Kushiel's Chosen

his flat stare on the guard. "Let her rest undisturbed for a day. Principessa." He inclined his head briefly to Melisande. "Is there aught else?"
    "No." Her tone was unreadable. "Give me a few more moments with the prisoner."
    He nodded again. "Knock when you are ready."
    Melisande gazed at the door as it closed behind them. "The tradition holds that a member of his family has served as warden of La Dolorosa since Asherat-of-the-Sea first grieved," she remarked. "They first guarded the body of Eshmun, after Baal-Jupiter slew him. So they say. And they say he is incorruptible, having been appointed by the goddess." She looked at me. "But you already learned that."
    I shrugged. "Would you expect me not to try?"
    "Hardly." She glanced around the barren cell. " 'Tis a dire reward for his ancestor's service. It seems to me a dubious honor, to win a god's favor."
    "Yes, my lady," I said wryly. "I appreciate the irony. But Asherat-of-the-Sea did not make this place a prison. 'Twas mortal cruelty did that, and mortal forgetfulness that warped the warden's purpose, over the long centuries.”
    "Mayhap. They are not like us, who cannot forget." Melisande made a simple, graceful gesture. I met her gaze without speaking. "Two years ago..." she nodded toward the wall, "... you would not have done that."
    What did she expect, she who had sold me into slavery among the Skaldi? I had fought hard for my survival, and won greater hardships for my pains. It was true, Ysandre had used me at need, sending me into danger as great as that I'd left behind. But I had gone consenting, then. I had faced death, more than once. I walked into death's open arms on the battlefield of Troyes-le-Mont, and I went knowing what I did. I had lost comrades and loved ones, and grieved. I was not what I had been, when Melisande first had me. These things I thought, sitting on the flagstones of my cell and gazing up at her impossibly beautiful face.
    "I was a child then, my lady," I said softly. "My price is higher now."
    For once, I did not fear her; I was safe in Kushiel's dreadful shadow, and the sick, throbbing ache in my head protected me still. Melisande simply nodded, accepting my reply. "I will give you a day," she said. "On the morning after tomorrow, two of Benedicte's guards will come for your answer. They will speak to you in person. If your answer is yes, you will leave with them. If it is no..." She shrugged. "You stay. Forever. I will not ask again."
    "I understand."
    "Good." Melisande turned to knock at the door, then turned back. "You were unwise to play this hand so quickly, Phèdre. I will be more careful in the future."
    "I play the hand you dealt me, my lady," I replied.
    "Do you?" She looked curiously at me. "I wonder, sometimes."
    To that, I had no answer. Melisande gazed at me a moment longer, then knocked on the heavy door for exit. Once more the key snicked in the lock, the hinges creaked open. I watched her go, taking every ounce of color and beauty with her.
    Only her scent remained.
    I opened my hand, revealing her wadded, blood-soaked kerchief, folds already beginning to stiffen until I smoothed it open. It was fine cambric, trimmed with lacework, with the swan of House Courcel embroidered small in one corner. A suitable lover's token, as matters stood between us.
    One day.
    And then I had to choose.

FORTY-FIVE
    1 thought a good deal about Hyacinthe that day.
    It was ironic, in a situation laden with bitter ironies. I had chosen this very fate when I had fathomed the riddle of the Master of the Straits; not merely a lifetime, but an eternity, bound to a lonely isle. I would not have faced the madness of Asherat's grief, of course, but I daresay centuries of tedium would have served much the same.
    Hyacinthe had used the dromonde to read the past, and stolen my doom.
    And now I faced it once more.
    How had he stood it, I wondered. How did he fare now? The Master of the Straits had warned it would be a long apprenticeship. Ten years? Fifty? A century? I had sworn to do all I could to free him. Instead, I was imprisoned, and all my efforts had done was guide Joscelin to the Yeshuites so I might lose him. Now, I peered out the narrow window at the maddening sea, and wondered if there was any way Hyacinthe might free me. I had wondered, idly, aboard the ship from Marsilikos, how far the domain of the Master of the Straits extended.
    Would that I'd come to some other conclusion. But his reach had never gone more than a few leagues