregazza, is nowhere to be found…and I hear from d’Essoms he paid an unheard-of sum for your virgin-price. Who was it?"
One nicker was all the Duc would get out of Alcuin; he looked to Delaunay as coolly as could be. "My lord?"
Delaunay nodded. "Tell him."
"Dominic and Thérèse," Alcuin stated simply.
I’d not seen the face of a man deciding to kill before, but I saw it then. A stillness came over Barquiel L’Envers, a look of intensity and hunger, all at once. He sighed, and there was release in it. "Did Bouvarre offer proof?"
"No." Alcuin shook his head. "He had none. But he carried a gift of candied figs from the Stregazza to Isabel de la Courcel. They were put in his hand by Dominic, but it was Thérèse who knew how she loved them. Bouvarre delivered them himself."
"There was an empty salver in her rooms," L’Envers said, remembering. "I suspected, we all did. But no one knew what had been in it, nor from whence it came."
"He tried to tell me it was Lyonette de Trevalion," Alcuin murmured, "but I laughed, and guessed it for a lie; it was too safe an answer, as she no longer lived to refute it. I do not think he would have tried to kill me, nor fled the country, had he lied the second time."
"You knew I have a cousin who has some sway in La Serenissima," L’Envers said to Delaunay. "My arm is longer than yours, and considerably more powerful, yes? But why do you care who killed Isabel? I might almost have thought you’d seek allies among them."
"You insult me," Delaunay said, flushing with anger. "If Isabel and I were enemies, you know well the only weapon I wielded against her was words."
"All too well. Why do you care who killed her?"
"Did you know that Dominic and Thérèse Stregazza have four children? All of the Blood by way of descent, and all fostered in one of the D’Angeline Great Houses."
"Yes, and Prince Benedicte is yet hale whereas the King’s health fails, and his brood is powerful in La Serenissima, while certain parties whisper in certain circles that Baudoin de Trevalion was innocent, and the Dauphine’s name is sullied by virtue of the slur with which her mother’s was tainted." Barquiel L’Envers rested his chin on one fist. "Will you teach me to play the game of thrones? I think not, Delaunay."
"No, your grace. And I have not yet congratulated you on the marriage of your daughter," Delaunay added with a bow.
"Indeed." A brief smile touched L’Envers' face. "Well, perhaps you’re right. It seems our interests do run the same course in this matter. You are aware that any actions I take against the Stregazza may not be entirely…honorable?"
Delaunay’s gaze drifted over the line of men-at-arms, taking in the veiled features of the Akkadians. "You have sufficient leverage to insist that Vitale Bouvarre be taken into custody and questioned. He would confess, in exchange for his life. Benedicte would see that justice was done."
"Do you think? Ah, yes, you are old comrades, aren’t you, from the Battle of Three Princes. Well, perhaps he would, at that. Benedicte always had a name as an honorable man; he should never have married into that Caerdicci vipers' nest. I swear, if it can be done justly, I will do it." Barquiel L’Envers drummed his fingers idly on the elaborate arms of his chair and turned his attention to me. "So you’re Childric’s anguissette, hm? Spying on him for Delaunay’s sake?"
I curtsied. "Your grace, I am the Servant of Naamah. My lord Delaunay merely sought a way to gain your ear. He is grieved at the dissent between you."
"Oh, indeed." A corner of L’Envers' mouth twitched in another faint smile. "As grieved as he was at Vitale Bouvarre’s silence, I’ve no doubt. Well, I’d a mind to see these chits who outwitted one of my best counselors and the shrewdest trader in Terre d’Ange, and to see too if Delaunay was desperate enough to risk you both. It seems he is." The violet gaze turned back to Delaunay, thoughtful. "So it’s the old promise, is it, Anafiel?"
"If you would speak of this matter, your grace," Delaunay said quietly, "I ask that we do it in private."
"They don’t know?" Barquiel L’Envers' brows rose and he laughed aloud. "What loyalty you command! Ah, I’m envious, Anafiel. Then again, those who loved you always did remain true, didn’t they? In some measure, at least. What about you?" He looked curiously at Joscelin. "Surely you don’t serve him out of love, Cassiline. What binds you here?"
Steel glinted as Joscelin bowed. "I am vowed to serve as Cassiel did, your grace," he said in his even voice. "I, too, take my vows in earnest."
The Duc shook his head, mystified. "They say the old blood runs purer in the provinces. You’re Siovalese, lad? Is your House of Shemhazai’s line?"
Joscelin hesitated a moment. "A Minor House, yes. But I am the middle son, and sworn to Cassiel."
"Yes, I can see that," L’Envers said dryly, then to Delaunay, "Well, it must be nice for you to have a fellow countryman in your household, Anafiel."
"Your grace." Delaunay lifted his brows.
"All right, all right." Barquiel L’Envers waved his hand. "You are dismissed. Beauforte, take them to the kitchens, bid them well-fed. We must not be remiss in attending to our guests. Oh, and give word that Lord Delaunay and his companions are indeed to be considered guests." He gave a wolfish grin. "No doubt it will set their mind at ease. So, Anafiel Delaunay, shall we converse?"
I didn’t think I had any appetite, after the tension of the day and the audience with the Duc, but I was wrong. We were given a table and served warm, crusty bread, sharp cheese and a good stew-fit provender for the Duc’s men, though not meant for the Duc’s table, I guessed-and I set to almost as heartily as Alcuin and Joscelin.
No one spoke for some time, unavoidably conscious of the presence of L’Envers retainers bustling around the kitchen. Alcuin and I would not have risked it in any case, but we hadn’t reckoned with Joscelin’s naiveté. On his second helping of stew, he burst out with it, dropping his spoon with a clatter.
"Who is he?" he demanded of us. "There’s no House Delaunay in Siovale! Who is he, and why am I commanded to attend him?"
Alcuin and I exchanged glances and shook our heads warningly at Joscelin. "Delaunay does not wish to tell us that which could get us killed," I said, adding wryly, "beyond what we already know. If you think perhaps he will confide in a, a fellow countryman, by all means, ask him."
"Maybe I will." There was a stubborn light in Joscelin’s blue eyes.
Alcuin laughed. "Good luck, Cassiline."
Chapter Thirty-One
I cannot say what passed between Delaunay and Barquiel L’Envers after we were bidden to leave, but it seemed that some form of accord had been reached, albeit an uneasy one.
The days of autumn grew shorter, and brought no word save the rumor of Skaldi glimpsed once more in the passes of the Camaeline Range. Delaunay waited on the matter’s resolution, and once more I cooled my heels, while my coffer stayed empty and my marque grew no longer. I knew there was no malice in it, but even so, it galled me when Alcuin’s final appointment with Master Tielhard was made, and his marque completed. He was free, as I had never been, in all my life.