had never dreamed of aspiring in my younger days. Foremost courtesan of the City of Elua, yes; but not a respected peer of the realm, bearer of the Companion’s Star, the Queen’s confidante, Kushiel’s Chosen, to whom the soldiers of the Unforgiven had knelt. All those things, I was.
And it scared me to think of risking it all.
Jebe-Barkal. It was a place on a map, a parrot-merchant in the Campo Grande. I knew little more. Our critics claim Terre d’Ange is insular, and it is true. We ally ourselves with the Caerdicci city-states, with Aragonia, because they share our borders; now with Alba, because Ysandre de la Courcel wed the Cruarch and broke the Straits’ curse. We guard our boundaries against the Skaldi, because they have sought to take what is ours; we make war and alliance with Khebbel-im-Akkad, because it is too great a power to ignore. So much, and no more.
It is changing, a little. Ysandre looks outward more than any other D’Angeline monarch in memory, forging ties, fostering exchange. It is in a small part due to me, I think, that we have formal relations now with Illyria, with Kriti in Hellas. And Ysandre does not fear to send delegates to Ephesium, to Menekhet, to Carthage, even to the Umaiyyat.
But still-Jebe-Barkal! It was, I reflected glumly as Joscelin and I crossed the border into Terre d’Ange, very, very far away.
Our return was met with ebullience on the part of not only Ti-Philippe, but my household staff as well. Eugenie, my Mistress of Household, has been with me for over ten years now, and I have grown to value her eternal concern as much as her efficiency. I remember the grace and loyalty with which my lord Delaunay’s staff ran his affairs, and have done my best to achieve the same. If I have succeeded, much of it has to do with paying a good wage and treating everyone in my employ with fairness and respect, but much is also due to Eugenie’s excellent supervision. One thing neither of us will tolerate is careless gossip. The only time I have ever fired anyone in my service was for indiscretion. It pained me to do it, though it was necessary.
After we had bathed and changed our travel-worn attire, Joscelin and I met with Ti-Philippe in the garden courtyard to tell him what had transpired. His eyes grew round to hear it.
“Surely you’re jesting.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I am sworn to aid her.”
“Well.” He reached out and popped a candied almond into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “What will you do, my lady? And more importantly,” he swallowed and grinned, “what can I do?”
“ I will ask questions,” I said. “Judiciously, of course. You …” I smiled. “You can find me a Jebean scholar, Philippe. I’ve a document I need translated.”
He pulled a face. “Poking about in academics’ dusty corners? Sounds dull.”
“Mayhap.” I shrugged. “It will likely take you to Marsilikos, though. I doubt anyone in the City Academy reads Jeb’ez.”
“Marsilikos.” It cheered him to think on it. Marsilikos is a port city, beloved of sailors, a meeting-ground of the larger world. If there was any scholar who studied Jebe-Barkal, it would be at the Academy there. “Can I take Hugues, my lady? He wants to see the sea again.”
“Why not? If it comes to it. And Philippe, I want you to call on Emile, in Night’s Doorstep.”
“The Tsingano?” Ti-Philippe looked perplexed, and Joscelin shot me a curious glance.
“He was Hyacinthe’s closest companion. The Tsingani should know. Besides, they go everywhere and they hear things. Ask him if he will call upon me.” I don’t know what made me think of it. A hunch-a duty. It had been one of Hyacinthe’s last requests, that I bequeath his mother’s house and his own enterprise, a livery stable, to Emile.
“As you wish.” Ti-Philippe reached out as Eugenie entered with a platter of tidbits of quail in puffed pastry. “Eugenie, my goddess! You read my mind, or at least my stomach.”
“Leave be,
And it scared me to think of risking it all.
Jebe-Barkal. It was a place on a map, a parrot-merchant in the Campo Grande. I knew little more. Our critics claim Terre d’Ange is insular, and it is true. We ally ourselves with the Caerdicci city-states, with Aragonia, because they share our borders; now with Alba, because Ysandre de la Courcel wed the Cruarch and broke the Straits’ curse. We guard our boundaries against the Skaldi, because they have sought to take what is ours; we make war and alliance with Khebbel-im-Akkad, because it is too great a power to ignore. So much, and no more.
It is changing, a little. Ysandre looks outward more than any other D’Angeline monarch in memory, forging ties, fostering exchange. It is in a small part due to me, I think, that we have formal relations now with Illyria, with Kriti in Hellas. And Ysandre does not fear to send delegates to Ephesium, to Menekhet, to Carthage, even to the Umaiyyat.
But still-Jebe-Barkal! It was, I reflected glumly as Joscelin and I crossed the border into Terre d’Ange, very, very far away.
Our return was met with ebullience on the part of not only Ti-Philippe, but my household staff as well. Eugenie, my Mistress of Household, has been with me for over ten years now, and I have grown to value her eternal concern as much as her efficiency. I remember the grace and loyalty with which my lord Delaunay’s staff ran his affairs, and have done my best to achieve the same. If I have succeeded, much of it has to do with paying a good wage and treating everyone in my employ with fairness and respect, but much is also due to Eugenie’s excellent supervision. One thing neither of us will tolerate is careless gossip. The only time I have ever fired anyone in my service was for indiscretion. It pained me to do it, though it was necessary.
After we had bathed and changed our travel-worn attire, Joscelin and I met with Ti-Philippe in the garden courtyard to tell him what had transpired. His eyes grew round to hear it.
“Surely you’re jesting.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I am sworn to aid her.”
“Well.” He reached out and popped a candied almond into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “What will you do, my lady? And more importantly,” he swallowed and grinned, “what can I do?”
“ I will ask questions,” I said. “Judiciously, of course. You …” I smiled. “You can find me a Jebean scholar, Philippe. I’ve a document I need translated.”
He pulled a face. “Poking about in academics’ dusty corners? Sounds dull.”
“Mayhap.” I shrugged. “It will likely take you to Marsilikos, though. I doubt anyone in the City Academy reads Jeb’ez.”
“Marsilikos.” It cheered him to think on it. Marsilikos is a port city, beloved of sailors, a meeting-ground of the larger world. If there was any scholar who studied Jebe-Barkal, it would be at the Academy there. “Can I take Hugues, my lady? He wants to see the sea again.”
“Why not? If it comes to it. And Philippe, I want you to call on Emile, in Night’s Doorstep.”
“The Tsingano?” Ti-Philippe looked perplexed, and Joscelin shot me a curious glance.
“He was Hyacinthe’s closest companion. The Tsingani should know. Besides, they go everywhere and they hear things. Ask him if he will call upon me.” I don’t know what made me think of it. A hunch-a duty. It had been one of Hyacinthe’s last requests, that I bequeath his mother’s house and his own enterprise, a livery stable, to Emile.
“As you wish.” Ti-Philippe reached out as Eugenie entered with a platter of tidbits of quail in puffed pastry. “Eugenie, my goddess! You read my mind, or at least my stomach.”
“Leave be,
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