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fingers. It was easier than meeting his eyes. “Joscelin. You know I love you like my own life. Nothing that ever happens could change that. We are a family, you and I ... and Imri. I would never break that bond.”
    “But you love him, too.”
    I did look at him, then; I had to. “Could you ask me not to?”
    “No.” He shuddered and put his arms around me. “It scares me, that’s all.”
    I felt his strength surrounding me, the steady beat of his heart close to mine, the Name of God sounding in every pulse. “My Perfect Companion,” I said, and smiled at him. “Joscelin. We spoke bold words about fear, do you remember? There is no one else like you. No one. We set ourselves in Elua’s hand when we entered Drujan. We are there still, and always.”
    “I pray you’re right.” He kissed me then, and made no other reply.
    There was no other to make.
    After a time, Joscelin too slept, and I alone was left awake to watch over them. I listened to Imriel murmur in his sleep, too quiet for a full-blown nightmare. I gazed at Joscelin’s arm outflung in a patch of moonlight. His hand lay open, the fingers slightly curled. How many times had that strong arm protected me? I could not even count any more. The moon travelled across the night sky, and waves broke on the shore below the fortress.
    I wondered what would happen on the morrow.
    In time I too slept, and sleeping, dreamed I woke still, watching and waiting. Not until I opened my eyes to the dim grey light of dawn and the sound of seagulls did I realize I had slept. Rousse’s men were stirring, making ready for departure. In the fortress, the kitchens were already bustling. Leaving Joscelin to attend Imriel, I rode out to the encampment with Evrilac Duré and a company of his men. There too, life was stirring, cookfires lit, Tsingani and Yeshuites awaiting. They had seen our party enter. They knew it would be today.
    “There is room,” I called, raising my voice, “for two people, and two people only on the Royal Admiral’s flagship. You who have petitioned for this place, know that the journey is dangerous; the end, uncertain. Does anyone wish to withdraw?”
    There was a pause as my words were relayed across the encampment. Afterward, silence. In the quiet, a Tsingano babe wailed, hushed by its mother. No other sound answered.
    “So be it,” I said. “For the Tsingani, to whom he who is Master of the Straits was born, I grant passage to Kristof, Oszkar’s son, who gave aid when it was most needed. For the Yeshuites, I summon Eleazar ben Enokh, who has spent his life seeking the Name of God.”
    And they came, the both of them; the Tsingano tseroman bidding his kumpania farewell, clad in a shirt of bright yellow, his face guarded as he approached us. Eleazar rode a little donkey, his feet peddling on the ground, a smile of delight splitting his tangled beard.
    “You should have asked,” I told him.
    “It was not yours to grant, before.” His smile broadened. “Now, it is.”
    I sighed, and addressed them both. “You understand we may not return from this?”
    Eleazar only beamed, and bobbed his head. I felt a moment’s grief for Adara, who had let her husband go to pursue his dream. Kristof gave a brusque nod. “You have walked the Lungo Drom for him, lady,” he said. “It is fitting one of us should be there to see its end, no matter what it be.”
    Thus did we make our way back to the fortress of Pointe des Soeurs, and the hungry eyes of those left behind watched us go. Quintilius Rousse had not spoken idly. His flagship, that was named Elua’s Promise , sat at harbor, ready for departure. A half-dozen pennants fluttered from its mast-the golden lily-and-stars of Elua and his Companions, the silver swan of House Courcel, the Black Boar of the Cullach Gorrym, the crag-and-moon of Montrève, the Navigator’s Star of Trevalion, and there ... a sable banner with a ragged circle of scarlet, crossed by a barbed golden dart.
    Kushiel’s Dart.
    “It is fitting,” Quintilius Rousse said somberly. “My lady.”
    We boarded the ship, all of us. The rising sun emerged from a bank of clouds, laying a cloak of golden light upon the grey waters. The anchor was raised and the sails were hoisted, bearing the silver swan wrought large on a blue field. The oarsmen set to, and their efforts carried us out of the harbor of Pointe des Soeurs.
    On the shore, Evrilac Duré and his men cheered. I wondered if they were glad to be remaining behind this