Kushiel's Chosen

"This uncle of yours, he is rich, he?" he asked when Glaukos had finished.



"He has ships," I said. "Enough to stand surety for the loan. And he will verify the authenticity of the letter, for only he and I know of his offer to send aid."



"Good." He nodded his head briskly. "It is well thought, eh?" He said something to Nikanor in Illyrian, then grinned and clapped my shoulder. "Three weeks, no less! You will see, you, how a true sailor flies!"



The men laughed and made comments I could not understand; for once, I could have cared less. No one had recognized my "uncle" as the Royal Admiral of Terre d'Ange. I daresay any D'Angeline would have done so, for Quintilius is a Caerdicci name, and unusual among us. But it is common in Caerdicca Unitas, and raised no brows among the Illyrians.



He will know, I thought, sealing the letter with wax and blowing on it. He will remember; he must! He had promised me: If you've need of aid, Phèdre nó Delaunay, know this. Do you but send word to the Lady ofMarsilikos or myself, I will come. I will come with ships; and I will come in force. I only hoped he would understand from my words that 'twas La Serenissima I meant him to assail, and not the Illyrians. Well and so; I had written as plainly as I dared, under the circumstances. The wax having cooled, I slid the letter into an oilskin pouch and gave it to Nikanor, who accepted it with great ceremony, tying it to his belt.



It was not yet noon when the ship set sail. I went, because I could not bear not to see it, and because it was a grand occasion in the village of Dobrek. An old priest hobbled down to the harbor, offering prayers in Illyrian, libations of wine and-to my squeamish dismay-a rooster. Bindhus, they prayed to, who is Lord of the Seas, and Yarovit, who is their Sacred Warrior; I had not known, until then, that the Illyrians had aught but nature-spirits and ghosts and curse-creatures in their pantheon, but they do.



Kazan Atrabiades gave the call to hoist anchor from the shore and Nikanor echoed it aboard the ship, drawing his sword and raising it to flash in the bright sunlight. The sailors set to at the oars, and the ship moved slowly away from the harbor; once in the middle of the bay, they scrambled to raise sail. It luffed and flapped and bellied full, and then they had caught it, angling steadily toward the hidden egress.



And there, I thought, standing on the sun-warmed sands and watching the vessel dwindle in the distance, goes the hope of an entire nation, in the hands of a pack of unlettered Illyrian pirates intent only on booty.



Still and all, 'twas done, and I could do no more. For the first time in days-weeks, mayhap months-the terrible burden of urgency was lifted, leaving me weak with relief. Now, when no one threatened me, I found myself shaking. Tears blurred my vision and I fought to keep from blinking, staring out at Nikanor's receding sails.



"Ah, now, don't fear, my lady," Glaukos said kindly, seeing my distress. "They're good men to a lad, they'll be back before you know it, and 'twill all be resolved, you'll see." He patted my hand awkwardly, and I shook my head, wordless, tears streaming down my face. "Ah, now, now, don't cry, child ... do you want me to take you back to Kazan's house, eh?"



"Yes, please," I whispered; I dared trust my voice no further.



Elua be thanked, he did just that-for once started, my tears flowed unceasing. All that time in La Dolorosa, I had not wept. From the moment Benedicte had ordered the deaths of Remy and Fortun, despair had turned my heart to stone. Not until I saw Joscelin had the stone cracked and I begun to feel. But hope had been snatched away too soon, and despair returned as my familiar companion.



And now hope, frail hope, undid me again, and hard on its heels came the great, rushing wave of grief I'd walled out for so long. Glaukos got me somehow to Kazan's house; I could scarce see by then, putting one foot before the other. I heard his voice murmuring to Marjopí as I lay on my bed, curled in a ball and wracked with silent, shuddering sobs.



It is enough, I think, to say that I lived it all over again that day, the terrible, endless moment in Benedicte's hall, where I watched my chevaliers cut down out of hand, overwhelmed and brutally slain before my eyes. Remy, cursing, holding them all at bay for a few seconds, then going down like a hunted stag. And Fortun, coming so close, his reaching hand leaving a bloody trail on the door. All this and more, every minute of every day I spent in the confines of La Dolorosa; the poor, awful madmen, and ah, Elua! Dumb, kind Tito, who brought me honey, and died protecting me, so nearly taking me with him.



And the look, the dreadful look on Joscelin's face ...



Truly, I have an ill-luck name.



Grief heals, they say in Eisande; unshed tears fester like a canker in the soul. Whether or not it is true, I do not know. I wept until I could weep no more, and then slept as long and as hard as I had that first night in Glaukos' house.



Thus began the long, slow days of waiting, wherein I learned sympathy for sailors' wives, who spend their days scanning the horizon for sight of a sail, betokening the safe return of their loved ones. Glaukos came each day to the house, and we sat in the cypress shade, eating salted melon while he taught me to speak Illyrian. It had taken him nearly three years to learn it, but he'd had no formal structure of teaching, only such skills as he could glean in conversation with Kazan. I made him teach me as I had learned to study language, establishing basic rules of grammar and working outward.



Sometimes Lukin would join us, and others of Kazan's men, the young ones, lounging in the cool shade and listening, interjecting to teach me jests and use-words such as made Glaukos blush. I daresay they picked up some few words of Caerdicci along the way ... in truth, mostly they came to look at me. I came to know them that way; Epafras the romantic, who sighed and cast puppy-eyes; shy Oltukh, who swam like a fish and brought me offerings of shells strung on leather thongs; Stajeo and Tormos, who were brothers and endlessly competitive; Volos, whom everyone said could talk to birds; and Ushak, whose ears stuck out like jug handles.



None of them would have dared lay a hand on me, for whatever the status of hostages on Dobrek, of a surety, I was marked as Kazan's-and that, they respected. For his part, Kazan Atrabiades tolerated it better than I would have reckoned, keeping a wry eye on his lads and setting one of the older, more sober men to chivy them back to work as needed, performing the myriad tasks it seemed a life of piracy entailed. There were sails to be mended and rigging restored. Pitch was rendered into tar, and each ship sealed anew.



There were trade excursions, too, to outlying islands in the archipelago. Kazan went on one such a few days after Nikanor's ship had sailed, and was gone overnight, returning in good spirits after unloading his booty at a profit. He had left me well enough alone before his journey, heeding his promise to put off his claim while I continued to heal. But I saw upon his return that it had been much on his mind, and his gaze followed me hungrily.



In the morning, he oversaw the distribution of the grain he had bought in trade. All of it was done in barter on the island, the villagers trading for wine and wool and the like. Afterward, I had my daily lesson with Glaukos, and then, when the worst heat of the day had passed, Kazan approached me.



"You come with me, you," he said. "There is a thing I would show to you. Do you know to ride a horse, eh? It is said that noble-born are taught in your country, yes?"



"Noble-born or no, I can ride," I said, rising.



They'd gotten the horses ready, and young Epafras cast adoring looks at me, holding the head of the quiet mare as I mounted. Kazan swung astride his old gelding with careless ease, and I could see by the way it responded to his touch that he'd ridden it long and well; probably, I guessed, in battle. I'd noted before that it was scarred like a cavalry mount, glancing blows on the chest and flanks.



"Come," was all he said.



We rode to the foothills, where the pine forest began and a rutted logging trail cut into the deep green shade, pocked by donkeys' hooves and the deep traces of the logs they dragged to the village. The air was cooler and fragrant, and I breathed deeply of it as we made the ascent. The farther we went, the larger the trees. This was old forest, where the Illyrians say the Leskii abide. They are the green-eyed protectors of the forest, covered in black fur, with cloven hooves; anyone who takes a tree without asking permission of the Leskii first may be doomed to wander the forest until he dies and his flesh nourishes the earth.



I could nearly believe it myself, once the logging trail ended and we turned onto a narrower route, a worn footpath marked by blazes on the trees. It was steep going and we rode single file; I found myself looking around at the crowded trunks, half-expecting to find a pair of green eyes peering back. Kazan was impervious; Glaukos had spoken truly, he feared naught but his own especial demon.



It took an hour's time, but we reached the summit of the island without seeing a Leska. Here, the trees thinned, giving way to barren stone-and a spectacular view of the archipelago. I confess, I gasped in awe to see it, spreading away from me in all directions. In the late-afternoon sun, the distant sea shone like hammered gold, other islands lying dark and hazy on the horizon. Behind us I could see the harbor of Dobrek clearly, shaped like a crab's claw.



A simple watchman's hut stood atop the summit, and a great pyre of wood some distance from it in a circle of well-cleared ground. A pair of Kazan's men came out to meet us, saluting and grinning. He greeted them in Illyrian, which I more than half understood. I sat patting my mare's sweat-darkened neck and wondering why he had brought me when Kazan pointed to the west and said, "There." There was the vague outline of a low island-Halijar, it was called-a bit to the left, and beyond, only the sea, and a broad, shining path laid on it by the sun. "My lord?" I asked politely.



"Is in that way Marsilikos lies, eh?" he said, glancing sidelong at me. "I am thinking you would want to see it, you. When Nikanor comes, we will see his sails, eh, and a runner will come to tell of it. So you see, and you will know, you, when he comes."



It was an unexpected kindness, and it touched me; tears pricked my eyes and the bright vista swam blurrily. "Thank you," I said, meaning it.



"Yes. You are welcome, you." Kazan sat at his ease in the saddle, reins loose, hands crossed on the pommel, and looked steadily at me. "I am thinking too, that you are well now, eh? And we have a bargain."



I took a deep breath, without so much as a twinge from my ribs, and let it out slowly. "I am, my lord, and we do. Let it be kept."



Kazan inclined his head. "Tonight, yes?" he said, then added, grinning, "Or earlier, if we ride fast, eh!"



I laughed despite myself.



FIFTY-FOUR



For all his jesting, Kazan did not hasten our return, but held his eagerness in check and rode at a measured pace. Dusk was falling by the time we reached the house and turned the horses over to the care of Lukin and Oltukh, and I saw that the terrace had been made ready for dining.



Well and so, I thought, he wants this to be properly done. "As it please you," I said to him, plucking at my skirts, "I would bathe, and change into somewhat smelling less Of horse, my lord. So it would be done in Terre d'Ange."



"I guessed that, I," he said, amused. "D'Angelines, you are always bathing, eh? Go."



I went, and found that in my room, the rose-damask gown had been laid out fresh, pressed with hot irons. In the bathing room were clean linen towels, and a small flask of scented oil. It amused me that Kazan had prepared so well for this, and made me like him a little better.



'Twas nonetheless true that he had forced me into this bargain, and that I did not forgive. Still, I had made it, and so doing, given consent. And as I was Naamah's Servant, so was I bound by it. I thought on that, smoothing fragrant oil into my skin in the steam-wreathed room. Naamah herself had made bargains for less.



Mayhap there were other ways she could have achieved the same end, but such was her gift, and such she gave. Well, I thought, combing out my hair in my bedchamber; if I am truly her Servant, it is much the same. Let it be done, then, and the bargain kept freely. My lady Naamah, pray you see that Kazan Atrabiades keeps his as well as I do. I am in your hand, and must trust to your mercy.



I asked Marjopí in faltering Illyrian if she had a mirror I might borrow, but she merely looked at me askance and made a sign against evil, disgruntled by the night's proceedings. I knew full well the Illyrians had no proscriptions against mirrors, for Glaukos' wife Zilje had a bronze-handled one she used. No mirror, no cosmetics, nor adornments, nor hairpins; still, I made the best of it, donning a long, shimmering necklace of shells given me by Oltukh and twining my hair into a lover's-haste knot at the nape of my neck.



It would have to do.



And it did well enough, I daresay, for when I walked onto the terrace, Kazan did not rise, but merely sat and stared, open-mouthed. There is a feeling one comes to know, in the Service of Naamah; when one entrusts oneself wholly to Naamah, her grace enfolds one like a cloak. So said Cecilie Laveau-Penin, who taught me in the arts, and she should know, who was the pride of Cereus House. I have found it to be true.



"You," Kazan said hoarsely, rising to his feet and bowing. "You are enough to make the gods jealous, you.”



There is something else that comes of placing oneself in Naamah's hand, and that is desire. It would have happened with me anyway, but it comes sooner with Naamah's surrender than when pressed to it by Kushiel's Dart. I gazed at Kazan Atrabiades, and felt my blood quicken in my veins.



He was not ill-made, Kazan, although I had been reluctant to concede it. In truth, his fierce good looks were much sought after by the young women of Dobrek. And he was vain, after a fashion; if the Illyrian style of pointed mustaches and narrow beard were not to my taste, I had to admit he maintained his with care. He'd even paid a visit to the bathing room himself, and his black hair gleamed with brushing.