Kushiel's Avatar

purity of heart, a love and compassion the One God, in his ire, forswore. Yeshuites claim the others followed Elua out of arrogance, defying the One God’s rule; Naamah for desire, Azza for pride, Shemhazai, for cleverness’ sake, and so forth. Kushiel, who marked me for his own, was once a punisher of the damned; it is said he loved his charges too well. Mayhap it is so-but Blessed Elua bid them, love as thou wilt . And when the One God and Mother Earth made their peace and created such a place as had never before existed, Cassiel chose to follow Elua into the true Terre d’Ange-that-lies-beyond, and he alone among the Companions acknowledged damnation, and accepted it as his due.
    He gauged it worth the price. That is the part they cannot explain, neither Yeshuite nor Cassiline. I do not think they try.
    I know more, now, than any Cassiline; and I daresay many Yeshuites. It was still not enough. Rising from the bed, I went to kneel at Joscelin’s side, pressing my brow against his knee. He did not like it when I did such things, but I could not help the ache of penitence in my heart.
    “I thought I would find a way to free him,” I whispered. “I truly did.”
    After a moment, I felt Joscelin’s hand stroke my hair. “So did I,” I heard him murmur. “Elua help me, Phèdre, so did I.”

Four
    IN THE morning, we set sail.
    It is not a long journey to the Three Sisters from Pointe des Soeurs. Nonetheless, a stiff headwind sprang up against us, making our course difficult as we must needs beat against it in broad tacks. The galley was a fine and suitable vessel with a shallow draught and wide decks, flying the pennant of Trevalion, three ships and the Navigators’ Star. It felt strangely familiar to have the sensation of sea-swell beneath my feet, and I soon recovered the trick of swaying to balance myself with it.
    Duré and his men were capable, and had they not been, I daresay Ti-Philippe would have filled any lack, for he scrambled over the ship from stem to stern in high spirits. He had been a sailor, once, under the command of the Royal Admiral, Quintilius Rousse. The awe-stricken Hugues trailed in his wake, fit as an ox, while my Perfect Companion leaned against the railing, pale and sweating. As I have said, Joscelin was no sea-farer.
    Despite our to-and-fro approach, it was only a few hours before the coast of the Third Sister grew solid on the horizon. I stood in the prow and watched the island grow larger in my vision, a curious reversal of the terrible dream that had awoken me little more than a week ago.
    Intent and focused, I did not see that we were not alone on the Strait.
    It was a cry from the crow’s nest that first alerted me, but in moments, we could all of us see. There, across the surging grey waves, a fleet of seven ships was making its way, coming from the opposite angle to converge on the same point.
    If you pass the Cruarch’s flagship on your journey, tell him to make haste . Ysandre de la Courcel’s words had been in jest-it was in spring that Drustan mab Necthana came to stay with her, and there was ever a prize granted to the first person who spotted his sails-but there could be no doubt of it. The lead ship bore a great scarlet square of a mainsail displaying the Black Boar of Alba.
    “Drustan!” I breathed, and ran to tell Evrilac Duré, abandoning my vigil in the prow. He stared at me in disbelief, then looked and saw the proof of his own eyes and gave orders to his helmsman to change our course, making to intercept the flagship of the Cruarch of Alba. We had to go to oars, beating across the choppy waters.
    They saw us coming and halted, lowering sails to idle at sea as Duré’s oarsmen heaved and groaned, the other six ships dropping anchor behind the Cruarch’s. I saw him at a distance, a small figure across the waters, recognizable by his crimson cloak of office and the flash of gold at his throat.
    “Drustan!” Ti-Philippe said at my side, frowning. “What in seven hells is the Cruarch of Alba doing making for the Three Sisters? He ought to be headed for port, and the Queen’s bedchamber.”
    “I don’t know.” There was a second figure beside him, smaller and slighter. Not one of his warriors, I thought, gazing across the water. It was not until we drew nigh that I recognized the figure as a woman, and not until we hove to alongside them that I realized I knew her. She was Drustan’s youngest living sister, the middle daughter, Sibeal.
    I saw him