"Oh, Marmion." Nicola shrugged. "Sulking, no doubt. I told him I'd not divorce on his account, and he is wroth with me. It will do him good, in time. Meanwhile, I grow bored." She laid the tips of her fingers on my arm and smiled at me. "Do you know there is a term for your dalliances, Phèdre? Hunting hyacinths, they call it, those peers who have enjoyed your favors."
"No." With an effort of will, I kept my voice steady. "I did not know there was a term for it." I did not need it explained. Every patron knew my signale.
"Oh, yes." She smiled again, lazy and dangerous. "And no one has plucked one yet, I am told. Tell me, if I made you a proposal, would you accept it?"
Something happened at the gaming table; a good-natured cheer arose. Fortun had won. I stared at Nicola's violet eyes-so like her cousins', Duc and Queen-and weighed the risks, making my decision in spite of them. "Yes," I said, calculating. What was it worth, to Barquiel L'Envers? "If it was fitting."
The proposal came the next day by courier.
TWENTY
Along white cord sturdily-wrought of silken threads hung around my neck.
"I knew a man in Aragon," Nicola mused aloud, drawing the ends of the cord beneath my arms and crossing them at my back, "who had travelled the spice routes to the uttermost east; the Empire of the Sun, they call it. They have arts of the bed-chamber as would interest even Naamah, he said." She wrapped the cord about my waist and moved behind me, using it to secure my wrists together. "Of course, I'd not time to learn them all. But what I did was most interesting. Ah, yes, that's nice."
Stepping back, she regarded her handiwork. I stood, docile, half-bound and naked as she took up another length of cord and set about securing it, from nape to waist and through my thighs, binding it to my wrists. I shifted my shoulders experimentally, feeling the friction of the cord between my legs.
"I'm not done," Nicola L'Envers y Argon said mildly, taking hold of the back of my neck. "On your knees, if you please."
I knelt, bowing my head automatically; the tension on the cord caused the silken length working its way between my nether lips to tighten, making me gasp. I raised my head, forced to kneel with back arched and breasts out-thrust.
"Now," she said, satisfied, "you begin to understand."
And then she set about finishing her work, binding my ankles tight together, and running the cord to knot it at my wrists. No matter how I moved, the cord grew taut between my legs, slipping back and forth. Lest I mistake it for chance, she had cunningly tied a knot there, a small, hard protuberance in the soft cord that taunted me, rubbing against Naamah's Pearl every time I shifted, causing me to bite my lip.
It pleased her; it pleased her a great deal. I could not help but gaze at her, on my knees, my chin upraised by virtue of the cord's necessity. Nicola prowled around me, smiling, violet eyes alit with pleasure, a finely-made deerskin flogger in her hand. There were steel tips at the ends of it.
"Do you like this?" she asked, almost tenderly. "Hmm?"
"No."
Her arm moved in a swinging, sidelong gesture, and streaks of pain burst across my buttocks, my lower back, and my tied hands. I cried out and jerked against my bonds, causing the cord to saw into me, making my breathing ragged.
"You lie, don't you?" Nicola brought the flogger across me in a backhanded blow, raking across my breasts; the pain was so vivid I saw stars, and Kushiel's red haze. "Don't you!" She struck me again. I tossed my head involuntarily to avoid the blow, and the cord tautened against my efforts, tightening at the wrists, the knot between my thighs riding up and down against the sensitive node of flesh there. Nicola laughed, and trailed the flogger over my flesh; like an idiot, I struggled, bound tighter each time I writhed. The cords bit into my flesh everywhere, and a throbbing tide of pleasure rose in me. "Fight it, then, and see if you may free yourself," she taunted, striking me again. "Fight it!"
Half-obedient, half-defiant, I did, until the cord drew so tight my hands were numb, and that knot, that little knot, rode up and down, up and down against Naamah's Pearl, slick with moisture against my swollen flesh, pleasure mounting higher the harder I struggled against it, until I surrendered and cried out at the waves of pleasure that overwhelmed me.
When I opened my eyes-for I had closed them involuntarily-I saw the rich weave of Nicola's woolen carpet inches from me, and felt it scratch against my cheek. I'd not known, till then, that I'd fallen on my side.
"You may struggle all you like, but the result will never change," Nicola's voice said far above me, rich with amusement. "What I learned, I learned well. What will you give for your release, Phèdre nó Delaunay?"
"Anything you want," I whispered, trying not to move. The least gesture set off fresh ripples of ecstasy, giving me further into her hand.
Nicola crouched down, flogger in hand, her lovely, amused face close to mine. "What I want," she said, "is your signale. You have only given it once, I am told. To Melisande Shahrizai. Or was that only because you loved her?"
Before the moment those words left her mouth, I swear, I was not thinking of it at all-politics, betrayal, the game of covertcy, and Nicola L'Envers y Aragon's part in it all. These things I relegate to a small part of my mind, the only part I hold back from a patron, and think on afterward. But when she spoke, a connection formed, and I did something I had never done before with a patron. I could not help it. I did not mean to laugh, but I did; soundlessly, barely shaking, lest the very act of it trigger further arousal. Nicola regarded me with startled displeasure.
"Do you find it such a matter for laughter, Phèdre nó Delaunay?" she asked irritably, sitting back on her heels and giving me a flick with the flogger. "Do I amuse you so?"
"No." I sobered, lying quiescent in my bonds and rolling my eyes to look up at her beneath my lashes. "My lady, you tie a very skillful knot, and I am like to expire of involuntarily pleasuring myself if you do not release me from these bonds. If it please you to watch it, then you may do so. But I will not give you my signale." Power is a relative thing; she had been unwise, in letting me know what she desired to learn. "Tell me." I moved my legs and winced, as the knot shifted against me. "Was it Lord Marmion bid you ask that, or the Duc?"
With a disgusted sound, Nicola L'Envers y Aragon threw her flogger to the floor. "I told him I was overmatched with you!" she exclaimed, rising to her feet and pacing in annoyance.
Cautious to the utmost, I tucked my knees to my belly and rolled to a kneeling position, legs doubled beneath me, buttocks resting on my calves. Moving stiff fingers, I plucked at the knots that bound my ankles together. "The Duc," I said, as if I were certain; I was, fairly.
Nicola paused to cast a wry glance in my direction. "You could do me the courtesy, at least, of sounding surprised. And I thought you said I tied a skillful knot," she added, watching me kick off the cords that had bound my ankles.
"You do." I wriggled my hands and shrugged my shoulders, very carefully. "I can't get the rest on my own." I probably could, in time, but the pleasure it would provoke would cause a distraction I didn't wish to afford just now. "Why is it worth my patron-fee to Barquiel L'Envers to know if I once loved Melisande Shahrizai?"
"Once?" Nicola raised her eyebrows.
I knelt and regarded her. "My lady, she is indirectly responsible for the death of Anafiel Delaunay, whom I loved, admired and adored. Beyond that, she betrayed me and sold me into slavery among the Skaldi, and committed treason of the highest degree. Whatever I may have felt for her as my patron, I assure you, it pales beside that."
If we were in the Hall of Games, I would say that she hesitated, before laying the hand she had been dealt upon the table. No matter; I had guessed rightly, when I guessed who conned her into the game. "She spared your life, once," Nicola said.
"Does his grace wonder if I returned the favor in kind?" I asked, watching her face closely. I could hear Delaunay's voice, in my mind. What are the telltales of one who conceals information? Nicola exhibited several of them; eyelids flickering, her hands moving restlessly, busying herself picking up a flagon of cordial and pouring a drink. "I did not. But if he suspects me ..."
"He didn't do it," Nicola said brusquely, tossing off her cordial and setting the glass down hard. "And yes, he wonders who did. Marmion Shahrizai was his first suspect. You were his second."
I might have laughed, though I didn't. "And you have established Lord Marmion's innocence?"
"I have established that Lord Marmion Shahrizai lives in covert terror of his cousin's retribution." Retrieving her flogger, she examined its braided thongs. "While you, who gave the very testimony that condemned her, do not seem particularly concerned at the prospect. You know, I told Barquiel to let me play you a time or two, but no, he was impatient."
"It wouldn't have mattered." The loops around my wrists really were cunningly tied.
"Probably not." Amusement returned to Nicola's voice. "But I would have enjoyed it, all the same. And he's not likely to fund another such excursion, now that I've botched this one."
I gave up on the knots. "My lady, the fault is mine, and I will remand your patron-fee. My laughter was inappropriate and inexcusable, and I can only beg your forgiveness.”
Nicola looked at me a long time without speaking, her gaze thoughtful. "You did suspect him, didn't you? Cousin Barquiel."
"Yes." I didn't add that I was not entirely convinced of his innocence. If there was anyone on my list clever enough to throw off suspicion by turning the tables, it was Barquiel L'Envers.
"Why not Marmion?"
"I did, for a while. But..." I shook my head, forgetting the ropes, and drew in my breath sharply at the resulting friction. "You're right, though," I said when I recovered myself. "He's truly afraid." I shifted, trying in vain to ease the cord's tension. "Nicola, I swear to you, on Elua's name, I did not conspire to free Melisande Shahrizai."
Her purple gaze continued to regard me. "Do you know who did?"
"No." In one reckless phrase, I cast the dice. "Not yet."
Why I risked trusting her with that much, I cannot say; it was born in part out of my abiding frustration and loneliness, of that much I am sure. Then too, it is a matter of pride to me that I have never yet misjudged a patron. Whatever her motives, Nicola was that-she'd had me well in hand indeed, before mentioning Melisande's name. I watched her full lips curve in a smile.
"I knew it would be interesting," she said softly, caressing the flogger, "crossing wits with you, Phèdre nó Delaunay. It is worth the price of losing, to see how it is done." Nicola circled me, letting the lashes trail over my skin, making me shudder. "This is what your patrons see, isn't it?" she mused. "This beautiful, abject flesh, trembling in supplication. Forgetting all the while..." pausing, she raised my chin with her fingertips, "... that behind those great dark eyes, shining with tears, lies a subtle, calculating mind. It's so, isn't it?"
"Yes," I whispered, trembling.
"I like to see you cry." Cupping my cheek, Nicola brushed her thumb along my eyelashes, then licked the glistening, salty wetness from her skin; Elua, I could have died! She truly was good. House L'Envers was Naamah's lineage, but there must be Kusheline blood in there somewhere. I'd always wondered why their arms featured the bridge over the river of Hell. It was a good thing it was sufficiently diffused in Ysandre; House Courcel was descended in a straight line from Blessed Elua. "But," Nicola said, jerking my attention back to her, "I will always wonder what else you are thinking when you do."
In truth, I did not think a great deal after that; not then, and not for a time to come. I daresay Nicola got her fee's worth after all. It is a considerably difficult thing, to thoroughly please a patron when one is constrained to suffer unbearable pleasure at the slightest movement-and it is harder, too, to please women than men, who are simpler to gratify. On this, Naamah's Servants agree; one is trained half again as long for it in the Night Court. Well, I have never disgraced my training, with man or woman, and I did not that day. But there were a few times when I had to pause, writhing in my bonds, and Nicola's laughter rang in my ears. She punished me with the flogger, then, which only made it worse.
So it is, with patrons of mine. Naught pleases them so well as the exercise of power; and by virtue of Kushiel's Dart, I am the perfect instrument for their desires.
"Take it." Nicola laughed and pushed the purse back across the table. "You earned it, in the end. I have no complaints of you, Phèdre; and it's Barquiel's money, after all."
"I know." I smiled, but shook my head. "No, my lady. If I have made amends for my misstep, I am pleased. But I cannot in conscience take this fee."
Toying with the purse-strings, she frowned. "You know I contracted you under false circumstances."
"Well." I shrugged. "That may be, but I am Naamah's Servant still, and in her service, I erred. Naamah cares naught for politics and espionage. I cannot accept this fee."
"You really mean that?" She sounded surprised; I nodded.
"Well, I would scarce say you failed her!" Nicola smiled, her eyes heavy-lidded. "Nonetheless, if I keep it, I will have your patron-fee still. Would you accept, if I offered?"