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Cassiel's Daggers	By : bewaretheshort1 Category: G through L > Kushiel's Trilogy Views: 1882 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not now, nor will I ever, own Kushiel's Legacy, or its affiliates written by Jacqueline Carey. Any characters and/or ideas are the exclusive property of Jacqueline Carey. Furthermore, I do not make any money from this.

Chapter List
- 1-One
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 5-Five
- 6-Six
- 7-Seven
- 1
- 2
- 3
I was banned from my lessons, by the Prefect of the Brotherhood I was to be pledged to.
To be sure, I was to continue to learn of the history of Terre D’Ange and what languages my father would allow me. Such lessons were reckoned valuable and encouraged. Our father brought tutors to see to our schooling, and Etaine supervised. For all that she disliked us and for all that was to come later, she had pride, and in her pride she could not allow two boys thrust into her care to remain ignorant. Caerdicci, I learned, and Hellene as well. I learned the mythologies and histories of those lands, with some emphasis on their battles and campaigns. Poetry, also, was a part of our curriculum, though that was at Etaine’s behest, rather than normal for Camaeline children.
Emil and I studied together, puzzling out mathematics and histories and languages together. Such things were not to be banned for me. It was the part of my studies that I most enjoyed, and as the agreement had been made, I could not back out of it when I realized what was to be taken away from me for the next four years.
The Prefect had written my father, and asked that I not be taught to fight.
Later, I would understand that it was because Cassilines are taught a much different form of defense, which relies on vambraces and motions so ingrained in our bones that we may do them in our sleep. Then, I was only angry that I had not been told of this before I agreed to being a Cassiline Brother. I blamed Etaine, who bore my childish rage with equanimity.
When Emil was taken to his lessons by our father or one of the other men, Etaine would take me with her to the library or, if weather permitted, the garden. There, she taught me pay heed to my surroundings and to think of what I had seen or heard. A Cassiline, she told me, would need to be ever observant of the mood of a crowd should an assassin ever be lurking within.
I learned how to discern, even concealed, anger, sorrow, and joy. My classroom was our mansion, and my books were the servants around us and the officers who at times stayed. Weekly, Etaine would tell me to observe the servants and soldiers, and even guests when we had them, and bring what I had observed to her so that she may ascertain if I had come to the correct conclusions.
While I was learning such lessons as my stepmother felt were needful, Emil was learning how to be a soldier to make Camael proud. Each new day, he had somewhat new to show me, for though I was banned from learning such practices, Emil felt that it would shame the d’Aiglemort name if I were to arrive at the Sanctuary ignorant of my heritage. I strove to perfect the forms he found to be so natural, and if I were not a perfect student, well my brother was hardly a perfect tutor. In return, I would tell him what I had learned from our stepmother. Such is the relationship between brothers, especially twins, and I have never been given cause to regret it.
Etaine, I am sure, knew of what Emil and I were doing when we thought no one was watching. She was Shahrizai, and likely was receiving some intelligence from the servants. Well and so, she never breathed a word of it to myself for my father.
There are those who claim that she used us and me most of all. I do not deny it. But I cannot in good faith bring myself to hate her, though it would have been easier. She stood as mother to me, those four years before I went to the Cassiline Brotherhood, and taught me what she knew of decoding the hiding meanings couched in words and gestures. Perhaps she allowed herself that luxury because she knew I was to leave in so short a time, and be out of the way, I do not know. I do know she did not have to dote on me as she did, and I know that she missed me when I had gone.
As I have said before, Etaine was already with child when it was decided I was to go to Cassiel. I daresay only her maid, Anais, knew more of her moods than I did during those times. I had learned when to hold my tongue and when to leave easily enough, but more I learned when to comfort her when her moods took her to places that left her stricken with sorrow she did not name. Though I thought it would last forever, it was only three seasons before she birthed my younger brother.
I remember that day well, for I was sitting with her in the garden as I was struggling to remember a detail of a conversation I overheard between one of father’s retainers and the housekeeper. I had noticed that she winced in pain, and I thought at first that it was the babe kicking in the womb. It wasn’t until I heard a gasp that I learned otherwise.
“What’s wrong, Stepmother?” I asked, fearful concern coloring my voice. I sat on the couch across from her. “Is it the babe again? Should I call for Anais?”
Etaine forced a smile, but winced badly, paling. “You younger sibling is only over-eager, Edouard, that is all. Finish your report, then we will go see if we can find your father.”
I frowned and made ready to do so, but she cried out, grabbing her round belly with both hands. I jumped up and called for a servant. The fear in my voice brought Anais quickly enough, who took stock of the scene before her and smile.
“Don’t be afraid, my lord Edouard,” she told me soothingly as she strode across the room. “Fetch your father and let him know the babe’s time has come.” Seeing my incomprehension, she smiled again. “You stepmother will give birth to your sibling. Go, and tell your father.”
It should be said that Anais came to Camlach with Etaine, and had no knowledge of the difficulties my mother had in producing Emil and I. I was in a panic as I raced through the corridors of our home, desperate to find my father. I feared to lose Etaine, as I had lost my mother. When I found him on the training grounds with my brother, I was half-hysterical.
“Father!” I called, out of breath and struggling not to double over. “Stepmother…”
I saw my father’s face pale, and a grim sort of expression overtook his usual kindly features. “Speak up, Edouard, what’s the matter.”
“Anais says that she will give birth!” I cried. I felt like a messenger delivering news of death, and saw my fear echo in my brother’s face. Our father, however, only grinned and laughed. He walked over to me, Emil at his heels, and ran his head along my hair.
“Edouard, you had me scared half to death!” he joked. “Your stepmother will be fine.”
“But,” and I stopped, hesitating. He saw my expression, though, and knew where my fear originated.
“Etaine is not Nicola,” he told me gravely. “What happened with your mother will not happen to your stepmother. She had no complications, nothing to suggest that there would be any problems. Now, let’s go and let her shout and scream at us for being men.”
With that, our father made his way to Etaine’s chambers, followed by a very confused Emil and myself. Why Etaine would want to curse us simply for the sin of being born a man, we could not determine, nor was it something we could ask. Such knowledge as being kept from the both of us. At the Cassiline Prefect’s behest, I was to be given to them as pure and unsullied as was possible, and if our father and stepmother made nothing of the secret training I was receiving from Emil, they still kept such knowledge from us until I was to be sent to the Sanctuary.
Emil and I were restricted to Etaine’s receiving rooms outside her chambers, sentenced to wait while our stepmother screamed and cried in pain and anger. Though our father had comforted us with assurances that nothing would happen, we both feared for Etaine’s life. We were hard put not to rush in with every scream – whether it be in anger or pain – and I wondered what sin we were being punished for that we had to wait.
For those who are unaware, childbirth is a long, arduous process. At some point, a servant came to put Emil and myself to bed. I was minded to stay behind until it was over, but Father’s orders were best obeyed, and to bed we went. We slept poorly that night, each of us remembering with dread the night our own mother had passed. I remember praying to Eisheth to watch over my stepmother and keep her safe, and praying to Blessed Elua that he be compassionate and spare me this pain. I even, hesitatingly, prayed to Cassiel, that he watch over his future servant, and spare me some of his strength, that I might get through the night.
I do not know when I fell asleep, sometime during my prayers no doubt, but I awoke early. I shook Emil and rushed to dress myself. Together, we raced to our stepmother’s rooms, terrified of what we might find.
I did not expect to see our father sitting in one of the chairs with a bundle of pastel blankets in his arms and an expression such as I have never seen as he stared down at them. He looked up at us and grinned, and I could see the dark circles under his eyes from where he had not yet gone to bed. As one, Emil and I walked toward him solemnly. He tilted the blanketed bundle so that we may see, and I gazed for the first time at my younger brother.
It is a strange thing to look down at so small a person, knowing that not hours ago they had inhabited the womb of its mother. I felt a mixture of awe and love as I gazed down, and thrilled when he opened his eyes and blinked up at me. The appearance of a child, especially that of a newborn babe, is a fluid thing, yet I knew that he would favor his mother.
“What’s his name?” I heard Emil ask.
Smiling, our father answered softly, “Etienne, after his mother.”
“May I hold him?” I asked in a whisper, not knowing why.
“Of course,” he replied heartily and moved to hold him out to me. “Watch his head.”
I took my younger brother from my father’s arms, mimicking the way I had seen him held. What little Etienne made of this, I shall never know, but he stared up at me with eyes that promised to be the darkest of sapphires. An outpouring of love filled me and I found myself grinning down at him. I looked up at Emil, and saw that he, too, was grinning.
“Your stepmother is well,” Father told us, knowing too well our why we arrived so early. “She is tired, as expected, but there were no difficulties. She will make a full recovery.”
If the nobility of Camlach were less than enthusiastic over the birth of a son born from a Kusheline noble woman, I never noticed. We were, all of us, too happy that Etaine survived through the birth relatively unscathed to pay much mind to the mood of the people. To be sure, Etaine did, but she is Shahrizai born and bred, and could do little else. I was simply happy to no longer be considered the youngest brother of Emil d’Aiglemort.
My lessons with Etaine continued, though her son had become a permanent fixture. For my part, I accepted his presence with a joyful heart. There may be those who say that Etaine raised her son to intrigues and politics from sucking age, and it may be true, but it is how she knew to raise children. Like Cassilines or soldiers of Camlach are trained to arms, the Shahrizai raise their children to be the perfect courtier.
I daresay the years passed quickly enough. Emil progressed in his training, and could put me in the dirt ten times of every ten. He received glowing praise from our father and his men-at-arms, and there was talk of how he would be a hero just as his father had been. I learned what little intrigues and dramas that a ruling duchy’s chateau servants might keep from their masters, and related them with increasing skill to my stepmother. Etienne listened to my tales, his rapt attention never wavering. I suppose it was akin to the stories my own mother whispered over me, when I was his age.
I did what I could to teach Emil what I had learned from Etaine, but I made as poor a teacher as he did, and he was never as good. What I did teach him, however, stood him in good stead with his other skills. While the soldiers who tutored him on battlefield tactics and strategies taught him to watch for the telltales of an opponent’s strike, what little I was able to teach him gave him more insight. Though I make no claim to my brother’s abilities and only say that I may have helped.
My tenth year came all too quickly.
As I had grown, I came to view the prospect of being sent to the Cassiline Sanctuary with a mix of growing apprehension and excitement. To finally meet the fate that I had so rashly set myself into when I was but six. I could not wait. Yet, I knew that I would be leaving behind all that I had known and loved. It would be fifteen years before I could see my family and home again, and who knows what might have transpired in the interim.
Emil knew of my fears – how could he not, being my twin. We may have been separated by our teachings, but we were still of one mind on many subjects. None knew me better than Emil, nor did anyone know Emil better than I. If there was ever one who I could tell my heart’s secrets to, it was him.
“I’m afraid,” I confessed to him, not a month before our nativity. “What if something happens? I won’t know until it’s too late.”
“I’ll write you every week,” he promised quickly, his face set in grave lines. “You’ll always know everything that’s happening. I swear on Camael’s sword.”
I nodded, somewhat reassured. “I’ll write you, too, on Camael’s sword.”
“And you promise to tell me if you learn anything new?” he asked with a mischievous glint in his dark eyes.
“Only if I’m allowed,” I replied. I couldn’t help but grin. He knew, as well as I, the rules that governed such a service.
“Well, I just want to be sure that I can still beat you into the ground when you come back,” he jested. “It wouldn’t do for a future Duc to be bested by a simple Cassiline Brother!”
I pushed him with a laugh. “Simple? I hold the same bloodline as you, in case you’ve forgotten! How could anything coming from Camlach and trained extensively to arms be simple?”
“By being you,” he said, pushing me back. Our discussion quickly degenerated into a scuffle, which Emil of course won. As children, he was always better than I at such things.
For all my brother’s words and assurances, I viewed out tenth birthday with more than a little trepidation, and I know he did as well. A fête was to be held in our honor, with nobility invited from the realm over. Most were families with children our age, if a little older or younger, but some were friends and acquaintances of Duc d’Aiglemort and his wife.
As I have said before, Etaine Shahrizai d’Aiglemort was a proud woman, and if there were to be guests honor her stepsons, one whom she had spent the past four years teaching what skills she knew, then the whole of the house was to be scoured clean. Emil and I had been fitted by a tailor for wholly new outfits of sable and silver, touched with dark scarlet. Etaine, I recall, was minded to clothe us in gold, rather than silver, but it bore too close a resemblance to House Shahrizai, and we were of d’Aiglemort. So silver it was, and I am not ashamed to admit that I think gold would have looked better. But I was raised Camaeline and trained Cassiline; my opinion on such matters is wholly unschooled.
The day of the fête came, and guests arrived to give us their congratulations and wish us joy. That most had turned out for Emil, and not for me, was clear. He was to be heir to the duchy, and not I, but I was not bitter. I was all too happy to be only just included in nativity wishes. For me, this day could not last long enough. Word spread quickly that I was bound for Cassiel, and I saw more than one look of speculation as eyes turned to me. I was no master of the art which Etaine had just begun to teach me, and having only practiced on servants and Camaelines, I had no hope of deciphering the thoughts behind the smiles.
Amid the guests were close kin of Etaine from House Shahrizai in Kusheth. Etaine, I recall, was especially anxious to introduce us. I did not know it at the time, but Emil was to be fostered with the Shahrizai that summer. She brought a lord and lady, with their young son who was only a year shy of us, to be introduced.
“May I introduce my sons by marriage,” she said, a Kusheline smile on her beautiful face. “Edouard, Emil, this is Lord Benoit Shahrizai and his wife, Lady Juliette Shahrizai, your uncle and aunt, and this is their son, Lucien.”
We greeted them as equals, but I noted the look of cunning in their faces, and knew they had not missed the slight to Emil. Nor had I. By all rights, she should have said Emil’s name first, as he was heir, yet she said mine. Then, I thought it was because she favored me.
Lucien walked over to the two of us with a confidence that was born of breathing such niceties from birth, and gave us both the kiss of greeting. He echoed Etaine’s beauty in miniature. His blue-black locks were woven in dozens of tiny braids that wreathed a pale, sharp face. Sapphire eyes, perhaps only a touch deeper and darker than his aunt’s, were framed by long, graceful lashes. A tiny smile crossed his lips, at once innocent and sensual. I liked him almost immediately, though I could see Emil had reservations about this Shahrizai cousin-by-marriage.
“Well met, cousins,” he said to us, his melodic voice lightly accented. “Please accept my most sincere wishes for a happy natality.”
“Well met and thank you, cousin Lucien,” I replied, forcing my features to the polite expression the situation warranted, though I struggled not to smile. “I hope you enjoy the fête.”
“Well met and thank you,” Emil echoed me, though more bluntly and clearly uncomfortable. I felt bad for him. His lessons with father and the men-at-arms did not allow him time to practice, as I had, the rules and manners that govern such occasions. Etaine smile to herself and turned to her kin.
“Let us leave the boys to themselves,” she suggested. “Emil must get to know his cousin, as Edouard will be leaving us far too soon. It may yet do him some good.”
With that, the adults left, leaving Emil and I to the dubious mercies of Lucien. Though he was only nine years old, I have no doubt he could have ran circles around us and embarrassed us on our natality, with us none the wiser, had he chosen. Even then, I realized the danger of him, for I had been taught by Etaine, his aunt, to recognize and respect it. Once the adults were out of earshot, however, Lucien broke his stoic Kusheline composure and grinned at me.
“Is it true that you’re going to be a Cassiline?” he asked eagerly, and I could tell that he had been waiting all eve to ask that very question.
“Yes,” I replied with a nod. “I’m supposed to leave in a fortnight.”
He laughed, and there was no ill will in it. “A Camaeline Cassiline.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Emil demanded.
“Nothing,” Lucien was quick to say, though he wasn’t offended. “I just can’t recall ever hearing about a Cassiline who would also be trained in the Camaeline style of fighting.” He looked at me, and his smile held somewhat I wasn’t familiar with. “You’re going to be the stuff of nightmares to any would-be assassin.”
“He wasn’t allowed to learn to fight,” Emil told him bluntly. “Prefect’s orders.”
I was still reeling from the compliment, but even so, I could hear a note of jealousy in Emil’s voice. Until then, I had not reckoned that he might be envious that I was to learn a style of fighting that was proscribed for any but a Cassiline to learn. It was a little discomfiting to learn.
“Were you allowed to learn to dance?” Lucien asked, skillfully turning a sore topic to a new one without batting an eyelash.
“I learned some dances,” I confessed, more than a little confused to where this was going.
“Good,” Lucien beamed. “Then Emil, you won’t be upset if I borrow your brother, will you?”
He scarce waited for Emil’s dumbfounded nod before grabbing my wrist and dragging me to the dance floor. He positioned our limbs and his smile became more than a little sharp.
“You can lead this time,” he told me. I nodded and struggled to remember the steps my tutors had painstakingly taught to me. In this, like so much else, he was skilled, and any mistakes I made, he hid, though he was following my lead.
“Why didn’t you ask Emil?” I asked, unable to hold back my curiosity.
“Did you want me to ask Emil?” he countered with a smirk.
“That’s not what I meant. Emil is Father’s heir, not me. Shouldn’t you have asked him?”
The smirk turned into a smile. “I like you better. You aren’t what I was expecting.”
“What were you expecting, then?”
“A Camaeline prude.”
Though his words should have offended me, the cheeky way he said them made me laugh. I decided that my impulse to like him was correct. The dance ended quickly, for we entered in the middle, and I was surprised when Lucien simply rearranged his arms, so that he was leading as the music started up for another.
“My turn to lead,” he told me, smirking once more. I am more than a little ashamed to admit that I was nowhere near as graceful or skilled as before, having never been taught to follow. I found myself stumbling and struggling to remember how the partner was supposed to move. This all fed Lucien’s amusement, though he did his best to hide my mistakes. I was grateful to him for that.
“I’m sorry,” I said after stepping on his foot. “My tutors never taught me to dance like this.”
“I thought as much,” he confessed, smirking. “I hope you don’t mind that this is why I did it. It seems a shame that someone as beautiful as you is going to the Cassiline Brotherhood without at least knowing how to dance. Mayhap you can teach all the Brothers to dance, and then the next generation won’t be quite so dour.”
Unable to help myself, I laughed at the image of iron-faced Cassilines dancing a jig in all their regalia. My laughter weakened my body until I was leaning on Lucien, who looked confused and curious. When I was finally able to tell him, between peals of laughter, he joined me, and we were stuck on the dance floor, laughing like loons, obstructing the path of other dancers.
“Ah, Edouard,” he said, wiping tears from his sapphire eyes. “Promise me that you won’t let the Cassilines break you of your sense of humor. You’re too much fun like this!”
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Cassiel's Daggers