Kushiel's Chosen

I could have laughed, or wept; for the deaths we shared in common, his visions were as true as my own. "Then if the Archon does not aid us-"



"We sail to Epidauro," Kazan finished for me, grinning once more. "And I will see to Nikanor and the others, eh, and I will ask the Ban to aid you, I, for I once stood in his favor, and only my mother's curse put me from it. And if he will not, then where you wish to go, I will take you myself, yes!



Tears stung my eyes. "Thank you," I said, and repeated it. "Thank you."



"No matter," he said, shrugging, and added in Illyrian, "We have a score to settle with the Serenissimans!"



The latter part, Spiridon and Gavril overheard and cheered, chiming in with bloodthirsty vows of revenge. So it continues, I thought ruefully; though I could not help but be glad of their support. Even after the thetalos, Kazan is ready to shed fresh blood. Though he remembers, he has been cleansed of it; he begins anew,



Mayhap 'twas not such an ill thing, to carry the living memory of that pain.



With such thoughts did I occupy my mind, and we came in short order to the outer walls of Phaistos. Here the outer market thronged, small-holders trading amongst themselves and those artisans and merchants from within the city who sold shoddy goods at cut-rate prices to the countryfolk. We picked our way between them, making slowly for the gates of the city.



Phaistos is situated on a gentle hill, with the Palace at the crest and the city sprawling around it and sloping down to Kommos harbor. It is a low wall that surrounds the city, although the Archon's guards were posted at the tall ceremonial gate. They wore light armor in the early autumn heat, helmets with red plumes, steel cuirasses over linen kilts that left bare their legs, with sandals and greaves. They carried short spears and ox-hide shields, although some half the squadron had left their shields leaning against the walls while they talked and jested together.



Our cart was given a cursory glance and waved into the city; some few of the guards smiled and touched their brows to our driver, and some few of them nudged each other and stared after us, pointing. I heard the buzz of speculation follow as we entered the city, but it was soon lost in the noise of the Kritian marketplace.



We had reached Phaistos, city of the wide harbor.



SIXTY-TWO



Phaistos was a worldly city indeed, bustling with activity and markedly different from the calm of the Temenos. It is not so large as other harbor cities I had seen, Marsilikos and La Serenissima, but it lies along the trade routes and one sees folk of many nations mingled among the Kritians. There was an Ephesian ship at harbor that day, and a handful of Umaiyyati in the markets, as well as Hellenes from the mainland and a number of Caerdicci from one of the southern city-states. I kept my eyes and ears sharp for D'Angeline faces or voices, but none were forthcoming.



Most of the streets are narrow and meant only for foot traffic, although there are a few broad avenues to the marketplace, the harbor and the Palace. We plodded slowly along one such, making for the hill of the Palace; here and there, Kritians touched their brows. The oxen nodded their heads as they trudged in harness, dipped their gilt-tipped horns as if in acknowledgment.



I am city-born and bred, and it was good to be once more in a familiar atmosphere. I noted the strata of society all mingled in one place, commoners rubbing elbows with lords and ladies. A rich array of odors pervaded the air; the salt tang of the sea, perfumed oils, lamb kebobs sizzling on charcoal braziers, fresh-caught fish, sharp spices and human sweat, and occasionally a waft of distant incense.



Spiridon and Gavril stared in bewilderment, and it came to me that they had never seen a proper city before.



"There would have been Illyrian traders here too," Kazan said in a low voice. "Twenty years ago, eh. Now the Serenissimans have taken all our trade-rights, and there is a heavy fee for those who would trade directly with any but they. And yet I am called a pirate, I! They would take Kriti if they dared, yes, and all of Hellas, but Kriti has never fallen."



It is true, although Tiberium tried during the golden years of her empire. When all of mainland Hellas fell under Tiberian rule, Kriti retained its sovereign status. Although the isle no longer rules the Hellene seas, when her shores were breached, the Kritians retreated to the mountains and fought with ferocity and cunning, luring Tiberian troops to their doom. So the island was never conquered, and when the Tiberian empire crumbled, the Kritians reclaimed their shores.



We came at length to the gates of the Palace, and here the Archon's guards mounted a shrewder watch, Our driver conversed with the leader of the squadron, and I presented Pasiphae's letter. He examined the seal, sun glancing off the steel of his bowed helmet, then gave a courteous nod.



"You are welcome, by order of the Kore of the Temenos.



Please dismount from the oxcart, and I will send word to the Archon."



Obeying, we waited, ushered within the gate. Our driver touched his own brow in farewell and set about turning the oxcart, making his slow way back through the city. I occupied my time in studying the Palace of Phaistos, which was far grander than that of the Temenos. It climbed the low hill in terraced layers, red-columned porticoes looking out at the city sloping down to the sea. Presently, a Palace attendant came to greet us, a distinguished Kritian of middle years, with a chain of office about his neck and a white tunic worked with embroidery at the edges. He bowed, addressing us in Hellene.



"Phèdre nó Delaunay of Terre d'Ange, Kazan Atrabiades of Epidauro, I will conduct you and your men into the presence of the Archon."



I translated briefly to Kazan and the Illyrians, and we followed the attendant across the courtyard and mounted the wide staircase, passing beneath a great alabaster archway to enter.



It is a lively place, the Palace of Phaistos. We passed fine Kritian lords and ladies, travelling on foot and in servant-borne palanquins, bound to and from the city's market; they chattered amongst themselves, laughing and gesturing. They dress for the heat in Phaistos, and I saw Spiridon and Gavril stretch their eyes to see noblewomen in linen so fine it showed the contours of the bodies beneath, nothing so modest as Illyrian attire. It made me smile.



The attendant led us to the Upper East Wing of the Palace, and paused outside a doorway. I could hear odd sounds coming from within, grunting and thudding. Kazan looked inquiringly at me and I shrugged. The attendant cleared his throat and knocked three times, then opened the door.



It led not into a room but onto a small, open-air courtyard with a sandy floor. There was a well at the rear of the yard, and it was set about on all sides with benches and date palms in massive clay pots. Kritian nobles sat on the benches, attended by servants with parasols, eating and drinking and conversing while they watched a wrestling match. Some half a dozen other wrestlers stood watching, laying odds and wagers.



We stood discreetly to one side and waited. I gazed at the seated nobles, trying to guess which one was the Archon while the match played out. The contestants were both naked and oiled, hair bound in clubs. One had the advantage of height and reach, but the smaller man was quick, slipping out of his hold time and again. The spectators oohed and aahed, exclaiming over each near throw and escape. Kazan stared, frowning in perplexity; the other two Illyrians looked uncomfortably at the scene. They will strip to swim, but not much else, and even that, not in the presence of women.



In time, the wrestlers closed in a grapple, legs braced, hands locked on each other's upper arms. I watched their feet scuffle for purchase and advantage in the deep sand as each sought to unbalance the other. The smaller man feinted left, seeking to hook his opponent's ankle; but he was ready for it and threw a hip-check, using the leverage of his long arms to throw the other. Down went the smaller contestant, landing with a resonant thump. The audience sighed and the winner stepped back and bowed deeply; when the loser bounded to his feet grinning, they all applauded, and I realized he was the Archon.



He came over to us as he was, mother-naked with the Seal of Minos strung on a cord about his neck, skin gleaming with oil save for a few patches of sand.



"I am Demetrios Asterius," he said cheerfully, "the Archon of Phaistos. I hear that Pasiphae has sent you to me. Has anyone ever told you that your hair shines like stars caught in a net of the night sky?"



I flushed, kneeling in the sun-warmed sand. "My lord Archon, pray accept my greeting. I am Phèdre nó Delaunay, Comtesse de Montrève, of Terre d'Ange."



"Mother Dia, I think I could guess that! You're enough to send the Goddess of Love running for her mirror." Setting his hands on his hips, the Archon surveyed Kazan, who bowed, eyes averted. "And you must be the Epidauran. Well, you two are an unlikely pair!"



"I am Kazan Atrabiades, I," Kazan said stiffly in Caerdicci.



The Archon raised his brows and switched languages without effort. "If that's so, you've a name for a pirate, Illyrian!"



Kazan grinned wolfishly; I daresay he was pleased to find his reputation had preceded him. "It may be, eh? But I have undergone the thetalos, I."



"So I am told." A shrewd look crossed Demetrios Aster-ius' face, and I remembered well what Pasiphae had said of him. Although he was slender and dark-complected, he had a look of her about the eyes; the deep-set eyes of the House of Minos, who call themselves the Kindred. "You have a letter, I believe?"



Still kneeling, I handed it to him. His slim fingers closed hard about my wrist instead of taking the letter, and he drew me to my feet, laughing. "You need not kneel to me, Lady Phèdre, charming though it looks. Let us see what Pasiphae has written." Plucking the letter from my hand, he gave a sharp whistle in the direction of the gathered wrestlers. One raised his head, smiling in answer, and came over to join us. He was tall and well-made, with hair the color of darkened bronze and grey eyes that held a quiet amusement. "This is Timanthes," the Archon said absently, throwing an arm over his companion's shoulders as he scanned Pasiphae's letter. "He can beat me two falls out of three, too, although he never boasts of it. Here, Timanthes, see what you make of this."



Timanthes read the letter silently, and their eyes met when he had finished. "You'll have to hear her out in a proper audience, Demetrios. This is too heavy to be decided here."



"That's what I thought." The Archon clapped his hands together, turning to address the gathered Kritians, who clustered on their benches, staring and whispering. "Thank you for coming," he called to them. "I hope you have been well entertained!" They applauded again politely, and dispersed in short order, taking their retinues of servants with them, eyeing us sidelong as they went. In the background, the other wrestlers began sluicing each other down with buckets of water drawn from the well. Demetrios Asterius touched his fingers to his lips, brows drawn in thought. "You have a ship in the harbor, yes?" he asked Kazan in Caerdicci. "I am unclear what is your stake in this matter, pirate. The law of the Temenos protects you as a supplicant, but it does not extend to matters of state if you intend harm."



Kazan looked down at him; he was a full head taller than the Archon. "What I came for, I have, son of Minos. Now I am here to see what you will do, eh, and what you will not, I will. Do you understand, you?"



"I think so." The Archon nodded briskly. "Well and so, I will hear out this request of yours, Lady Phèdre, and your ... consort, is he?"



"No," I said softly. "My lord Kazan Atrabiades and I are bound together by... mutual debts, you might say. He is not my consort."



"No?" He raised his brows again and grinned. "That's well, then. Timanthes, does her hair not shine like stars caught in night's net?" They exchanged another glance and Timanthes shook his head, smiling. "Your sister would be wroth, to hear me say such things," the Archon concluded, sounding not at all put out. "But what am I to do, hmm, when the Kore herself sends one such as this to my door? Ah, well! My dear pirate," he said to Kazan, "I suggest you find lodgings for your men in the city. I am told there are a good many inns of quality, if you have coin to pay. For your part, we will honor the dues of a supplicant who has undergone the thetalos; here, you may stay. And you, my lady." He made me a bow, the Seal of Minos banging against his bare chest as he straightened. "You, we will surely house. Timanthes, will you see it done?"



"Yes, Demetrios." Timanthes smiled at me. "It will be done."



I do not think Kazan liked the arrangements-I do not think he liked the Archon overmuch-but so it was done, and Timanthes escorted me to pleasant quarters in the West Wing of the Palace.



"The Archon will see you within the hour," he said gravely to me. "He will not keep one waiting overlong whom the Kore has sent."



"Thank you, Timanthes." I considered him. "You are very fond of him, are you not?"



One corner of his mouth rose in a smile. "Yes, my lady. I am."



I had guessed that they were lovers; rightly, it seemed. "You read the Kore's letter. Will he treat kindly with me, do you think?"



Timanthes studied the beams of the ceiling. "He will hear you out in fairness, my lady. As much would he do for any supplicant, and the children of Minos heed one another's advice, most especially when it comes from the Temenos. Will he grant you aid?" He looked soberly at me. "I cannot say. If I have read aright, you have incurred the enmity of a mighty nation, and La Serenissima lies closer to Kriti than Terre d'Ange. Consider your request wisely, my lady."



"I will," I said. "Thank you."



He left me, then. I made shift to freshen myself, washing my hands and face in a basin of water set out for that purpose, and then sat and waited, thinking on what I would say. The fine speech I had polished once upon a time had gone clear out of my head in the cavern of the Temenos, shredded to bits and lost forever by what I had undergone there. Even so, I had composed it with a very different audience in mind; I did not know what to make of this Archon, who thought nothing of receiving petitioners on the wrestling floor, whose gaze hinted at an intellect his manner belied.