“I crave your pardon, my lord,” said Wolfhere at last in a tight voice.

“So you must. I expect you not to forget your place again. Now. As soon as my servant returns with slaves, we will cast off. There’s little enough tide in these waters.”

“Where do we go?” Was Wolfhere’s tone ironic? Or angry? Did the needle of rank still jab him? Was he humbled by Marcus’ disdain? He had such a hold over his emotions, and the muffling effect of the dark hold muted his voice just enough, that Zacharias could not guess how he felt. “Do we return to Darre?”

“Nay. We are to journey south to assist Sister Meriam in her search in the lands south of the middle sea. We hear stories of a crown set near the ruins of Kartiako. Meriam believes that another crown must lie south of the holy city of Saïs. It will be a pilgrimage into a new land.”

“A dangerous one. Jinna idolaters rule those lands.”

“It is difficult to know who truly rules the desert. But first I must deliver my cargo, and the child, to Darre.”

“The child.” The words, spoken so softly, barely reached Zacharias’ ears although he lay not a body’s length from the two men. “I am against it. It is dangerous to act so boldly.”

“As the time approaches, we must not fear to take risks. We have hidden for too long.”

“If we kidnap the child, Prince Sanglant will not rest until he recovers her.”

“Then he cannot hunt griffin feathers and sorcerous allies in the east, can he? He will have to choose. One, or the other.”

All at once, Zacharias realized that he lay not against a sack but against a body, limp and small. It was Blessing, unconscious and, presumably, tied up as he was. With some effort, he wiggled his arms until his hands touched her body. His searching hands brushed her fingers.

She responded. Her small hands, tied back as his were, clenched hard, tightening over his thumb. She squeezed again, a signal, and he squeezed back, then traced the pattern of the rope binding her wrists, seeking the knot. She made no sound, nor did she move except for that brief, fierce, silent communication.

The rope was wet and swollen, impossible to unknot especially at the angle he was forced to work on it. He despaired. He would be thrown to the fish, and she carried off to Darre as a hostage. Prince Sanglant had fought so hard to protect her, but it appeared that, after all, the sorcerers would win.

A ghost of a breeze tickled his nose, making him sniffle and snort.

“What’s that?” asked Marcus, standing.

Footsteps sounded on the deck above them and a voice called down through the hatch in clear but understandable Aostan. “Your man has returned, my lord cleric. He’s brought a dozen likely looking slaves, half of them Quman by the looks of them and the rest foreign creatures from the east. It isn’t often we get a coffle of only male slaves. Most buyers prefer women. Shall we quarter them below, or on deck?”

No breeze could penetrate belowdecks, but a breeze played around him nonetheless. As Marcus moved away to the ladder, Blessing whispered.

“Yes. Free me.”

Of course he would try, but he could not work miracles! God had forsaken him, or he had forsaken God….

She was not talking to him. She was talking to the spirit of air that played around his head. A cool touch swirled around his fingers. The strands of rope that bound her hands softened and parted, unraveling like so much rhetted flax. She flexed her wrists, and the rope fell away, leaving her free.

“Yes.” Her voice had no more force than the stirring of a breeze against the skin. “Him, too.”

His bonds loosened and he slipped swollen hands forward to his chest. A sensation as of a thousand pricking needles infested his palms and fingers as the blood and humors rushed back.

Free.

But still trapped.

Chains rattled above.

“Anna says you’re a sinner and an unbeliever,” murmured Blessing under cover of the thump and scrape of chains on the ladder as slaves descended into the hold. “Are you?”

“I don’t know what I believe, Your Highness,” he whispered. “But I think we had better consider how to escape rather than whether I’m apostate.”

“But what about your soul? Won’t you be cast into the Abyss? Doesn’t that scare you?”

“Nay, Your Highness. I have seen a vision of the cosmos. I am not afraid.”

“Aren’t you? Everyone says you’re a coward.” She said it without malice.

He twisted to see. The hold lay low and long, its far end shrouded in gloom. The cleric stood with his back to his prisoners, directing his own servant as that man prodded the slaves forward into the hold. Poor suffering souls. Zacharias wondered briefly what horrible fate awaited them at the hands of their new master.