Kushiel's Chosen

'You speak her tongue, you know how to patch folks up.' So never fear, I'll keep my word."
    "Ouch!" I flinched away from his prodding fingers. "Glaukos, thank you, but my ribs can wait; my ransom cannot. Will you call Lord Atrabiades for me?"
    He sat back and regarded me calmly. "Well, now, he'll not thank you for calling him lord, nor will he turn course for a D'Angeline noblewoman fished out of the sea, no matter how fair her face. And if you ask, he'll only have to refuse and storm and shout a bit, show you the back of his hand to let his men know you're no Vila to sicken his heart and make him weak. So no, I'll not summon him for you."
    "Never mind," I said, struggling to my feet. "I'll speak to him myself."
    Glaukos sucked in his breath and shook his head, watching me go. I made my way toward the stern on unsteady feet, clutching at the rigging as the ship pitched. Sailors moved out of my way, looking askance. Catching sight of me, Kazan Atrabiades stood with one foot braced on the raised edge of the hold, arm propped casually on his knee, watching my progress with narrowed eyes.
    Later, I realized what a sight I must have been, with the wind whipping my sea-tangled hair and the ragged grey dress about me, baring vivid red-and-black glimpses of the intricate marque rising betwixt my shoulder blades to my nape; at the time, I gave little enough thought to my appearance. Small wonder the superstitious among them questioned my mortality. But Kazan, I could see, knew better.
    "What is it you want, you?" he asked as I approached him, raising his brows. "I ordered Glaukos to tend you; it is enough, yes?"
    "My lord." I made him a wobbly curtsy. "You wish to ransom me, I understand. Do you but set sail posthaste for Marsilikos, and the Duchese Roxanne de Mereliot, who is Lady of Marsilikos, will pay in gold; a prince's ransom, I swear it."
    "No," he said lazily, looking away. "Go back to Glaukos."
    "My lord Atrabiades," I implored, placing a hand on his arm. "Please, it is very important that I carry word to my Queen, and I have no time to lose. I promise you, in Blessed Elua's name, she will grant you clemency for claiming me hostage."
    "You listen, D'Angeline!" His hand clamped onto my wrist with startling speed, and his black eyes gleamed with anger. "I do not know, I, why you were in the middle of the sea, but I have saved your life, yes. Your country, you stand by and watch, when Serenissima takes Illyria for her vassal. We ask for aid, yes, but you, you make marriages and treaties with Serenissima." Atrabiades spat again with eloquent contempt. "Now you mock me with fine language, you stand before me in rags and claim a noble title, you ask me to make haste to help your country, yes? To make a journey without provision, when there are Serenissiman warships chasing?" He released my wrist so abruptly I staggered. "I will ask for ransom, I, in my time, in my way." Raising his voice, he roared at me. "Now go back to Glaukos!"
    "Yes, my lord," I whispered, making my trembling retreat.
    So much for that idea.
    "I told you as much," Glaukos said comfortably upon my return. "Do you stick your head in a lion's mouth, don't be surprised if he bites it off. Well, then, my lady, will you take a deep breath, and permit me to listen to your chest? I have a concern about these ribs of yours."
    "You may as well," I muttered, ignoring the ogling stares of Illyrian sailors as Glaukos pressed his grizzled head to my breast. He managed it deferentially; no mean feat, on a ship full of pirates. It lent credence to his tale of servitude.
    "Your lungs sound clear," he said, pleased. "It is not a stabbing pain when you inhale?"
    "No. Glaukos, is it true that we refused aid to Illyria?" I asked him, adding, "Terre d'Ange, I mean."
    "True enough. Lift your arms, I'm going to bind your ribs. 'Twill manage the pain a bit, and keep you from doing further harm while they heal. I've a lass I've trained will do it proper when we make landfall." Concentrating, he wound a length of clean, rough-spun cotton about my rib cage, over my clammy dress. " 'Twas some forty years ago, if I remember aright. The Ban of Illyria begged King Ganelon of Terre d'Ange for an alliance, but the King gauged La Serenissima the greater power, and forged alliance with them, marrying off his brother to the family of the Doge. How's that?"
    I took an experimental breath. "Better, thank you. I never heard anything of it. My lor... Kazan seems bitter."
    "Ah, well now, I