Kushiel's Chosen (64 page)

"It was," I said.

"I had help, my lord." There was no point in denying it. "A rescuer."

Kazan stirred. "Then there is a force in Serenissima, loyal to you?"

"No." I shook my head. "It was my companion, Joscelin."

He looked at me without speaking for a moment. "One man?" he asked eventually. "One man assailed the black isle on your behalf?" I nodded. Kazan gave a short laugh. "Then he is mad, I think, or too much in love with you."

"No." I rubbed my eyes, itching with tiredness. "I don't know. A little of both, maybe."

"You look different when you speak of him."

I made no reply. There was too much to say, and too little, and the thought of Joscelin was more than I could bear. In the absence of words, beyond the sound of waves and creaking rigging, came the distant sound of a drumbeat, steady and relentless.

Kazan gazed across the waters. "So it will be Epidauro, then," he said softly. "Just know ..." He switched to Caerdicci, the language we had always shared between us. "... I didn't think they would kill you, eh? Remember me kindly, you." He touched my hair, and gave me a faint smile. "Marjopf was right, yes? Bad luck, after all. But I will think of you, when I die. It would please Daroslav, that I knew one such as you, before the end."

A roiling dawn broke in the east, purple clouds shot through with ragged streaks of orange, beating the waves into bronze. The winds picked up, errant and fitful, gusts from the north driving us sideways and setting peaks of white foam atop the wave crests. Our pursuers were behind us still, and if they began at last to flag, so too did our progress slow.

We made for Epidauro.

Kazan
spoke briefly to his crew. "You know what we face, all of you, behind and before. Let my mother's curse claim me then; 'tis long enough overdue. If the Ban may profit from it, 'tis worthwhile in the end. Pekhlo, tell Ni-kanor I bequeath command to him when I am dead. I ask only that he leave the house to Marjopí, and see that she is given a proper loom, an upright loom like the D'Angelines use." He raised his voice, shouting the order. "All sails out for Epidauro!"

"A little." I caught his satchel as it threatened to overturn as the ship lurched sharply. "He thinks he's going to die, Glaukos."

"I know." He steadied himself against the inner wall of the ship, then bent over to check a dressing, sniffing to see if the wound had gone bad. The sailor, half-conscious, murmured in pain.

"Ah, now ..." Glaukos glanced at me. "I don't know, my lady. Do you ask me do I think the
kríavbhog
will take him, well, no, I think no such thing. Tis Illyrian superstition, that, and naught else; tales to frighten children. But when a man sets himself to die, I have seen it, how his spirit may go out like a blown candle flame. Kazan, he's more life in him than any ten men. But still... I don't know."

At that, the ship heeled sharply again, rendering talk a wasted effort. I helped him as best I could, and when I could do no more, I went back above deck. The morning's clouds had thickened, and rainsqualls threatened here and there, moving across the surface of the sea as if of their own vo lition. The Serenissiman galleys had drawn closer.

Let them take us into custody, I thought; it matters naught, so long as we do not die at the hands of the Serenissimans. If this Ban of Illyria has half a wit to his name, he will hear me out and accept the promise of Ysandre's favor. I will plead clemency for Kazan and his men on behalf of Terre d'Ange; whatever they have done in the past, La Serenissima has no claim in this matter. Let the Serenissimans blockade the Caerdicci point as they will, there are other routes, though they may take longer. They cannot cover the whole of the Caerdicci coast. Surely, we may find a way to win through, and if I cannot reach Marsilikos, still I may intercept Ysandre in her
progressus.

So I told myself, and fed the guttering spark of hope that remained to me, while the sullen sky muttered with thunder and the walls of Epidauro grew nearer.

And in the prow of the ship stood Kazan Atrabiades, his face ghost-white.

Though the clouds gathered overhead and spat rain upon us, though lightning flickered in the sky's dark underbelly, I felt my prayers heard, a waiting presence enfolded around me.
Thus it may be,
a voice spoke in my heart.
But he is
not ours.

Rain beat down in sheets, and the sailors cursed, grap pling with lines whipping slick and wind-torn. A flash of lightning brightened the skies, and I saw all three of the other ships leaping ahead of us now, gaining entrance to the harbor, sails stark white against the leaden grey. And in the dark eye-blinding aftermath, a hoarse cry.

The northerly gusts of wind that had plagued us all day struck once more, slamming a rain-driven fist into the side of the ship. The sailors shouted with helpless rage and fought the pitching waves, fought the wind, fought the lines.

It was too much, too vast and strong, growing larger with each inch we struggled forward toward the harbor of Epidauro. I did not know, until I heard the rattle in my throat, that I was sobbing. Its head reared over him, blotting out the rain, a hinged jaw lowering and extending.

May the
kríavbhog
swallow my soul if I lie ...

Half-blinded by tears and lashing rain, I struggled across the pitching deck to the stern of the ship; an oar broken loose of its lock nearly knocked me overboard, before I made it. I clung to the mizzenmast, sodden hair plastered across my cheek by the wind, scarce able to hear my own voice shouting above the din. "Turn back, name of Elua, turn back! Can't you see it's killing him!" In the sudden glare of lightning, I saw the steersman staring at me open-mouthed, eyes showing the whites all around, and I realized I'd been shouting in D'Angeline. Groping for the Illyrian words, I drew a deep breath and loosed it with all my might.
"Turn back!"

Would we have reached Epidauro that day if I had not spoken? I cannot say. I chose in the space of a heartbeat, and once the decision was made and the deed done, it could not be undone. And yet, if I had it to make again, I would choose the same, though the throne of Terre d'Ange hung in the balance. Too many have died, who aided me. In that terrible, storm-ridden moment, I could not knowingly choose to condemn Kazan Atrabiades to his death. I never understood, until then, how Joscelin could have chosen to remain at my side in Skaldia, when he had a chance to escape and warn the nation of Selig's plan. I understand it better now.

As for Kazan, he was like a man caught in a waking dream, open-eyed and insensible. It was all I could do to keep him in the forecastle out of the way, while his sailors fought for our survival. He would look at me when I spoke to him with no sign of understanding.