Kushiel's Avatar (Phedre's Trilogy #3)

In the depths of the harbor, something stirred. The ship trembled.

"Now, Tsingano!" Joscelin shouted.

He tried, Hyacinthe did; tried, as he had before. Trusting, haunted, he took a step onto the now-churning waters, fearless of the depths. And as it had before, the world shifted. A maelstrom opened, and some thing moved within it, something bright and shining and terrible. Squinting my eyes, I saw water surge like a vast wing, green and foam- edged, a roiling eye. I opened my mouth, and the Name of God was there, on my tongue. There it remained, oar-locked and tight as the moment of manifestation trembled on the edge of being. The ship bucked like a restive mount, riding the surge; I fell to my knees and bit my tongue, tasting blood. There was shouting, somewhere, from Rousse's sailors as they sought to steady the craft.

And then it was over, and we were still aboard the ship. The mo ment had passed, the summoning failed. On the shore, Hyacinthe was doubled and panting, each breath wracked with pain. "Not ... so ... easy . . ." he said, forcing out the words, straightening with an effort.

In the prow of the ship, Sibeal wept for the first time.

So be it.

"I'm sorry," I said to Eleazar ben Enokh. "It would have been nice if it had worked." I turned to Imriel. "Remember what I promised," I said. "I would not leave if I didn't believe I'd be back."

He had his mother's eyes. Imri nodded, gravely, understanding, even as Joscelin understood too, already in motion, moving to intercept me, crying, "Phèdre, no!"

Placing one hand on the railing, I vaulted over it, my skirts trailing. Even as I leapt, I was aware of Joscelin reaching for me, trying to grasp the merest fold of fabric and halt my momentum.

Too late.

I jumped.

NINETY-SIX

A MIGHTY gust of wind caught and held me.I hung suspended in midair, buffeted by gale forces, my hair lashing like a nest of angry adders, skirts snapping and whipping, my watering eyes slitted against the pressure as the winds tore the very breath from my lips.

Behind me, I heard above the roaring wind faint shouts of alarm, the ship creaking, ropes singing taut as the sails flapped and bellied in the fallout from the raging winds that held me. Below me stood Hyacinthe, his arms outspread. The terrible, deadly power of the Master of the Straits suffused his features, and there was nothing in him I could speak to.

Like a great fist, the knotted winds began carrying me back toward the ship.

"Idiot!" I shouted, the word lost in the winds. Master of the Straits or no, I'd spent the last two years with Hyacinthe's voice haunting my dreams. "Put me down! I have the key! Give me the chance to use it!"

Doubt surfaced in those inhuman eyes. Somehow, in the roaring gale of his own elemental power, he'd heard my shouts. "You're certain of it?"

The words came from all around me, as if the wind itself had spoken. I laughed. How many times had I asked Imriel that very thing? And now the question came back to me. "Yes," I said in the center of my personal whirlwind, trusting Hyacinthe to hear. "I'm sure."

His hands and lips moved and the winds ceased.

I dropped like a stone onto the barren promontory and caught my self on hands and knees, jarred by the impact.

"TSINGANO!”

Joscelin's voice was the first thing I heard when the winds stopped, shouting with fury. I turned my head to see him clambering over the railing, preparing to make the leap even as hands grappled at him, trying to hold him back. The gap had grown wider, the ship blown several yards from shore.

"Joscelin, no!" I cried, getting to my feet. He stared at me, eyes wild and desperate, his fair hair wind-lashed. "Don't do it," I pleaded. "I was the only one who needed to come ashore. Only me. And if I'm wrong . . . there's no need to put the rest at risk."

"You knew." His knuckles were white on the railing, his face taut. "You planned it all along."

"I thought it might come to it," I said softly. "No more."

"Joscelin. Joscelin!" It was Imriel, catching his sleeve, who got Joscelin's attention. "Don't," he said, his voice cracking with fear. "Please don't. Not both of you. You promised."

It was a tense moment. Quintilius Rousse watched with glowering concern, the others with a mix of fear and interest. Ti-Philippe and Hugues stood close at hand, prepared to wrestle Joscelin over the railing if need be. I wouldn't have given much for their chances, if he'd set his mind to it, but Imriel's plea had reached him. Joscelin sighed, de feated, sagging against the railing. "Then do it," he murmured, "and be done with it."

Only then did I fully realize that I stood upon the rock of Third Sister, the isle of the Master of the Straits. I raised my gaze to meet that of Hyacinthe, who stood near enough to touch.

"Phèdre," he whispered.

I flung both arms about his neck and burst into tears.

He felt the same, under my touch. Whatever changes his long ordeal had wrought in him, whatever powers endowed him, beneath it he was Hyacinthe still, my childhood friend, my Prince of Travellers. The scent of his skin triggered more memories than I could count. Before Joscelin, before the Queen, before Thelesis de Mornay, Cecilie Laveau-Perrin, before my lord Delaunay himself. . . before them all, I had known Hyacinthe .

"Phèdre," he said again, drawing a wracking breath, holding me close. "You said you were sure. You said you were sure!"

I lifted my tear-stained face. "I am, Hyacinthe; as sure as I can be. You wouldn't risk any of us. Should I risk them, when I am the only one needed?”

His smile was a ghost of its former self as he released me. "You're awfully willful for an anguissette, you know. A sickness in the blood, my mother would say."

I laughed through my tears. "I remember."

Hyacinthe shuddered and laid his hands upon my shoulders. "You know I have to ask?"

I nodded. "What is needful to break this curse. I know. I will take your place."

"I could ask more," he reminded me.

"Do I need to say it?" I dashed away the tears with the back of my hand, steadying my voice. "I know the source of your power, that is pages from the Sepher Raziel, the Lost Book of Raziel, which Rahab brought forth from the deep. I know that Rahab loved a D'Angeline woman who loved him not, and thus the curse was born. Do you require more? I know more. I can tell you tales of Rahab himself, and how he was punished once before, for failing to part the seas at the One God's command. The geis is fulfilled, Hyacinthe. You are free of it."

"The book." He gazed at the stairs. "I shouldn't leave without it."

"Then let's get it."

Hyacinthe nodded and walked to the edge of the promontory, ad dressing the ship. A dozen faces ranged along the railing, staring back at him. "My lord Rousse," he said in the echoing voice that came from everywhere and nowhere. "We go now to retrieve the one item of value on this forsaken isle. We will return, and attempt once more the crossing. Forgive me, but I must ensure before then that no other dis embarks on this deadly shore."

And so saying, he blew out his breath and pushed gently with both hands, whispering unheard words, circling three fingers in the air. The water in the still harbor surged, bearing the ship on a hummock into the center and depositing it there, untouched, while a wall of water circled about it in a contained maelstrom, sea-green and clear, unwitting fish swimming in the limpid barrier.

I heard shouts of dismay and consternation. Even at a distance, I could make out a few reactions. Quintilius Rousse was ordering his men about, rigging the ship with storm-sails, preparing for the worst. Sibeal remained in the prow, clinging to hope. Eleazar looked here and there, visibly exclaiming and beaming at the marvel. Joscelin stood with arms folded, his face a mask of betrayal. And Imri . . . Imri was leaning over the railing, reaching out one hand in an effort to touch one of the circling fish, while Hugues held his legs anchored and Ti-Philippe pointed his efforts.

He wasn't afraid, I thought. Ah, Imriel! Blessed Elua be thanked for that mercy.

"Melisande's son!" Hyacinthe shook his head in wonderment. "I watched in the sea-mirror, so far as I could, but once you passed beyond the waters that border Terre d'Ange, I could see no more. The Master of the Straits' power has its limits."

"And the dromonde:"' I asked him.

He was quiet for a while, turning and starting up the interminable stairs. "I looked," he said when we had reached the halfway point, me toiling behind him. "The last time I dared was over a year ago. I saw a darkness so profound I feared to look again."

"Daršanga," I said, remembering. "We were in Daršanga, then."

Hyacinthe bowed his head. "You survived it. I wasn't sure, for a long time. After the dire possibilities I saw, I chose to trust to mortal hope and uncertainty rather than the dromonde. A few months ago, you reappeared in the sea-mirror, though I could not make sense of all I saw, the boy included."

"We came home," I said. "It's a long story."

"So I believe." Hyacinthe resumed his climb, the cloak of indeter minate color trailing behind him. I gasped after him, muscles quivering. I'd forgotten how long and steep was the stair that led to the top. I was nearly done in by the time we reached the open-air temple.

It was unchanged during his tenure, the flagstones of white marble, marble columns reaching skyward like an unanswered prayer. Far below us, the ship Elua's Promise looked like a child's toy, floating in a watery ring. In the center of the temple stood the great bronze vessel upon its tripod—the sea-mirror, Hyacinthe had called it. And beside it, a pair of robed figures bowed deeply before the Master of the Straits.

"Tilian," Hyacinthe said, naming them. "Gildas. You will remember Phèdre nó Delaunay."

I remembered them. Gildas, the elder, had been white-haired when I'd met him before; now, he was ancient. He came forward trembling, one crabbed hand extended. "Thou hast agreed," he said, his voice quavering, speaking in the D'Angeline of the oldest courtly lays. "Thou hast agreed to the sacrifice, fair lady!"