Kushiel's Avatar

revelry. I daresay Rousse never noticed, quaffing wine and eating the savories set in front of him with a good will.
    “So you’ve got the Name of God locked in your pretty head, eh lass?” he asked shrewdly. “Well, it may be and it may not, but either way, I’ll take you wherever you want to go. I promised that a long time ago. The question is, what happens when we get there?”
    I shrugged. “We try to summon Rahab.”
    “And if he comes?”
    “I speak the Name of God and banish him.” I gripped my hands together; they were cold. “My lord Rousse, in ten years, I’ve learned no more. I cannot tell you what will happen if he comes, nor if the banishment succeeds. Of a surety, it will be dangerous. How much so, I do not know.”
    “The Lord of the Deep,” Quintilius Rousse mused. “I thought it was something, to see the Master of the Straits and live. This will be something, Phèdre nó Delaunay, such as no sailor ever dreamed, whether we survive it or no.” He reached over and set a brawny hand on Ti-Philippe’s knee, giving it a shake. “You’re game, aren’t you, my lad? You haven’t forgotten how to haul a lanyard, I hope?”
    “No, sir!” Ti-Philippe grinned at him. “I’ll not be left behind this time!”
    “And how about you, you half-mad Cassiline?” Rousse eyed Joscelin. “Still puking over the rails?”
    “All the way.” Joscelin smiled. “It hasn’t stopped me yet.”
    “And Melisande’s whelp.” He looked at Imriel and shook his head. “Elua’s Balls, boy, but you’ve a look of your mother! Still, Phèdre says you know your way around a ship, and won’t get underfoot. You’re bound to do this, eh?”
    “Yes, my lord Admiral.” Imriel was too fascinated to take offense. Between his blunt speech, his size and the old trawler scar that dragged at half his face, Quintilius Rousse was an imposing figure indeed. He was also one of my lord Delaunay’s oldest friends, and one of the few people in the world I trusted implicitly. “The Tsingani helped Phèdre and Joscelin to find me because of Hyacinthe. It’s a matter of honor,” he added with a touch of defiance.
    “Honor, eh?” Rousse squinted at him. “Doesn’t sound much like your mother.”
    Imriel’s jaw set and his nostrils flared. “I’m not my mother, Lord Rousse.”
    Quintilius Rousse roared with laughter. “Ah, boy, I should hope not! One’s trial enough; the world’s not fit to withstand two of the like. Well, for all that she’s got a knack for finding trouble like I’ve never seen, Phèdre nó Delaunay has a gift for choosing friends. And if she’s chosen to make you her son, I reckon you’ll do.”
    With Rousse’s aid, our plans were made. This would be a larger excursion than the last one. After our meeting in the Salon of Eisheth’s Harp, word spread like wildfire through the City. Letters of invitation began to trickle into my home, swelling to a flood. I declined them all with courtesy. It would be different, afterward ... if there was an afterward. Much as I mislike the hypocrisy of court politics, it is a part of life among D’Angeline peers. For Imriel’s sake, it would be a necessity.
    Now, I needed to concentrate on Rahab.
    By means I did not question, Eleazar ben Enokh found a banned treatise on the summoning of angels, which he gave to me for a promise of discretion. I studied the incantations, committing the formula to memory. As I had never heard of such a thing proving effectual in living memory, I doubted its merit. Still, it was worth trying.
    Joscelin was right, though. A plan was taking shape in my mind.
    This plan, I kept silent and told no one. If I had, I think, they might have tried to stop me, to dissuade me. I hoped it would not come to it. If it did ... well. Until we reached the shores of Third Sister, there was no way of knowing. I had only the Name of God to guide me, syllables beating inside my mind as surely and steadily as my own pulse.
    The days passed at a snail’s pace. Every day, a courier raced eastward from Azzalle, last in a chain, reporting on the progress of the Cruarch’s party. A corps of Rousse’s sailors, trained to fight at sea and on land, would accompany us. I was glad it was Rousse’s men and not the Royal Army, misliking the idea of travelling with Imriel amid soldiers who owed their allegiance to Duc Barquiel L’Envers.
    Our caravan was chosen and outfitted, stores at the ready, horses shod, baggage-train made ready.
    We