Kushiel's Chosen (75 page)

"I owe you a debt—"

"It is not for you to say what debts I owe! I have seen, in the
thetalos
—"

"And young Atrabiades and his men may take their place among my tribute-bearers, with none the wiser," the Ban said to his wife, finishing her thought; a broad smile spread across his face. "It is well-thought, my dear, and a fitting gift indeed."

"Yes!" Kazan said eagerly. "And if anything goes ill, we can claim to have taken the ship by force, that there is no blame on you, Zim Sokali!"

"Kazan,
no
—"

Vasilii Kolcei held up one hand for silence, looking sternly at me. "It is not for you to choose, what Kazan Atra biades does or does not do. As he is an Illyrian subject, he is under Serenissiman rule, and those laws he has broken, to the extent that neither I nor, of a surety, the children of Minos can protect him from prosecution. It is an honorable course he proposes. That you do not wish his blood on your head is commendable, D'Angeline; but you wish to save your Queen. You have put it to two rulers, and now I put it to you. Is the gain not worth the risk?"

Our arrival had been timely indeed, for the tribute ship was set to sail on the morrow, bearing gifts in honor of Marco Stregazza's investiture as Doge. Carpenters labored throughout the night to construct a false-bottomed trunk fit to hide me and hold the tribute; gold in plenty, as if La Serenissima had need of it, marten skins and civet, and am ber from the Chowat. There were air holes drilled cunningly into the richly carved cypress wood at the base of the trunk so I could breathe.

Still, I did not relish the prospect.

The Ban and his wife gave me lodging that night, treating me kindly. Already they had begun a campaign of misin formation, at her suggestion, giving the lie to the widespread rumor of Kazan Atrabiades' return. Small traders lost at sea come home safe at last, ran the counterrumor; and oh, yes, a young Hellene slave girl aboard the ship with them if any had heard of it, her freedom purchased dearly on distant Kriti, not a D'Angeline, no, but passing fair.

It was a long night and I slept poorly, although it seemed foolish when in truth I would do naught but climb aboard another infernal ship come daybreak. We would be four days at sea, and I had no intention of clambering into that trunk until I saw the cursed rocks of La Dolorosa. But it was the beginning of the end of this long game that had begun the day Melisande Shahrizai folded my
sangoire
cloak and wrapped it in a parcel. If I lost this round, there would be no other, no second cast, no last ploy. Whatever befell Terre d'Ange, Melisande would have won her game. Ysandre would be dead, and all who sought to aid her; including me, if Marco Stregazza had his way.

More than anything, I missed Joscelín that night. I do not think I ever fully reckoned, until then, how much he served to keep my demons at bay. For the worst of it was, despite everything, despite the manipulation and betrayal, imprisonment and abuse, near-drowning and living as a hostage, despite all the horrors of the
thetalos
and the terrible knowl edge it had given me, ah, Elua, despite it all, I longed for her still. I could not help it, any more than I could erase the prick of Kushiel's Dart from my eye, and the more I struggled against it in the shuddering depths of my soul, the more I yearned in my heart for Joscelin's presence. As gloriously, splendidly, intractably single-minded as he was, loving him was like grasping a knife, a clean white blaze of pain that kept me anchored to myself.

Cassiel's dagger, with which Elua made reply to the mes sengers of the One God; Cassiel's Servant, touchstone of my dart-riven heart. Pondering such mysteries, I fell at last into a fretful sleep and awoke at dawn to the beginning of the endgame.

"Ah, now, my lady," he whispered. "I'd go with you if I dared, but this is a young man's task. I'd only slow you down, I fear."

"I'd order Kazan to put you ashore if you even
thought
to try it, Glaukos." Remembering his many kindnesses, my own eyes feared, and I sniffled indecorously. "Go home to Dobrek, and your pretty wife, and if you think of me, say a prayer to whatever god will hear you."

And then it was time to board the ship under the command of Pjètri Kolcei, the Ban's middle son, who would oversee the tribute mission. He was young, only a few years older than me, with the air of a seasoned warrior. After seeing us all aboard, he made a formal farewell to his par ents, who sat mounted alongside the wharf amid a cordon of the Ban's Guard. Crossing the gangplank, he gave the order to cast off.

It was strange, after so long on Kazan's pirate ship, to be aboard a proper vessel with square sails, broad decks and bunks in the hold. I stood gripping the railing as the ship moved slowly away from the shore and gazed back at the harbor. The Ban and his wife sat on their horses unmoving, watching us go as the early morning sun slanted through the mist.

"No." He shook his head. Droplets of moisture clung to his hair like gems. "I said good-bye at our house, I. My old boyhood home, eh?" he said, answering me in Caerdicci out of habit. "She says to me, she; Kazan, come home soon, come home twice a hero."

"Blessed Elua grant it may be so," I murmured.

Once we had cleared the harbor, Pjètri Kolcei gave the order to hoist sail and we were away, moving steadily and surely across the surging blue sea. Some twenty sailors manned the ship, neat-handed and competent. The Ban's hand-picked embassy numbered twenty as well, under Pjètri's leadership; and seven of those were Kazan and his men. When we were underway, the Ban's middle son made his way across the deck to join us.

He smiled, and there was somewhat of his father's tight shrewdness in it, and somewhat of a warrior's grin. "I have my orders. If aught goes awry, my men are to throw down their weapons," he said to Kazan, "and yours to make shift to hold them hostage, that we may claim you overcame us, by treachery and surprise. Such is the lot of a middle son, whose honor may be cast aside at need. But if all goes as planned..." His grin blossomed fully into a warrior's ferocity. "The Serenissimans will pay a heavy toll for the tribute they exact!"

"And the middle son rises in the eyes of the Zim Sokali!" Kazan agreed with bloodthirsty good cheer. "Yarovit's grace upon your sword, Pjètri Kolcei. Did you train under Gjergi Hamza?" he added, eyeing the aforementioned weapon.

I left them to compare notes on the merits of the Ban's swordmasters, perambulating the deck and taking simple pleasure in the sun's rising warmth, the bright rays burning off the mists as we gained the open seas. The Illyrian sailors startled to see me, hands moving in quick warding gestures; I had nearly forgotten how Kazan's men had received me at first. Now one of them trailed behind me, a self-appointed guard. It was Ushak, his prominent ears concealed beneath a conical steel helm. He turned scarlet whenever I glanced back at him, until I laughed aloud and paused to wait for him, giving him my arm which he took, blushing.

"Is it?" I halted, gazing at him. "Is that why you came, Ushak?"

He shook his head, blushing and swallowing fiercely. "Not... not that alone, my lady. You, you were kind to us, you learned our tongue, you laughed at our jests ... even, even mine." He swallowed again and added helplessly, "You were kind."

I thought on it, searching the empty blue skies. "Is the world so cruel, then, that that is all that is required to move a man to risk his life? Kindness?"

Ah, Elua! I bowed my head, overwhelmed by nameless emotion. I understood Kazan, and the debt he perceived; I understood the Ban and his kin, weighing merit against risk. Even those of Kazan's men who had been my shipmates, I understood better; we had forged a bond, we had, during that dreadful flight, and the terrors of the Temenos. But this ... this came straight from the heart.

Love as thou wilt.

They are fools, who reckon Elua a soft god, fit only for the worship of starry-eyed lovers. Let the warriors clamor after gods of blood and thunder; love is hard, harder than steel and thrice as cruel. It is as inexorable as the tides, and life and death alike follow in its wake.