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

Kushiel's Avatar (Phedre's Trilogy #3) Page 31

"Nor for him, I suppose. Well, credit it to the wisdom of Blessed Elua." Nicola gathered herself with a shake. "Come on. I've need of a bath and a drink, and mayhap not in that order."

In the private dining-hall of the King's Consul, we found our com panions well ahead of us. The remnants of an early meal were scattered across the table and the wine had flowed freely; for once, even Joscelin had drunk enough for it to show.

"I'm sorry," he said unevenly, greeting me with an embrace. There was a tension in his body that the wine had not dispelled. "Phèdre, I'm sorry, but I couldn't go with you, I couldn't bear to watch. I knew you were safe enough. I'd have gone, otherwise."

"I know." I found a clean glass and a flagon of brandy, and downed a measure, welcoming the burning heat of it in my belly. "It wasn't something you needed to see."

"No." His expression twisted, nostrils flaring. "But I was near angry enough to want to. And it frightened me. What did you learn? What have they done with Imriel?"

"Sold him." I poured another glass and curled myself into a corner of a dining-couch, letting weariness claim me. "Sold him to a Menekhetan slaver, bound for a buyer in Iskandria. How are the children?"

Joscelin sat down beside me, head in his hands. "Menekhet," he murmured. "Blessed Elua. They're sleeping," he added belatedly, nod ding in the vague direction of the guest quarters. "Well enough, under the circumstances. Ramiro's chirurgeon examined them, and said they've taken no serious harm. Fear mostly, and lack of proper food and light. Opium sickness is the worst of it. It will be some days before they're fit to travel. Weeks, mayhap."

"Weeks." I watched Nicola, Ramiro and Luc in conversation. "We can't wait weeks. If we book passage tomorrow, we can be in Iskandria.

"No." Joscelin lifted his head and stared at me. "Phèdre, are you mad? This has gone far enough. We found the trail here in Amílcar because of Nicola and Lord Ramiro's help. How far do you think we'd get in Iskandria, the two of us, alone? Neither of us even speak the language, and we've scarcely funds enough for passage." He shook his head. "No. Enough. We're going home to the City, and making a report to Ysandre. She's the Queen, Phèdre. If she wants to pursue it, she has resources at her disposal."

"No!" Across the room, Luc startled at Joscelin's raised voice. Jos celin sighed. "Name of Elua, you're like a bloodhound on the scent. Phèdre, listen to me. Luc's agreed to stay until the children are strong enough to travel, and Ramiro's offered his hospitality. Luc and the men of Verreuil will see the children restored. If this Menekhetan's coming back, they'll catch him here in Amílcar. You and I are catching a ship to Marsilikos, and going home."

"Fine." I closed my eyes, the warming heat of the brandy spreading lassitude throughout my limbs. I hadn't slept since the night before we arrived in Amílcar. He was right, of course; right, because he was Jos celin, and sensible when it came to risking my safety, and right for reasons both of us, in our exhaustion, had forgotten. "And then what?"

"And then we make our report to Ysandre, and it is in her hands," he said grimly.

"And afterward?" I opened my eyes to look at him. "I promised to return to La Serenissima, Joscelin, and report as much to Melisande. Do you remember what she promised in turn?"

He stared at me a moment, then began to laugh, the soft, humorless laugh of a man defeated by irony. "A guide," he said, pouring a tumbler of brandy and drinking it at a gulp. "The name of a man in Iskandria, who swears he can lead us to Shaloman's people in the south of Jebe-Barkal."

Hyacinthe.

Aware of the presence of an unseen pattern closing upon me, I nodded. "Even so."

TWENTY-THREE

NICOLA'S CHEEK, soft and perfumed, lingered against mine as we embraced in farewell. "Take care of yourself, Phèdre nó Delaunay," she murmured. "I would miss you if anything happened.""I will." I smiled at her when she released me. "Come to the City, when this is all over. How can I believe you'd miss me, if I never see you?"

"Naamah's Servant, still." She laughed. "I come when I can, and you know it. 'Twas easier before Ramiro's appointment. I may have lacked money, but I had time in abundance. You have my letter for Ysandre?"

"Yes." I patted one of our bulging packs.

"Good." Her expression turned sober. "I promise you, the Harbor Watch stands on full alert. The Menekhetan will be in our hands before his foot touches shore, and a courier en route within the hour."

"Thank you," I said. "For everything. You may be sure, I will advise that Ysandre commend Ramiro to the House of Aragon for his aid as King's Consul."

"It wouldn't do any harm." Nicola watched Luc Verreuil enter the reception hall, a child holding either hand. "But it's not necessary, ei ther." She turned back to me. "I hope you find him."

I opened my mouth to demur and didn't, saying instead, "Elua willing, he'll be found."

She smiled tenderly, lifting one hand to caress my face, the garnet signet winking at her wrist. "By the burning river, my dear. Keep it in mind, whatever your quest. It may come in handy again, one never knows."

"I will," I promised.

I said my farewells in turn to Lord Ramiro and Count Fernan, dourly proud of his men's performance, and then went with Joscelin to bid farewell to his brother and our foundlings, two very different children from those we had found only two days past. Neither was well— one could see the opium sickness in their pallor and trembling—but the worst of the fear had abated, and they stood without cringing or clinging.

"Agnette," Luc said gently, "Sebastien. Say good-bye to the Lady Phèdre and my brother Joscelin, who came all the way from the City of Elua to find you."

They did, in whispering voices.

"You'll be all right?" Joscelin asked his brother.

Luc nodded. "Donal's carrying word to Verreuil; he'll bring a party back to meet us, and Lord Ramiro will send an escort as far as the Pass. Father will alert the Écots, and they'll track down the boy Sebastien's family as well. From what we can tell, they tend sheep near La Grange. Mahieu will find them, like as not." He grinned. "Don't worry, little brother. It's been a right adventure, travelling at your side, and for once, I get to come home the hero. Yvonne's like to box my ears for it."

The boy Sebastien giggled at his words, and I relaxed a little at the sound. They would survive, these children; Blessed Elua willing. No child should have to endure the terror through which they'd gone, but they were young and resilient, and they had a chance to heal.

"Be well," I said to Luc, "and be careful. You'll send word as soon as you're home?"

"I will." He raised my hands to his lips and kissed them. "And I will speak naught but good of the Tsingani from this day forward, I swear it, my lady."

So did we bid farewell to friends, to family, to Amílcar.

It is an easy sail along the coast from thence to Marsilikos, and the summer weather held fair, hot and sunny, with enough wind to fill the sails and set a good pace. It was passing strange, after the arduous travel in the mountains, to find ourselves idle. Between bouts of illness during the first couple of days, Joscelin checked the condition of our mounts in the hold every other hour—no sailor himself, he was sure it was no fit means for horses to travel—but they bore the trip better than he did.

I spent the time doing what I had longed to do for many frustrating weeks, poring over Audine Davul's translation of the Jebean scroll, pondering the tale and its place in my studies of Habiru lore, memo rizing the written characters of Jeb'ez, sounding out the phonetic tran scriptions of the words she had provided, murmuring sentences over and over to myself.

Joscelin, when he had gotten over the worst of his seasickness, watched me incredulously. "You're trying to teach yourself Jeb'ez, aren't you?"

"Mayhap." I raised my eyebrows. "You said it yourself, Joscelin; we'd be helpless in Menekhet, neither of us speak the language. Shalomon's descendants may speak Habiru, but how am I supposed to travel the length of Jebe-Barkal to find them if I can't speak Jeb'ez?"

He lowered himself to the sun-warmed deck to sit beside me. "Melisande doesn't, and she found a guide. He must speak Caerdicci, at least."

"Hellene." I rolled the parchment and put it back in its case. "Hellene is the scholars' tongue of choice in Menekhet. She'd studied the Tanakh in Hellene, didn't you note?"

"No." Shoving a coil of rope to one side, he leaned back on his elbows. "I can't say that I did. Anyway, you speak Hellene. Mayhap we'll get by in Menekhet after all."

"We might." I watched the blue waves pass the ship's railing. "But it would leave us dependent on Melisande's guide in Jebe-Barkal. And whether she's telling the truth or no, it's not an arrangement I care to trust. I'd a hard enough time enduring my own ignorance in Amílcar."

"Well, add Aragonian to your studies," Joscelin said peaceably. "All knowledge is worth having, isn't that what Delaunay used to say? If Luc can master it, anyone can. It's near enough to Caerdicci, anyway. I'll learn it, if you can't be bothered. Phèdre, what do you think Ysandre will do?"

"I wish I knew."

"Barquiel will advise her to leave well enough alone," he said. "Like as not, the boy's a pleasure-slave in some Menekhetan aristocrat's seraglio by now. He doesn't even know who he is. He couldn't have vanished more thoroughly if he'd been slain."

"Yes," I said slowly. "So Melisande thought, when she sold you and me to the Skaldi."

"True." Joscelin sat up, wrapping his arms about his knees. "And it nearly killed us, or at least it did me." His face was quiet, remem bering. "I would have died in Selig's steading, if you hadn't shamed me into living. I wanted to. I was a man grown, with a Cassiline's skills and training. How do you think Imriel will endure it? He's only a child." He shuddered, his voice turning harsh. "You saw the others."