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rised laughter beside her and turned in time to see the Gorhautian coran's bearded face pletely unguarded now with pleasure。 He caught her quick glance this time though； their eyes met for an instant and then his flicked away； as if he were embarrassed to have been so observed。 Lisseut thought of saying something but changed her mind。 She turned back to watch Valery deal with the rope。
And so saw； by a trick； an angle； a flaring of torchlight far down the dark river； how the arrow…white…feathered； she would remember； white as innocence； as winter in midsummer； as death…fell from the summit of its long； high arc to take the coran in the shoulder； driving him； slack and helpless； from the rope into the river and laughter turned to screaming in the night。
Blaise saw it too； out of the corner of his eye。 He even marked； purely by reflex； with a professional's instinct； the two tall； dark…timbered merchant houses along the bank whence an arrow descending at that angle could have been let fly。 And he； too； saw； by torchlight and the elusive gleam of the blue moon now riding free of the clouds； the white feathers Lisseut had seen。 There was a difference； though。 The difference was that he knew what those feathers meant； and the nagging thought from the tavern earlier in the evening grew fully formed and terrifying in his mind。 By then he was running。 A mistake； because the Carnival crowd was densely packed along the water's edge； and the rope from which Valery had fallen was a long way down the river。 Pushing and swearing； using elbows and fists； Blaise forced his way through the shouting； roiling mass of people。 Halfway down he glanced over at the river and saw Bertran de Talair paddling furiously in one of the small boats…which； of course； is what he ought to have done himself。 Blaise's curses turned inward and he redoubled his efforts。 One man； drunken； masked； snarled an oath and pushed back hard as Blaise elbowed his way past。 Without even looking； unbalanced by fear； Blaise sent the man reeling with a forearm to the side of his head。 He couldn't even be sorry； though he did wonder…a reflex again…about the possibility of a knife in the back。 Such things happened in frightened crowds。
By the time he reached the pier by the rope the boatmen had taken Valery of Talair from the river。 He was lying on the dock。 Bertran was there already； kneeling beside his cousin with a priestess and a man who looked to be a physician。 The arrow was embedded in Valery's shoulder； not； in fact； a killing wound。
Except that the feathers and the upper shaft of the arrow were white and the lower shaft； Blaise now saw； ing up to the pier； was of night…black ash； and he had seen black…and…white leggings above him on the second…floor landing of The Liensenne when the singer had finished her music and they were all preparing to leave。 A sickness passed through him like a churning wave。
Valery's eyes were open。 Bertran had his cousin's head cradled in his lap now； he was murmuring steady； reassuring words。 The physician； a thin； beak…nosed man with greying hair tied back with a ribbon； was conferring tersely with the priestess； eyeing the black…and…white shaft with resolution。 He was flexing his fingers。
〃Don't pull it；〃 Blaise said quietly； ing to stand above the four of them。
The doctor looked up quickly； anger in his eyes。 〃I know what I'm doing；〃 he snapped。 〃This is a flesh wound。 The sooner we have the arrow out the sooner we can treat and bind it。〃
Blaise felt tired suddenly。 Valery had turned his head slightly and was looking up at him。 His expression was calm； a little quizzical。 Forcing himself to meet the coran's level gaze； Blaise said； still softly； 〃If you pull the shaft you'll tear more flesh and the poison will spread the faster。 You may also kill yourself。 Smell the arrow if you like。 There will be syvaren on the head； and very likely on the lower shaft。〃 He looked at the physician。
An animal…like fear showed in the man's face。 He recoiled involuntarily。 In the same moment； with a small； fierce sound of denial； Bertran glanced up at Blaise。 His face had gone white and there was horror in his eyes。 With sorrow and a slow； hard rage gathering together within him like clouds around the heart Blaise turned back to Valery。 The wounded coran's expression had not changed at all； he had probably had an intuition； Blaise thought。 Syvaren acted quickly。
〃That was meant for me；〃 Bertran said。 His voice was like a scrape in the throat。
〃Of course it was；〃 Blaise said。 Knowledge was in him； a cold certainty； the taste of it like ashes on his tongue。
〃It was none of our doing； I will swear it by the goddess in her temple。〃 Urté de Miraval's deep voice rang out。 Blaise hadn't heard him approaching。
Bertran did not even look up。 〃Leave us；〃 he said。 〃You will be dealt with later。 You are a desecration wherever you walk。〃
〃I do not use poison；〃 de Miraval said。
〃Arimondans do；〃 said Bertran。
〃He was on the launching pier with us the whole time。〃
Blaise； sick with knowing； opened his mouth to speak； but the priestess was before him。
〃Leave off wrangling now；〃 she said。 〃We must take him to a temple。 Will someone find a way to carry him？〃
Of course； Blaise thought。 This was Arbonne。 Valery of Talair； even though he was a coran； would not find his end in the sanctity of the god's house。 He would pass to Corannos amid the dark rites of Rian。 With a distaste that was akin to a fresh grief； Blaise turned away from the priestess； she had covered her head with a wide hood now。 He saw that Valery's eyes were upon him again； and Blaise thought he understood the expression this time。
Ignoring the others； even Bertran； he knelt on the wet dock beside the dying man。 〃Be sheltered ever in the god；〃 he said huskily； surprised by the difficulty he had in speaking。 〃I think I know who did this。 I will deal with him for you。〃
Valery of Talair was pale as parchment beneath the moons and the torches。 He nodded his head once； and then he closed his eyes。
Blaise rose。 Without looking at anyone or staying for further words he strode from the dock。 Someone made way for him； he realized only later that it had been Quzman； the Arimondan。 Others also fell back before him but he was scarcely aware of any of them。 There were those ashes in his throat and a queer blurring to his sight。 Syvaren on the arrow。 White feathers； white…and…black shaft。 Blaise reached inward for the rage he needed； and it was there； but he could not ride it。 There was too much grief； cold and clammy； coiled in tendrils as a mist in winter： half for Valery behind him and half for what he walked towards now； tall and grim as an image of the Ancients on a frieze； amid the flurrying torches and the smoke and noise and masks and； yes； in the distance； still the laughter of Carnival。
I will deal with him for you。 Last words to a dying man； fellow coran of the god's long； hallowed brotherhood； a friend very nearly； here amid the goddess…shaped strangeness of Arbonne。 And they were likely to have been a lie； those last words； the worst sort of lie。
CHAPTER 6
Lisseut； if asked in the midst of that swirling； suddenly horrific night； or even after； with time and a quiet place to think things through； would not have been able to say why she slipped free of Bertran de Talair's telltale blue cloak； ignored Alain's urgent cry behind her and followed the man named Blaise away from the torchlit pier and into the warren of dark； twisting lanes that led away from the river。
It might have been something about the way he had left the dock； the headlong ferocity； brushing past the Arimondan as if the man did not exist。 Or something perhaps in the stricken expression she saw in his face as he went blindly past them all and plunged into the crowd。 She had heard the word poison ripple back like a snake from where Valery lay。 They were taking him to the largest temple of Rian。 Men were hastily readying a sail canvas； slinging it between poles。 They would move him on that。 The crowd would make way in silence until they passed； bearing death； then it would be loud again； wilder than before； with flamboyant