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way, watching as Kristof approached him.
    “ Tsingan kralis ,” he said in a husky voice. “You have returned.”
    Hyacinthe’s changeable eyes were cold and dark. “Since when do the Tsingani acknowledge the rights of a Didikani gotten out of wedlock, Oszkar’s son? Did my grandfather Manoj not have nephews of his blood? Did he name no heir among them?”
    “The four families of the baro kumpai chose you, Anazstaizia’s son.” Although sweat stood on his brow, Kristof stood unflinching. “There have been changes. Your mother’s name is spoken and remembered.”
    Something softened in Hyacinthe’s face. “Is it? That is well, then.”
    “Then you will lead us?” The tseroman’s voice was hopeful.
    “No.” Hyacinthe shook his head, not without regret. “If the baro kumpai wish it, I will meet with them and lend my advice; do they heed it, I will give my protection to whosoever is chosen to rule. But Manoj cast me out, and it is too late for me to become his grandson in deed as well as name. I have become something else instead.”
    Kristof bowed his head, defeated. “What will you do, sea- kralis ? Where will you go?”
    Hyacinthe gazed across the ship without answering.
    In all the commotion, I had nearly forgotten Sibeal; a slight figure, easily overlooked in the prow of the ship, her hands clasped tight in front of her. They stood for a very long time looking at one another, and the air was as motionless as if the wind itself held its breath, and the rest of us with it, aware of the sudden tension. Sibeal’s eyes were wide and sombre, only a faint line between her brows betraying any anxiety. The muscles in Hyacinthe’s throat moved as he swallowed, seeking his voice.
    “Lady Sibeal.” He crossed the deck to stand before her, and with a stiff bow, laid the case containing the pages of the Lost Book of Raziel on the deck between them. “Will you share the keeping of this burden with me?”
    “Yes.” The lines of blue woad dotted on Sibeal’s cheeks stood out against a flush of unexpected joy. “I will.”
    A breeze sprang up, rifling the ship’s sails, swirling the folds of Hyacinthe’s sea-faded cloak and the strands of Sibeal’s shining black hair as he took her hand, momentarily obscuring them. Whatever words they spoke between them were lost in the rustling wind. I turned away that no one might see the fresh tears that pricked my eyes. It was a different pain that stung my heart, one I had never known before. On the shore, the folk of the isle pressed close on the landing, spilling halfway up the steps, pointing and staring in wonder at the wave-locked ship and the Master of the Straits upon it. They will tell stories, I thought, of this day.
    “Phèdre.” Joscelin leaned on the railing beside me, quiet and undemanding, a presence as familiar my own shadow. “Are you ready to go home?”
    Another question underlay his words, and I understood it unspoken. After so long, it hurt to let Hyacinthe go, to watch him join his fate to Sibeal’s and to follow a path that diverged from mine. But I was an anguissette , and I understood pain. It is the price of living, and of loving well, and I did not doubt, then or ever, that I had chosen wisely. Gripping the railing hard, I took a deep breath. “Yes,” I said, lifting my gaze to Joscelin’s, smiling at the sight of his beloved face. “I’m ready.”
    “Good.” He smiled back at me, then raised his voice, shouting to Hyacinthe. “Tsingano! Do you wish to linger here, or can you raise a wind to bear us homeward?”
    “As you wish, Cassiline.” Stepping away from Sibeal, Hyacinthe gave a short bow. “With your permission, my lord Admiral?”
    Quintilius Rousse grinned fit to split his scarred face. “Man all positions, lads!” he roared. “Elder Brother’s leaving his Three Sisters and blowing us home!”
    Cheers arose, Rousse’s sailors-Phèdre’s Boys-at last giving voice to wild, exuberant relief. I heard, later, tales of exactly how terrifying that day was for them, when Rahab’s winds picked them off the open sea, drove them like a leaf before a gale back to the harbor, where the waves rose like towers and threatened to pitch them into the depths of the maelstrom. I heard many tales, later. Then, they merely shouted themselves hoarse with cheers, and Imriel’s voice rang high above the rest, whooping as Hugues hoisted him up to perch on his broad shoulders so he might watch the Master of the Straits perform the