Kushiel's Avatar (99 page)

From this, I was not exempt; the
anguissette
who banished an angel. Such a thing had never happened in the history of Terre d’Ange. People murmured among themselves and glanced sidelong at me, seeking some stamp of great magic such as Hyacinthe bore and finding none, only the scarlet prick of Kushiel’s Dart, a sign grown well-known enough in my lifetime that it held no novelty. And they spoke softly in wonder and doubt.

It made me smile. There had been no magic in my deed save that which the One God had given me to hold in trust. No, Eleazar was right; it was stubbornness as much as anything else, an odd legacy of Kushiel’s dubious gift, that taught me to yield without surrendering. Endurance, and love-those things were all the power I’d ever possessed.

Day by day, our journey grew shorter, and never have I known weather so fair, the skies blue and cloudless, the clime temperate. How not, when we travelled with the Master of the Straits? On land or sea, wind and water answered his command, further than the eye could see in any direction. A fearful power indeed, I thought as we passed fields growing ripe with the green and gold of late spring, and more dangerous at loose than it had ever been confined to the isles of the Three Sisters. He could blight the earth itself, did he so choose. It had been folly to imagine Hyacinthe could ever resume his former life.

The pages of the Book of Raziel were never far from his regard, and Sibeal’s Alban honor guard was increasingly conscious of the might of what they warded, the Cruithne warriors taking turns among themselves with the case and carrying it as if it might singe their fingers.

“What would happen if someone stole it?” I asked Hyacinthe one day.

“Who would dare?” His smile was bleak, and a small breeze rifled our horses’ manes as if in warning. “No, but it would do them no good, Phèdre. No one could read the script who had not been taught, and that was the longest part of my apprenticeship. I spent seven years learning it, for there are characters in it such as I have never beheld and sounds contained in no mortal tongue yet spoken.”

My pulse quickened. “So it was with the Name of God.”

“Yes.” He gazed at me with his sea-shifting eyes. “But that word, I think, was not one ever written, save once. And of a surety, it was never heard on that cursed isle until you spoke it. How you learned it, I will never fathom.”

“I was told it by a man with no tongue,” I said. Hyacinthe laughed softly, not disbelieving. “Hyacinthe, what will you do with the pages? Will you take an apprentice, or let the knowledge pass with you upon your death?”

For a long time, he did not answer. “I don’t know,” he said at length. “Phèdre … I’m only still getting used to the notion that I am free to wander the earth, that I may live and love, beget children, grow old and die …
die
, like any mortal, and not dwindle endlessly into shriveled madness. It is too big to decide at once.” He glanced at me again. “Do you wish to learn it?”

“
No
!” I gave a startled laugh. “Name of Elua, no!”

A hint of his old smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “So your curiosity has a limit.”

“Yes,” I said. “I do believe it does.”

Hyacinthe reached over and touched my hand as we rode side by side. “Nor would I wish this on you,” he said soberly. “You of all people, for you’re wise enough to understand that power of this nature is more burden than blessing. Know this, though. I will never forget what you’ve done for me, you and Joscelin … and the boy. As long as I live, you may count yourself under my protection. Any aid you require is yours, always.”

I squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

No more did he say. I had not told him, yet, the whole of our story, nor of what had befallen in Nineveh, where an assassin’s blade had sought Imriel’s life, but Hyacinthe could guess well enough that Melisande’s son would have enemies, and I was truly grateful that he had offered freely the protection I had been so quick to boast of to Ysandre de la Courcel. There would be no guarantees, for Alba’s shores lay far from the City of Elua and my estate of Montrève, but of a surety, the friendship of the Master of the Straits was a powerful dissuader.

Imriel.

He rode in the thick of Rousse’s sailors, Phèdre’s Boys, and one of them had entrusted him with bearing the company standard, the banner that bore the image of Kushiel’s Dart. Imri grinned with pride at the honor, but they’d taken to him out of genuine liking, impressed with his unwavering courage aboard the
Elua’s Promise
. I swear, it seemed he’d grown another inch on this journey. I thought with rue of Hyacinthe’s offer. In truth, it tempted me … if only the tiniest bit. Not for the power, no, but the
knowledge
. To master the tongue of Heaven! Ah, Elua, that would be something. Mayhap I would recognize in the strange characters those I had seen forming in the dust of the Ark of Broken Tablets, that I might record them, writing for posterity the unpronounceable Name of God.

All knowledge is worth having
.

So my lord Delaunay used to say, so I have always believed. Seven years, it had taken Hyacinthe to learn it, the tongue and script alone. How long would it take me? Less, I daresay; I had the advantage of ten years of Habiru behind me. That should halve it, at least.

In three years, Imriel would be fifteen.

And not for anything, not for the knowledge of all of the One God’s secrets, did I want to miss those years. The furious, terrified child I had found in Daršanga had grown into a boy on the brink of youth, proud and touchy and damaged, but with a streak of courage that awed grown men, a heart capable of love and tremendous sacrifice. While he grew to manhood, it would always be touch and go with Imri, his generosity of spirit at war with the bitter unfairness of the lot he’d drawn, of the horrors that had been visited upon him and the scars they’d left. Love alone could sway the balance.

I touched my bare throat, where once Melisande’s diamond had hung.

I had a promise to keep.

Although, I thought, riding under the bright blue D’Angeline skies, it may be that Hyacinthe would be willing to share with me the alphabet alone, and mayhap a phonetic guide to the pronunciation of the unknown characters. After all, I’d done a fair job of teaching myself Jeb’ez from Audine Davul’s guide. Kaneka may have laughed at me in the
zenana
, but she’d understood me well enough, and I’d garnered that much studying on shipboard and over campfires. A few hours here and there … I need not devote the last years of my youth to an all-consuming apprenticeship, but a good deal can be accomplished in a few stolen hours over time, if one is determined enough. Who knew what texts might be unearthed if correspondence was established between Saba and Terre d’Ange one day? Eleazar ben Enokh would be glad of the endeavor, of that I was sure. As the schism grew deeper among the Children of Yisra-el, those Yeshuites who sought peace over war were more and more likely to turn to his way of thinking; their presence among us on this journey was proof of that much.

“What on earth are you plotting now?” Joscelin’s black gelding ranged alongside mine.

“Nothing.” I smiled at him. “Just thinking.”

Some five miles outside the City of Elua, the first emissaries met us; a joint party of Ysandre’s and Drustan’s men, the Queen’s Guard resplendent in the blue and silver of House Courcel and the Cruarch’s bare-chested in woolen Alban kilts, their elaborate woad markings and copper torques signifying that each was a nobleman’s son. They formed an escort around us, leading us through the first of innumerable floral arches built along the way, a court herald calling out the news in stentorian tones to any who had not yet heard it, which I daresay was no one.

From there, our procession grew very, very slow.

I have ridden in a triumph once before, when Ysandre returned to the City after the battle of Troyes-le-Monte, where we defeated the Skaldic army. I remember it well, for it was bittersweet, that occasion; as much as I was gladdened by our victory, I could not help but remember the dead and grieve for our losses.

This time, it was different. For all the terrors that had beset us on the waters, there had been no cost to human life. Hyacinthe was freed, and no one had died for it. As long and arduous as the journey had been, no one else had born the price of it. If I had entered the cavern of the Temenos and undergone the ritual of
thetalos
there and then, the chains of blood-guilt I bore would be no heavier.

I had not realized until then how profoundly grateful I was for it.

There was Daršanga, of course; there would always be Daršanga. None of us who had been there would ever be free of its shadow. But that… that had been somewhat
other
, and not the triumph we celebrated today.

Ysandre and Drustan met us at the gates.

How many times had I stood among the throng welcoming Drustan’s return? As many years as they had been wed. Now I beheld a like spectacle from the other side, riding at a snail’s pace down the packed road, while onlookers shouted and threw a hail of flowers and the harried City Guard sought to keep spectators from spilling onto the road. The white walls of the City of Elua were crowded with watchers. A contingent of Ysandre’s ladies-in-waiting tossed sweets and coins to the children, who shouted with glee.

As befitted their status, Hyacinthe and Sibeal rode first, flanked by Cruithne warriors. Behind Quintilius Rousse, I sat my mare and watched as they dismounted.

“Master of the Straits,” Ysandre greeted him in her clear voice. “Hyacinthe, son of Anasztaizia, be welcome to the City of Elua.” And she made him a deep curtsy and held it, according a Tsingani half-breed, a laundress’ son from the gutters of Night’s Doorstep, the acknowledgment due a superior, which no ruling monarch of Terre d’Ange has extended to anyone in living memory.

The crowd drew its collective breath, then loosed it in a roar of acclaim.

“On behalf of Alba,” Drustan called, “I bid you equal welcome.” He too made a deep bow, then straightened, grinning. “And welcome you to my family as well, brother, with thanks for bringing safely to land my sister the lady Sibeal!”

Another roar followed his announcement.

Sibeal merely gave her quiet smile, and went to give the kiss of greeting to Drustan and Ysandre alike, and her young nieces Alais and Sidonie. All eyes remained on Hyacinthe, who stood alone before the joint regents. He bowed deeply, holding it long enough that there could be no doubt he acknowledged their sovereignty. The cloak of indeterminate color fell in immaculate folds as he straightened, his hair tumbling over the collar in black ringlets.

“Your majesties,” he said, and although he did not raise his voice, it carried across the crowds, echoed from the walls, coming from everywhere and nowhere. “My lady Queen, my lord Cruarch. I am glad to be here.”

That was as far as he got, for the shouting drowned out even him. I daresay the majority of the crowd would have cheered no matter who he was, Rahab’s get or laundress’ son, for the sheer drama of the Master of the Straits entering the gates of the City of Elua. But there, atop the walls, perched a delegation surely dispatched from the less reputable parts of Night’s Doorstep, a handful of young men in their twenties and thirties, Tsingani, half-breed and D’Angeline, who drummed their heels on the white walls of the City and chanted, “Hy-a-cinthe! Hy-a-cinthe!”

He looked around at that, and if I had wondered if the Master of the Straits could still weep, I had my answer. Tears shone on his cheeks as he bowed once more in their direction, swirling his cloak as he rose with a touch of the old Prince of Travellers’ flair and sweeping both arms in the air and clapping his palms together.

A ripping peal of thunder split the clear sky.

Hyacinthe was home, if only for a little while.

The roaring din of the crowd eclipsed Quintilius Rousse’s salute to Queen and Cruarch, and I had no idea what he said, only that Ysandre raised him up with both hands and kissed his cheek, and Drustan clasped his forearms, grinning. And then it was our turn, and I found my legs trembling as we dismounted and approached the royal pair. To be welcomed thusly after our defiance … I had no words for the gratitude in my heart.

It was politics, yes; but somewhat more besides.

Joscelin gave his Cassiline bow, sweeping and precise, sunlight glinting from the battered steel of his vambraces-and the crowd loved that, too. When all was said and done, the Queen had named no other Champion. And here and there, they shouted for Imriel, who still carried the standard of Kushiel’s Dart-my standard, the standard of Phèdre’s Boys-prompted by the yells of Rousse’s soldiers and the pride with which Imri carried it, executing his bow flawlessly without letting the standard dip. He won a few admirers that day on sheer presence alone.

I saw his eyes shine, and knew he did it on my behalf.

And then …

“Don’t even think of it,” Ysandre muttered through stiff lips as I made my curtsy, struggling against the desire to kneel and beg her forgiveness for the enormity of my transgressions against the throne. “I swear, Phèdre nó Delaunay, if you do …”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, getting the words out even as her hand grasped my elbow, fingers digging in with painful pressure, keeping me upright. “Ysandre, I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” Her violet eyes softened despite the pressure of her fingertips, and Queen Ysandre de la Courcel shook her head. “You idiot,” she said fondly, then gave me the kiss of greeting in front of ten thousand assembled watchers, restoring my status as her favored confidante, and taking her time in doing it.

This, too, met with considerable approval. It was Terre d’Ange, after all.

I was flushed when I made my curtsy to Drustan mab Necthana, the Cruarch of Alba. His eyes glinted with amusement and gladness. “So you did it after all.”

“Yes.” I knew what he meant. Drustan had been there, when Hyacinthe paid the price both of us would have taken on ourselves had it been allowed. I drew a deep breath and loosed it in a tremulous laugh, feeling strange with this unmixed, untempered joy. “We did.”

And Drustan too kissed me, and we passed through the gate that the procession might continue, while the cheers rose around us in endless waves beneath the cloudless sky, free of spite or envy, surging in the bright air of the City of Elua, for once celebrating a victory unalloyed with defeat.