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which I could sink in the Mahrkagir’s bedchamber. Not Joscelin, who had confronted a hell worse than any he could have imagined, forced to stand by and endure watching. And ah, Elua! Surely not Imriel, whose childhood had been shattered in Daršanga, who found himself despised and feared in his own land for the accident of his birth. I grieved for Hyacinthe’s lost years, for his lost self. But he would live , unchained from a fate worse than death. If the burden continued, still, the curse was broken.
    No more could I do.
    “You have earned your rest, Phèdre nó Delaunay.”
    I opened my eyes to see Eleazar ben Enokh seated before me, beaming as if he knew he had answered my unspoken thoughts. I smiled at him. “Eleazar. Are you pleased with this day’s adventure?”
    “To behold a servant of Adonai Himself in the immortal flesh? To hear the Sacred Name tolling across the waters, such as no one has heard in a thousand generations?” He laughed with delight. “Yes, Phèdre nó Delaunay. I am well pleased.”
    “You heard it, then.” Curious, I sat upright. “Tell me, father. What did you hear when I spoke the Name of God?”
    “Ah.” Eleazar tugged at his unkempt beard, eyes sparkling. “I heard a Word, of such potent syllables as I could not fathom, sounds I have never heard shaped by mortal lips. Even at a distance, they buffeted my ears with great blows, and my bones felt weak, my knees like water, until I must fall to kneeling upon these boards, while my spirit grew too great for my body to contain, fanned like a mighty fire, and I cried out for joy at it. And yet...”
    “Yes?” I prompted when his pause lengthened.
    “And yet it seemed to me, Phèdre nó Delaunay, that beneath the incomprehensible Word was a root-word which echoed in every syllable, the foundation upon which the Sacred Name was built. And that word, I knew.” He folded his hands in his lap, radiated contained joy. “Can you not guess it?”
    After a moment, I shook my head. The Name of God was too vast.
    “ Awhab was the word I heard, but...” Eleazar lifted one finger, “... only I. I have spoken to others. Kristof of the Tsingani heard the echo of a word, too, but that word was madahn , and the Cruithne who accompany the Lady Sibeal heard the word gràdh . You speak many tongues, Phèdre nó Delaunay.” His smile broadened to a grin. “Can you guess what word the D’Angeline sailors heard?”
    “Love,” I whispered.
    “Love!” Eleazar laughed aloud, his beard quivering with mirth. “Love!” His bony knees cracked as he levered himself to his feet, then stooped to kiss my brow with unexpected tenderness. “Though He is slow to acknowledge it, I believe Adonai Himself is proud of His son Elua, misbegotten or no,” he said. “Perhaps it took one very stubborn mortal woman to prompt Him to show it.”
    Caught between disbelief and awe, I watched Eleazar ben Enokh take his leave, a ragged, blissful figure, walking with a rolling gait across the deck as though he’d been born to the sea. I shook my head in bemusement, wondering at the exultation he found in his faith, so strong it could embrace even heresy with open arms. Mayhap it was so; who could say? It is a matter for priests and priestesses to debate, and the gods alone know the truth of it. I had kept my promise and freed my friend, and we were alive, all of us here, to rejoice in it.
    It was enough.
    I was content.
    A high-pitched shout caught my ear, and I rose and glanced about, finding the source at last; Imriel, pointing landward from the impossible vantage of the crow’s-nest high atop the central mast, Ti-Philippe holding him fast with one hand.
    “He’ll take years off our lives, you know.”
    Joscelin’s voice, low and amused, in my ear.
    “I know.” I reached behind me without looking, catching his arm and drawing it about my waist. Quintilius Rousse was bellowing orders, his men leaping to obey as the shore of Terre d’Ange drew in sight. Hyacinthe gestured gracefully, his expression focused with preternatural concentration as he guided the winds, and Sibeal watched him with the calm certitude of a woman in love. The tattooed Cruithne warriors of her honor guard held his case of pages, proud and apprehensive to have been given such a charge. At the foot of the mast, an anxious Hugues pleaded for Ti-Philippe and Imriel to come down, which made me laugh. “Are you sorry for it?”
    “No.” Joscelin’s arm tightened around me, and I