Kushiel's Avatar

and women, young and old. I closed my eyes and listened to it, hearing the deep tones of fear and doubt clashing with the clarion notes of hope and faith. It would not be settled this day, nor soon. But it was enough. While they argued the meaning, enough believed. Adonai’s incomprehensible will had been made manifest. There would be no punishment, not for us.
    “Phèdre.” Joscelin’s hand was under my elbow, steadying me. I hadn’t realized I was wavering on my feet. “Come. Semira says to let them argue. You need rest, and food. We all do.” Yevuneh was waiting, Imriel beside her.
    “What about Tifari Amu and the others?” I asked with difficulty.
    “Alive and imprisoned.” He gave a shadow of his wry smile. “They wouldn’t flee. Jebean pride, I suppose. Eshkol spoke to the troop-leader ben Hadad sent after them. He said they surrendered more or less peaceably to await our return.”
    “Can we get them released?”
    “Eshkol’s working on it.”
    “Good.” I had seen the bright flame of courage in the young soldier, and the trail it would blaze in Saba’s future. “Let’s go, then, before I fall over.”
    It was no easy thing to make our way through the throng. People pushed close, wanting to see. Heavy-headed and weary, I pressed onward, concentrating on setting one foot in front of the other, syllables of the Name echoing with every step I took. Yevuneh hovered protectively over Imriel, for which I was glad. Joscelin, steel-clad, kept the worst of the press at bay with warning glances. No one protested the fact that he went armed in the city of Tisaar.
    Once, though, he stopped, uncertain.
    It was a woman, weeping, who barred our way, placing herself before me. Even Yevuneh faltered, bowing her head. “Ardath,” she said in sorrow, acknowledging her daughter.
    “Forgive me,” Ardath pleaded, tears in her dark eyes. “I was afraid. I was afraid !” She held up her babe in both hands . “Or let me bear the blame if you must, but I beg of you, spare my daughter its curse and give her your blessing.’”
    “My blessing?” A strangled laugh caught in my throat, where the Name of God was lodged. “Ardath ... there is no blame, no curse. If your fear was folly, still, it was born of love. I am D’Angeline. It is not in my heart to fault you for it. Who can say how matters might have transpired, had you not betrayed us? It may be we would never have found Kapporeth.”
    Her lips trembled. “Then you will not bless my child?”
    I gazed at the infant she thrust before me, its crumpled face undecided whether to smile or bawl. “Ardath, it is not my place. I am no priest, to speak for Adonai. I am Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève, Naamah’s Servant and Kushiel’s Chosen, Delaunay’s anguissette and the foremost courtesan of Terre d’Ange. Is that the blessing you want for your daughter?”
    “Yes,” she whispered, and I knew she’d not understood a word of it. “Please, lady!”
    I looked at Joscelin, who shrugged. “Love as thou wilt,” I said in D’Angeline, placing my hand upon the crown of the babe’s head. “And may you find wisdom in it.”
    Ardath’s face was transfigured. “Thank you, lady, thank you!” she said with profuse joy, cradling her daughter in one arm and grasping my hand with the other, pressing it to her lips. “Thank you!”
    Clutching her babe and bowing, she made her retreat, and Yevuneh, muttering at her daughter’s interference, hurried us onward. We did not speak of it then, not until we were safely ensconced within her home, where her cook was waiting anxious in the kitchen, an abundance of food prepared. Tired as we were, none of us had eaten in a full day. The taste of stewed chicken seasoned with hot peppers was a marvel, filling my mouth with rich juices. I swallowed, conscious of the nourishing food travelling to my belly, of strength returning to my limbs. Such a wonder, the workings of the earth, and we mortal souls upon it!
    Afterward, while Imriel bathed and Yevuneh bustled about the house, I soaked and unwrapped the makeshift bandages from Joscelin’s hands, grimacing at the raw flesh. He bore it uncomplaining, hissing through his teeth as I cleaned the wounds and applied tincture of snake-root, binding them anew.
    “Ought to do the same to you,” he muttered. “If you wouldn’t enjoy it so.”
    I examined my blistered palms. “They’re not so bad. I’ve skin left, after all.”
    Joscelin laughed, but his eyes were grave.