Kushiel's Chosen

doubt most D'Angelines even knew, save the King and his councilors. Illyrians, though; 'tis another matter. One never forgets those who refuse aid in one's time of need. D'Angelines may not be enemies, but you're no friends, mind. And Kazan ... ah, well, 'tis a long story, that." He wound the extraneous bandage into a ball and placed it in a satchel at his feet. "Surely you know Terre d'Ange is the envy of a great many nations, my lady. To see so many gifts bestowed so profusely on a single people; it rouses covetousness and anger."
    "What we have, we have fought to keep," I said, remembering all too well Waldemar Selig's desire to make my land his own. "Glaukos, how did you go from being a Tiberian slave to an Illyrian pirate?"
    "I was sold," he said simply, placing a pinch of herbs in a leathern cup. "When my master's children were grown, he'd no need of a tutor, and sold me to another wealthy citizen, who'd need of a trained clerk. He was travelling with his household on a matter of trade, aboard a merchanter bound for La Serenissima, when we were attacked."
    "And Kazan Atrabiades took you prisoner?" I surmised sourly.
    Glaukos laughed, pouring water into the cup and swirling it. "Not hardly, my lady. He gave me the choice of fighting for my master and dying, or joining him a free man. Ah, now, I'd lived my whole life in slavery, hadn't I? I thought I'd spend the last years of it a free brigand. Kazan's always found a use for me, and I've never had cause to regret it. Here, drink this," he finished, handing the cup to me.
    "What is it?" I took it and sniffed, looking questioningly at him.
    " Tis but valerian, to aid the pain and let you sleep," he said gently. "Your body requires rest, to heal itself. Do you not see, there, how your hand shakes?" He spoke true; I noted with surprise how the leathern cup trembled in my grip, the tincture sloshing. "Indeed, you bear it better than a soldier, but you have suffered a trauma this night past, and the telling of it must wait. Drink, and I will ward you." He smiled at me, and his eyes were kind. "No harm will come to you, I promise it."
    Foolhardy or no, I had little choice. I believed him, and drank. Soon weariness overcame me, and I slept, and knew no more.

FIFTY
    Mydreams were fitful and vivid, filled with disturbing images; darkness streaked with flame, and the violent clash of metal on metal. Always, I was unable to move, bound and restrained, while Melisande's voice whispered like honey in my ear, bidding me to give my signale, and beyond, somewhere, other voices pleaded in torment for me to do it, to give it and release them. Fortun, I heard, and Remy; once it was Joscelin, and his face swam in my gaze, blue eyes wide with agony.
    It is a dream, I thought, in my drugged, restless sleep. A dream, and no more, Blessed Elua forgive me!
    'Tis no wonder, then, that I woke not knowing where I was, nor whether I was awake or dreaming. The rocking motion of the ship was as lulling as sleep, and the strangeness of Illyrian voices around me as incomprehensible as words spoken in a dream. The sun was lowering through clouds behind us, and the sky to the west was shot with fire.
    And there, coiled atop the mizzenmast toward the stern of the ship, a moving shadow.
    I lay curled against the outer wall of the forecastle, staring up at it from beneath the canvas awning. A trick of the light... no. It moved, sinuous and serpent-bodied, spreading veined wings against the darkling sky; a wedge-shaped head lifted, with glittering eyes the color of old blood. Its mouth opened in a silent hiss, and a three-lined tongue emerged, flickering.
    I am not ashamed to admit that I let loose a shout of pure terror.
    It sent the entire ship into an uproar, sailors running hither and thither, fearing that the Serenissiman navy was upon them. Glaukos hurried to my side, pale with fright. "My lady, my lady!" he cried in breathless Caerdicci. "What is it?”
    Only Kazan Atrabiades had not moved, bestriding the deck with feet planted wide, his dark eyes watching me across the length of the ship.
    I looked again at the mizzenmast, and saw only the bobbing tip of the mast, the fluttering sail washed in the red light of the setting sun, a loose rope dangling from the yard. "Forgive me," I murmured to Glaukos, passing my hands over my face. "I awoke from a dream and thought I saw ... something."
    He turned to the nearest sailor and said something soothing in Illyrian; the sailor relaxed, laughed, and