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me.
    “Do I need to say it?” I dashed away the tears with the back of my hand, steadying my voice. “I know the source of your power, that is pages from the Sepher Raziel , the Lost Book of Raziel, which Rahab brought forth from the deep. I know that Rahab loved a D’Angeline woman who loved him not, and thus the curse was born. Do you require more? I know more. I can tell you tales of Rahab himself, and how he was punished once before, for failing to part the seas at the One God’s command. The geis is fulfilled, Hyacinthe. You are free of it.”
    “The book.” He gazed at the stairs. “I shouldn’t leave without it.”
    “Then let’s get it.”
    Hyacinthe nodded and walked to the edge of the promontory, addressing the ship. A dozen faces ranged along the railing, staring back at him. “My lord Rousse,” he said in the echoing voice that came from everywhere and nowhere. “We go now to retrieve the one item of value on this forsaken isle. We will return, and attempt once more the crossing. Forgive me, but I must ensure before then that no other disembarks on this deadly shore.”
    And so saying, he blew out his breath and pushed gently with both hands, whispering unheard words, circling three fingers in the air. The water in the still harbor surged, bearing the ship on a hummock into the center and depositing it there, untouched, while a wall of water circled about it in a contained maelstrom, sea-green and clear, unwitting fish swimming in the limpid barrier.
    I heard shouts of dismay and consternation. Even at a distance, I could make out a few reactions. Quintilius Rousse was ordering his men about, rigging the ship with storm-sails, preparing for the worst. Sibeal remained in the prow, clinging to hope. Eleazar looked here and there, visibly exclaiming and beaming at the marvel. Joscelin stood with arms folded, his face a mask of betrayal. And Imri ... Imri was leaning over the railing, reaching out one hand in an effort to touch one of the circling fish, while Hugues held his legs anchored and Ti-Philippe pointed his efforts.
    He wasn’t afraid, I thought. Ah, Imriel! Blessed Elua be thanked for that mercy.
    “Melisande’s son!” Hyacinthe shook his head in wonderment. “I watched in the sea-mirror, so far as I could, but once you passed beyond the waters that border Terre d’Ange, I could see no more. The Master of the Straits’ power has its limits.”
    “And the dromonde ?” I asked him.
    He was quiet for a while, turning and starting up the interminable stairs. “I looked,” he said when we had reached the halfway point, me toiling behind him. “The last time I dared was over a year ago. I saw a darkness so profound I feared to look again.”
    “Daršanga,” I said, remembering. “We were in Daršanga, then.”
    Hyacinthe bowed his head. “You survived it. I wasn’t sure, for a long time. After the dire possibilities I saw, I chose to trust to mortal hope and uncertainty rather than the dromonde . A few months ago, you reappeared in the sea-mirror, though I could not make sense of all I saw, the boy included.”
    “We came home,” I said. “It’s a long story.”
    “So I believe.” Hyacinthe resumed his climb, the cloak of indeterminate color trailing behind him. I gasped after him, muscles quivering. I’d forgotten how long and steep was the stair that led to the top. I was nearly done in by the time we reached the open-air temple.
    It was unchanged during his tenure, the flagstones of white marble, marble columns reaching skyward like an unanswered prayer. Far below us, the ship Elua’s Promise looked like a child’s toy, floating in a watery ring. In the center of the temple stood the great bronze vessel upon its tripod-the sea-mirror, Hyacinthe had called it. And beside it, a pair of robed figures bowed deeply before the Master of the Straits.
    “Tilian,” Hyacinthe said, naming them. “Gildas. You will remember Phèdre nó Delaunay.”
    I remembered them. Gildas, the elder, had been white-haired when I’d met him before; now, he was ancient. He came forward trembling, one crabbed hand extended. “Thou hast agreed,” he said, his voice quavering, speaking in the D’Angeline of the oldest courtly lays. “Thou hast agreed to the sacrifice, fair lady!”
    “Not exactly.” I took his hand in both of mine. The bones felt bird-hollow, sheathed in skin like parchment. “I have come to break the curse, my lord Gildas. Your long service here is done.”
    He