Kushiel's Chosen (Phedre's Trilogy #2)

Kushiel's Chosen (Phedre's Trilogy #2) Page 57

On the second day, a fine gift of fabric arrived from Kazan-a silk damask of deepest rose, woven with a trefoil pattern. I ran a fold of it through my fingers, bewildered, and gazed questioningly at Glaukos.

"Ah now, my lady, you should be attired according to your station, shouldn't you?" he said, avoiding my eyes. "I told you he'd do right by you, after all. Old Noní is coming this afternoon. Six fine needles, he promised her, if she'd stitch up something suitable."

I tried to give the fabric to Zilje and her sister, to no avail. What Kazan Atrabiades willed would be done. Old Noní came in turn, a hunchbacked crone with a grim look to her, who muttered and prodded and measured me with a string, returning a scant day later with a garment that startled me in its elegant simplicity, gathered below the breasts and hanging straight to the floor. The design came from an ancient Illyrian poem about a tragic heroine; I wished I'd had a translation, to give to Favrielle nó Eglantine. It would have interested her. At least it left considerable remnants of fabric, which I gave to Zilje and Krísta, much to their delight.

What they made of it, I never learned, for by the end of my third day of convalescence, I was hale enough to have regained my impatience-and for all of his reluctance, Glaukos could not deny that I'd made a remarkable recovery. He acceded to my demands and sent word to Kazan Atrabiades.

So it was that the pirate captain ordered me sent to him, attired in stolen finery after the style of a long-dead epic heroine.

Unlike the weathered pine buildings in the village, Kazan's house was built of stone; blocks of creamy marble quarried on a nearby isle and brought by water to Dobrek. It lay a short walk from the village proper on a rocky escarpment on the bay, gazing out at the sea. A stand of cypresses provided a charming screen, and there were colorful, late-blooming vines I could not name sending tendrils up the marble walls. The house itself was low and meandering, and large enough to be a nobleman's estate. At any given time, it housed not only Kazan, but a small staff and three or four of his men who had quarters of their own. There was a stable, too, with two horses in it; the only ones on the isle. For everything else, they used donkeys.

Kazan was waiting for us on the terrace overlooking the sea when we arrived, flanked by two of his men. His black, topknotted mane was glossy with recent brushing and he wore loose trousers tucked into boots, and over his shirt, a close-fitting vest decorated with Illyrian embroidery. The strip of beard on his chin was fresh-shaven, and even the points of his mustache had been waxed to sharp perfection.

"Lady Phèdre," he announced, bowing, mangling my name only a little. "I welcome you to my house, I! You are my honored guest on Dobrek, eh?"

His men followed suit, staring at me and elbowing each other. Since there was nothing else for it, I curtsied. "Mirë daj, Kazan Atrabiades. Falemir dít; I thank you for your hospitality."

He started at my greeting him in Illyrian, gazing at me open-mouthed. It showed the gap of his missing molar and rather ruined the overall effect of his appearance. He must have realized it, for he closed his mouth and said hastily, "You did not say you spoke Illyrian, you!"

"I don't, my lor-Kazan." The habit was not easily broken. "Only these few words, which I have learned in your tongue, that my pleas may fall more gently on your ears."

He frowned. "You are like a dog with a bone, eh, worrying at it always! We will speak of this ransom in time, when / say. Now you are my guest, and Glaukos, he say you must rest still. So you will go, and do this." Turning away from me, Kazan raised his voice. "Marjopí!"

A vast figure moved out of the shadow of the house's small arcade into the bright sun of the terrace; a woman, massive arms folded across her solid bosom. She was of middle years or older, though her hair, bound atop her head, was a black untouched by grey. Hard black eyes in a doughy face regarded me without favor.

"Marjopí, she has been with me since I was a sucking babe, I. She will take care of you, eh? Marjopí! Të lesh gezuan, eh?" he added, calling to her.

Marjopí-for that was her name-unleashed a stream of Illyrian invective at him, to which he retorted in the same. His lieutenants grinned unabashedly, and Glaukos shifted uncomfortably at my side.

"What is it?" I asked him.

"She thinks you're bad luck," he muttered. "The Illyrians; I told you, they're superstitious. Ah, now, she wouldn't be the first to claim D'Angeline beauty unnatural, but the spot in your eye, now, well, it seems the kríavbhog is a red-eyed beastie. It's something to do with that, I gather."

"Mayhap she has the right of it," I answered dourly. Of a surety, the creature I'd seen-or thought I'd seen-had an incarnadine gaze, and I harbored no illusions but that I'd feel the prick of Kushiel's Dart soon enough.

Whatever the cause of the argument, Kazan's will prevailed, and Marjopí conceded defeat with a sniff, nodding at me and jerking her head sharply toward the interior of the house. Given little choice in the matter, I made my thanks to Glaukos and followed her.

Inside, the house was cool, well shaded by its cypress screen. The furnishings were quite fine, albeit mismatched; dark woods and ashen, inlay and scrollwork, Akkadian carpets with Hellene vases. I followed Marjopí to my chamber, which was quite small and barren, holding only a small clothing-press and a narrow bed over which a rich coverlet trimmed with marten had been arrayed. It had a window, which looked out toward the hills, and the shutters had been opened to let the room air.

There Marjopí left me, and there I sat, perched on the narrow bed.

It took no longer than it takes to core and eat an apple for me to grow bored. There are those who are able to endure enforced idleness with grace, spending their time in useful contemplation. Joscelin, who could maintain his Cassiline vigils for hours on end, was one such; save for a patron's whim or at need in the arts of covertcy, I was not. In La Dolorosa, I endured it because I had no choice. Here, it was different

I gazed out the window, where the honey-colored sunlight warmed the distant pines, releasing their resinous fragrance into the air. I gazed at my feet, clad in unlovely sandals Glaukos had gotten from Dobrek's cobbler. I got up and opened the clothing-press, which was empty except for a cloak of fine-combed, dark-blue wool, bordered with a white pattern.

Well and so, I thought, if Kazan Atrabiades did not want me to leave, then he would have left a guard on me or ordered the door locked. Since it stood open, it must be that I was free to wander. After all, if I had it in mind to escape, where would I go? Dobrek was an island, secluded and secure, I was imprisoned by water as surely as walls.

The house stood quiet and empty in the morning hours; in these parts, people labored until the unbearable heat of midday drove them to rest, resuming in the early evening hours. There was, alas, no library, though I hadn't really expected to find one. Kazan Atrabiades was no Waldemar Selig to grasp with both hands generations of recorded thought as a tool to shape his destiny. No, it was Kazan's slain brother who had been the scholar. Clearly, my pirate lord wanted no reminders of that pursuit. I did find one room that surprised me into pausing outside the door when I heard a sound within. Inside was an old-fashioned vertical loom, at which sat Marjopí, her back to the door, weaving. She was humming as she wove, plying the shuttle with a speed and dexterity that belied her bulk.

As I had no wish to catch her attention or disturb her pleasant mood, I slipped quietly past the door to continue my exploration. Kazan's room I recognized without difficulty. It held an enormous bed with a carved, gilt-trimmed headboard depicting a frieze of hunting dogs. Items of clothing were strewn carelessly across the bed, and a pair of well-worn boots leaned against each other on the floor beside it. By contrast, his arms were hung neatly on a stand in the corner. The short sword in its tooled-leather scabbard, I knew by sight; I did not recognize the corselet and helm with its crisp scarlet plume, the full-length shield painted with a bird of prey clutching a leafy branch in its talons, black on red.

These were not the arms of a common soldier, and by the care he took with them, I guessed they were his own, and not stolen plunder, like so much else in the house. Well, I thought, he said he was noble-born; mayhap it was true. I glanced around the rest of the room, seeking to learn what I might about my erstwhile rescuer and captor.

On a table by the bedside sat a pomander of silver filigree, unmistakably D'Angeline in workmanship. It was wrought to resemble a twining ball of grapevines, rounded bunches of grapes showing in rounded relief. It opened with a cunning twist, holding a lump of camphor, aromatic as the sun-warmed pines. So, I thought, Kazan Atrabiades has a liking for beautiful and pleasant things. Well, that was good for me; and bad, though no worse than I expected. If he takes a care with them, so much the better.

The only other item of note in the room was a rather battered cabinet of dark cypress wood, inlaid with ivory in a pattern of moons and crescents. The ivory was yellow with age, cracked in places, and the wood bore old scratches long since worn dark with handling. I daresay it had been a fine piece, once, but it seemed an odd item for plunder. I opened the doors onto the lower shelves, which held only clothing. At the top were two small drawers.

One held some parchments, written in Illyrian, and a gold signet ring. Tilting it toward the window and peering at the seal, I made out a device of three bees and a faint inscription. I replaced it carefully and opened the other drawer.

What I had expected to find, I cannot say, but surely not a child's toy. Still, so it was; a wooden soldier and horse, neither much larger than my hand. The soldier's limbs were jointed, so he could sit astride or pace forward and back, and raise his sword and shield. Worn traces of red and black paint were visible on the wood.

I was still holding it and frowning when I heard Kazan's footsteps.

There was nowhere to go, and I could do naught but put the best face on it I could as he came through the door. Careless, to let myself be caught thusly, I was thinking; Delaunay would have lectured me.

Kazan Atrabiades took one look at me and grew still with anger. "Put that down."

FIFTY-TWO

1 here are things we all hold dear; privacies that brook no transgression. I did not need to be told that, for Kazan, this was one such. 'Twas in his face and in his voice, a cold rage more terrible than his shouting. I replaced the toy quietly, closing the drawer.

"I am sorry," I said simply, meeting his eyes. "I meant no harm."

He drew a deep breath and released it in harsh words. "You should not be here, you! I told Marjopí to take care of you! You listen to her, eh, and heed!"

One knows, with patrons, what path their violence will take, and why. And I knew, once he shouted, that the true source of his anger lay far from me. My actions had but kindled it.

"She showed me a room, and left me. Forgive me, but I am unaccustomed to idleness." I added humbly, "I wanted only to know who you are, my lord."

"I will tell you, I, what you need to know, and you will enter this room at my command, eh? You see too much." Gritting his teeth, he caught me by the arm and pulled me after him, out of the room. "If you have a tedium, you speak to Marjopí, and she will give you woman's work to do, eh, to weave or spin, or make the embroidery!" He ushered me to the large inner salon, where Hellene-style couches mixed with rigidly upright Caerdicci chairs. Marjopí had left off her weaving, and hovered in the hall behind us. Kazan still had my arm in his grip and stood close, glaring at me. I could feel my pulse beating beneath the tight grasp of his fingers and feel the heat of his body, mingled with a strange, acrid tang.

Ah, Kushiel, I thought, have mercy on your chosen! Is it not enough that I suffer this? Must I bear humiliation as well? What showed on my face, I cannot say, but Kazan saw somewhat; his grip loosened, and his eyes reflected a measure of puzzlement and awe.

"I cannot do these things," I said aloud. "I was taught other skills."

"Whore's work," he said contemptuously, but conviction was not in it.

"Naamah's work, yes," I replied. "But the Queen employs me as a translator. It is the study of language and politics in which I have been engaged, and not spinning and weaving. My lord, if you order me confined to women's quarters, then so be it; yet I thought you welcomed me as your guest, and not your prisoner."

He tucked his chin into his chest and fingered his mustaches, thinking. "We honor... hostages ... in Illyria," he said slowly. "They are treated as their rank calls, eh, unless those who pay ransom break faith. You are not a prisoner, you. I come to say, you will eat with me tonight, and I will hear your words. But you must not go where it is not permitted, eh?"

"Yes, my lord. Where, then, am I forbidden to go?"

A look of disgust crossed his face. "Already, you see too much; go where you like, you. I will set you a guide." With that, he stalked from the room muttering; I heard Glaukos' name, and the word for "rest," which I had heard often enough to recognize. I waited under the dourly watchful eye of Marjopí until Kazan returned with a young man in tow. "Lukin, he will show you what you wish," he said shortly, exiting again. Marjopí threw up her hands and returned to her weaving.

Thus did I acquire an escort on Dobrek, a good-natured youth of no more than sixteen. He had black hair which he wore in a topknot in emulation of Kazan Atrabiades, and a grin that stretched ear to ear at his assignment; here was one who had decided I was no Vila bent on stealing his heart- or at least he reckoned it worth the risk. Although we shared no common tongue, we had youth in common, and Lukin was open and cheerful, eager to communicate where Zilje and her sister had turned shy or reticent. For everything we saw, everything I touched, I made him tell me the word in Illyrian. To this day, there are plants I can name only in that tongue, and fish and birds, too.