And I could, too, for I now knew that Nicola L'Envers y Aragon had not played me false, but given a weapon of great power into my hands. She was right, Barquiel L'Envers and I had been stupidly blinded by our suspicions, and the throne would be lost because of it. Like squabbling children in a barn, we had ignored the open door through which the wolf might saunter.
It doesn't matter what you believe. Just remember it.
I did.
The warden stirred. Over his left shoulder, Fabron mouthed something obscene at me, miming a wet-lipped kiss. I ignored him, concentrating on the warden.
Who said, flatly, "No."
I stared, uncomprehending, and waited for more while my heart sunk like a stone in my breast. When it was not forthcoming, I fought the ludicrous urge to laugh and said instead, "My lord, may 1 ask why?"
His words were measured out like the slow drip of water falling in a cave. "This is La Dolorosa and I am its warden. No more and no less. Asherat has sent you, and I will ward you until she claims you."
"Asherat!" The word burst from my lips. "My lord, Asherat's very Oracle has been subverted in the conspiracy that sent me here'. Ask, if you do not believe, ask in the great temple in the Square, and see if Her prophet's place was not usurped for a day! Ask the Doge himself, the Beloved of Asherat, how Her priestesses have dealt with him! I tell you, thrones hang upon this letter, and the very sanctity of your beliefs!"
I was raving; 1 knew I was raving. And worse, I could not seem to stop. As the torrent of my voice continued, I saw the warden nod once to Fabron, who came forward to grip my arms, driving me backward. He maneuvered his body close to mine, licking his lips.
It was not easy, but I regained control of myself and shook him off. Melisande's bond of protection held; he let go of me ostentatiously, raising both hands in the air.
"Elua grant you may regret this, my lord," I said quietly to the warden.
"You may pray so, if you wish." No more than that did he say, but opened the door to my cell, beckoning Fabron ahead of him and exiting after. The door closed and locked, leaving me alone once more.
One hope, gone.
It left only Joscelin and Ti-Philippe ... or Melisande.
I did not much like my chances either way.
FORTY-FOUR
Melisande did not come without warning.
I knew, the next time a guard brought a wash bucket and soap, what it meant. I took no pleasure in it this time, only a certain bitter amusement. It would not do for the Princess-Consort of Benedicte de la Courcel to find me unwashed and unkempt in a foul and reeking cell, of course. No, Melisande would order me bathed, like some battle-chieftain with a choice captive of war.
I did it, though I was tempted to defiance. But having already been forcibly fed, I had no wish to repeat the experience with a scrubbing, and something in the guard's expression-he was a new one, whose name I did not know-suggested that it was likely. When I had done, I donned the clean dress he'd brought and sat cross-legged on my pallet to wait.
I did not have overlong.
This time, I did not flinch, nor retreat. I remained as I was, while Melisande's presence filled the cell like a candleflame or a song. I was proud of that small act of will. If she had brought me low, well then, that was the territory I would claim for my own. Let her stoop, if she wished to reach me.
So I thought; being Melisande, of course, she did not, but merely looked down at me, gauging to a nicety what I did, and why. A faint smile hovered at the coiner of her mouth. I had no tricks she did not know. What my lord Delaunay had taught me, he taught her, too, long ago. And in turn, she taught him to use people.
As he had used me.
"Have you decided?" Melisande inquired.
I tilted my head back against the stone walls of my cell. "What would you do with me?"
Another might have mistaken my meaning; Melisande didn't. "There is a dungeon in the Little Court. You would be held there until. .. matters in La Serenissima were resolved. Or mayhap longer. It depends on you." She glanced mildly around my cell. "It is a good deal more pleasant than this, being built for the enjoyment of Kusheline guests. Light, you will have, and comforts; decent clothing, food, a proper bath. Texts, if you wish; the library is good. Is it less secure for it, you wonder? No." She shook her head. "Not by much."
"By some."
"Yes," Melisande said thoughtfully. "Some."
"There is the chance that I might play you false and win your trust."
"Yes." A glimmer of amusement lit her glorious eyes. "There is that, too. Although I daresay if you thought it likely, you'd not say it aloud."
Since it was true, I didn't bother to answer, asking instead, "Why risk it at all? All that you have striven for lies within your reach. Is it worth jeopardizing, no matter how slight the risk, merely to toy with me? I don't believe it, my lady, and I mistrust this offer of yours."
"Do you?" Melisande walked to gaze through the barred window at the distant horizon, filtered daylight rendering her lovely features serene. "The game of thrones is a mortal one, my dear. Even if this gambit were to fail-and it will not- still, I have secured my endgame. My son, who is innocent in all things, stands third in line to the throne, the only scion of Courcel lineage untouched by treachery. No other member of House Shahrizai has achieved so much. But you ..." Turning, she smiled at me. "Kushiel has chosen you, Phèdre, and marked you as his own. To toy with you is to play a god's game."
I shuddered. "You are mad," I said faintly.
"No." Melisande shook her head again. "Only ambitious. I will ask again: Have you decided?"
The crash and wail of the mourning sea filled the silence that stretched between us. It would drive me mad, in time; it had already begun. I knew it, the day I raved at the warden's refusal. But at least that madness would claim only me, and I would remain true to myself to the end. Melisande's way ... that was another matter. If I gambled and lost, I betrayed a great deal more.
Torn between terror and longing, I gave a despairing laugh. "My lady, I am destroyed either way. Will you make me choose?"
"Destroyed?" She raised her eyebrows. "You do me an injustice, I think."
"No," I said. "There is Ti-Philippe. And Joscelin."
"You really do love him," Melisande said curiously. I looked away, heard her laugh. "Cassiel's servant. A fitting torment, for Kushiel's chosen, and Naamah's ... did he truly flee your charms?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"Ah, but you can guess where he fled. Phèdre." Her voice turned my head. There was pity and inexorable cruelty in her gaze. "Either way, he is gone. What does it merit, this blind and unthinking loyalty?" she asked gently. "To your Cassiline, who left you; to Ysandre de la Courcel, who used you at her need. It is all the same to Elua and his Companions, who sits the throne of Terre d'Ange. Tell me, do you believe I would make so poor a sovereign?"
"No," I murmured, surprising us both with the truth. "What you do, my lady, you make a habit of doing very well. I do not doubt that once you had the throne, you would rule with strength and cunning. But I cannot countenance the means."
"Phèdre." My name, only; Melisande spoke it as if to place a finger on my soul, soft and commanding. "Come here." She crossed to stand before me, extending her hand, and I took it unthinking, rising obediently with instincts bred into my very fiber, trained into me since I was four years old. With nothing but the force of her will and the deadly allure of her beauty, Melisande held me captive and trembling before her, cupping my face in both hands. "Why do you struggle against your own desire? Blessed Elua himself bid us, love as thou wilt.”
If there had been somewhere to flee, I would have. If I could have fought her, I would have. There wasn't, and I couldn't. I couldn't even answer. Her scent made my head spin.
I stood, stock-still and obedient, my heart beating too quick, too rapid.
So close, so beautiful.
So dangerous.
Melisande lowered her head and kissed me.
The shock of it went through me like a spear; I think I gasped. A flaw, a weakness; Kushiel's Dart, piercing me to the very marrow. And in the aftermath of shock came desire, a vast drowning wave of it that swept away my will like a twig in a flood, swept away everything in its course. Yearning, ah, Elua! This had been coming between us for a long time, and it was sweet, far sweeter even than I remembered. Anchored by Melisande's hands, I swayed, dissolving under lips and tongue, craving more and more. It turned my bones to molten ñre, my flesh shaping itself to the form of her desire. My breasts ached with longing, a rising tide surging in my blood, my loins aching, body seeking to mold itself to hers. All that she asked, I gave. All that I was, all I was meant to be, I became under her kiss.
It felt like coming home.
Melisande knew; how could she not? Struggling to breathe, I clung to her, hands clutching her shoulders. I did not even remember raising my arms. A faint, triumphant smile curved her lips as she released me.
I took a deep, shaking breath and stepped back... one step, two, her smile turning quizzical... and jerked my head backward with all my might, slamming it hard against the stone wall of my cell.
It was a hot, splitting pain that told me I had erred, catching not the flat wall, but the edge of the corner where the door recessed. It beat against the confines of my skull like Kushiel' s bronze wings, a throbbing agony that drove a haze of red across my vision, beating and beating, driving out Melisande's allure.
I laughed as I slid helplessly to the floor, seeing the shock dawn across her lovely face.
"Phèdre!"
It was only the second time I had heard it, her melodious voice unstrung with astonishment. Wet warmth made its way down the back of my neck, trickling forward to pool in the hollow of my throat, a scarlet rivulet. Truly, I had cracked my skull.
"What in the seven hells are you thinking?" Melisande muttered urgently, eyes intent and fearful as she knelt by my side, pressing a wadded kerchief to the back of my head. Dizzy and pain-battered, I righted myself to look at her. "I swear, Phèdre, you're ten thousand years of torment to me living!"
Melisande's face and my cell reeled in my sight, swamped by agony. She cared, she really did care about me, and I could not stop laughing at it, having found my own useless triumph in the dazed madness of pain. For all that Kushiel's red haze veiled my eyes, for all the ache in my head, my thoughts were clear. The balance of power had shifted, rendering us, for once, equals. A frown of concentration creased that flawless brow as Melisande sought to staunch the flow of blood.
"Hold this," she said shortly, pressing my limp fingers about the blood-soaked kerchief. I obeyed, watching her go to the door, knocking sharply for the guard. "Fetch a chirurgeon," she ordered him in crisp Caerdicci. "Or the nearest thing you have in this place."
He must have gone quickly; I could hear his footsteps receding down the hall. Melisande eyed me silently, drawing a dipperful of water from my drinking bucket and using it to rinse my blood from her hands, carefully and thoroughly. I sat with my back to the wall, pressing her kerchief against my head. Already my hair was matted with blood.
"You'll have to move fast," I said presently, as if I were not sitting bleeding on the floor of my cell. "Barquiel L'Envers is no fool, and he has his suspicions. He'll retain the throne as regent the instant he hears the news, and demand a full investigation before he cedes it."
"Four couriers on fast horses will depart La Serenissima the instant the bell tower in the Great Square tolls Ysandre's death," Melisande said coolly. "With fresh horses waiting on relay all the way to the City of Elua. Percy de Somerville will take the City before Duc Barquiel hears the news."
"And he named a conspirator, I suppose." I shifted on the flagstone, sending a wave of fresh agony pounding in my head. "How is Ysandre to die?"
"You know enough." A key in the door; Melisande stood back to admit the warden and a guard. He looked expressionlessly at her and came over to examine me, drawing my head forward and parting the blood-damp locks. I felt his fingers probing my wound.
"A gash to the scalp," he pronounced, rising and wiping his hands on a towel. "It is not serious. Head wounds bleed. It is not so deep that it must be stitched. Already, it begins to clot." The warden turned his flat stare on the guard. "Let her rest undisturbed for a day. Principessa." He inclined his head briefly to Melisande. "Is there aught else?"
"No." Her tone was unreadable. "Give me a few more moments with the prisoner."
He nodded again. "Knock when you are ready."
Melisande gazed at the door as it closed behind them. "The tradition holds that a member of his family has served as warden of La Dolorosa since Asherat-of-the-Sea first grieved," she remarked. "They first guarded the body of Eshmun, after Baal-Jupiter slew him. So they say. And they say he is incorruptible, having been appointed by the goddess." She looked at me. "But you already learned that."
I shrugged. "Would you expect me not to try?"
"Hardly." She glanced around the barren cell. " 'Tis a dire reward for his ancestor's service. It seems to me a dubious honor, to win a god's favor."
"Yes, my lady," I said wryly. "I appreciate the irony. But Asherat-of-the-Sea did not make this place a prison. 'Twas mortal cruelty did that, and mortal forgetfulness that warped the warden's purpose, over the long centuries.”
"Mayhap. They are not like us, who cannot forget." Melisande made a simple, graceful gesture. I met her gaze without speaking. "Two years ago..." she nodded toward the wall, "... you would not have done that."
