Kushiel's Chosen

"Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève of Terre d'Ange," the Ban said in a deep voice, his considering gaze resting upon me. He sat without moving in his chair by the fire. "Her name is known to me."

He spoke Caerdicci. I knelt to him, bowing my head. "My lord, I speak Illyrian, if it please you," I said humbly. "I am sorry if I have inconvenienced you."

"Yes." He spoke thoughtfully, the Ban; he was a thickset man of some fifty years, black hair and beard still untouched by grey. His features were fleshy, and yet there was a suggestion of leanness about him, as if he were pared to the bone by a hunger that had naught to do with sustenance of the body. "Whether or not you have is yet to be known." He looked at Kazan men and gave a slow smile. "So. Pirate."

Kazan bowed and flashed an answering grin. "Zim Sokali. I return to your service.”

"So you do, pirate. So you do." At that the Ban laughed, and bade us both to sit. Presently servants came bearing pots of strong tea, which they served in small silver cups, and a platter of sweets, a confection made of almond paste. When they had left, his lady wife came to give us greeting and see if there was aught else he desired. She was ten years or more younger than he, with fair hair, pale eyes and the broad, slanting cheekbones that marked her as being of Chowati blood, those invaders who had long since been assimilated into Illyria. By that alone I guessed him to be a shrewd ruler, who knew well how to unify his people.

Vasilii Kolcei, the Ban was named; his wife was called Zabèla. She kept her eyes downcast until he dismissed her with thanks, exhibiting a modesty proper to Illyrian women. And by this I guessed her a shrewd ruler's wife, for there was naught of the demure in the strong lines of her face.

Over cups of strong tea, Kazan Atrabiades laid out the history of our acquaintance for his lord, offering an explanation of who I was and the trade he sought to make for me, of how his men came to be pursued by Serenissiman war-galleys into Epidauro's harbor, and what had befallen us when we turned aside to flee the kríavbhog's wrath.

"So," the Ban said heavily, looking at me. "And now Kazan Atrabiades is freed of the blood-curse, but not the blood-price the Serenissimans have laid on his head. And you, young D'Angeline, spurned by Kriti, come begging Epidauro's aid."

"For Kriti and Hellas, the gain was not worth the risk, Zim Sokali," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Can Illyria say the same?"

He stirred, causing the hounds to lift their heads and settle back with sighs. "I was a boy when the Serenissimans began taking our coast, piece by piece, and my father wrote to the King of Terre d'Ange to seek his aid in alliance. Shall I tell you how he replied?"

"No." I shook my head. "I have heard, my lord, and I am sorry for it, grievous sorry. But that was then, and this now. Will you spite the present to avenge the past?”

"It is dangerous." Vasilii Kolcei sipped his tea and stared into the fire. "The Archon of Phaistos spoke truly. Epidauro has stood against Serenissima; it cannot stand against Serenissima and Terre d'Ange both, if you fail. And where we are strong, the coast of Illyria lies weak and vulnerable, garrisoned by Serenissiman soldiers. What price will they pay for your failure, if we are named a treasonous vassal?"

"We can fight," Kazan said fiercely. "Zim Sokali, the islands are stronger than you know, stronger than the Serenissimans reckon. What have I done for eight years, if not that?"

"You have done that, yes, and preyed upon the Serenissimans like a hawk upon a rabbit warren," the Ban said grimly, "until half of Illyria and all of Epidauro, and every merchant and galley-captain on the seas knows your name, Kazan Atrabiades. And now you come seeking... what? Asylum? A return to my service? It is no easy boon you ask. Epidauro crawls with Serenissiman spies; I cannot shut out the traders without violating the terms of our independence. If you had come in stealth, it would be an easier thing. I can only be grateful that the furor you aroused covered word of the lady Phèdre's arrival, for it seemed to me that the Doge's emissaries had more interest in her than in you, Atrabiades."

"Not the Doge," I said. "His son, Marco Stregazza."

Vasilii Kolcei shrugged. "It is the same. They have held elections, in Serenissima; the Consiglio Maggiore has voted. Marco Stregazza is elected Doge. He will be invested, in a week's time, and his father will step down." He gave a thin smile. "It is the will of Asherat, so they say. And your Queen will arrive in Serenissima to observe the ceremony and exchange vows of goodwill with the new Doge."

The world reeled around me, and I grasped the arms of my chair with desperate fervor, willing myself to keep focus. Marco elected Doge! And Ysandre but a week away, riding all unwitting toward certain death. All my wondering, all my uncertainty; it came to this.

I had a week's time, and no more.

Kazan, seated opposite me, had blanched, although not on my behalf; he had come home to a hero's welcome, not reckoning the cost to Epidauro. "The Serenissimans ..." His voice was hoarse. "Czibor tried to tell me. They will hear of my return, and they will ask you for my head, Zim Sokali."

"Yes," the Ban said gravely. "They will."

Kazan stood and paced the room, gazing at the treaties and petitions scattered about every surface. The Ban watched him unmoving, and the hounds lifted their heads from their paws, following him with their eyes. "The Hierophant of the Temenos, he told me that the law of the thetalos is absolute, eh," Kazan said presently, smiling wryly. "What Mother Dia has forgiven, a man is held blameless of. But I think the Serenissimans will not honor the law of the thetalos, with Kriti lying so far from their shores. Not if you are right," he added, shooting a glance at me, "and they profane their own temples."

"They have subverted the will of Asherat-of-the-Sea," I said softly. "That much I know is true. I have sworn to cleanse her temple."

"So." Kazan shrugged, flicking a parchment with one forefinger. "Thus for the will of the gods, measured against the politics of man. Zim Sokali, I have tried to rule well over what was given into my hands, but I am a warrior first, and I cannot reckon power gained and lost on paper, nor the cost of men's lives. How soon will Serenissima come seeking me, do you think?"

One of the hounds clambered to its feet and pushed its nose in the Ban's hand; he scratched its head automatically, his thoughts elsewhere. "Not so soon as they might, with the ceremony of investiture nigh. If the D'Angeline lass speaks true ..." he nodded at me, "... Marco Stregazza will not overextend his reach until he has secured his throne. Two weeks, perhaps more."

"Then it is a simple matter, Zim Sokali." Kazan spread his hands. "I will sail to Serenissima with those of my men who are willing, and with Phèdre nó Delaunay. I am a pirate, yes? Whatever happens, you have leave to tell the Doge I defied your orders." He grinned at me, eyes gleaming. "Tell them she is a Vila, and bewitched me. Maybe they will believe it."

"Kazan..." I had seen his mother weep for joy at his return. My heart ached, at odds with the urgency of my need. "I don't know."

The Ban was shaking his head. "No," he said somberly. "Not so simple, pirate." He glanced up as his wife, Lady Zabèla, returned to the room, nodding briefly to her and continuing as she took her place standing beside his chair. "On your own, you will not gain the harbor. The Serenissimans will search your ship, as they will search every ship, and if they do not know you by sight-and maybe they do-they will surely know the woman." He favored me with a humorless smile. "A young D'Angeline woman of surpassing beauty, fair of skin with dark hair and eyes, and a spot of scarlet on the left, like unto a thorn-prick. I fear you are not easily disguised."

"Surely there is a way!" Kazan said in frustration.

"Kazan, no." My voice was shaking, but I continued. "It is not worth your life, nor the life of your men, when so many have died already. If you would aid me, give me enough of the ransom you won to let me book passage with a merchanter, and take my chances with the harbor guard. I cannot render your mother childless again so soon."

"And will the Serenissimans be more gentle when they come for me?" he asked sharply, as quick to quarrel as if on his own estate in Dobrek. "Will it be boldly done of me to place the whole of Epidauro in jeopardy?"

"The Zim Sokali can invoke the law of the thetalos." I glared at him, forgetting myself equally. "If Marco Stregazza wishes to quarrel with it, let him take it up with Kriti; all of Hellas will take it ill if the Kore's rule is subverted!"

"I owe you a debt-"

"Twice you have saved my life; once at sea, and once from the Serenissimans. We are at quits, Kazan, and I do not know that I can carry another death on my conscience!”

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

"Hide her." It was a woman's quiet voice that interrupted our argument, addressing the Ban. "In the tribute ship."

Kazan and I left off our quarrel to stare foolishly at the Lady Zabèla, for it was she who had spoken. The Ban tilted his head back to look consideringly at her, fingers working in the ruff of the hound's neck; it leaned against his legs and laid its chin on his knee. "Hide her how?"

She smiled down at him. "When my many-times removed grandmother fled the steppes, she did as many Chowati, and sewed false bottoms into her saddle-packs to hide gold. It is a fitting tribute for Marco Stregazza, I think."

My heart quickened. "A tribute ship. You are sending a tribute ship to La Serenissima, my lord?"

"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 Atrabiades 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?"

I looked at Kazan and thought of his mother's face, old and grief-worn, streaked with tears of joy. And I thought of Terre d'Ange, my beloved gilded fields churned into bloody strife by civil war if Ysandre was slain and Benedicte de la Courcel took arms against Barquiel L'Envers to contest for the throne. I thought of a nation weakened by internal struggles, and the Skaldi massing on our borders, needing only some second Selig to see and seize the opportunity.

And Melisande Shahrizai's smile.

"Yes." I bowed my head. "Yes, my lord. It is."

In the arts of covertcy, it is death to second-guess oneself. An action, once done, cannot be undone; a word, once spoken, cannot be taken back. For this reason, Delaunay taught Alcuin and me to think thoroughly at leisure and swiftly at need, and having once chosen, never to seek to return to the crossroads of that decision-for even if one chooses wrongly, the choice cannot be unmade. So it was with this. In truth, I needed Kazan's aid; without aid, I had no chance of succeeding. If the pain it cost was too great, well, the reckoning would come; but first, I would see it done.

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 amber 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 misinformation, 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.

To be sure, too many people had seen it firsthand to believe the lie, but enough had not. Enough to give them grounds for denial if it came to it. People believe what they are told, Melisande had said. It was unnervingly true.

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.

And if he did not... I would be hers.

I wasn't sure which was worse.

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 knowledge 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. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">