Kushiel's Chosen

fed and the bellows worked while two men in leather aprons tended the crucible. The acrid odor I'd smelled earlier was molten metal.
    "What are they doing?" I asked Lukin. He went over to fish a silver coin out of a coffer, showing it to me, and pointing to a mold where silver ingots were cooling on the ground. I stared in perplexity as he turned the coin, showing me both sides and offering a helpless explanation in Illyrian. Although the coin was worn and the workmanship crude, I could make out a man's face in profile on one side, and on the other, the device I'd seen on Kazan's shield, a bird of prey clutching a branch.
    At length I shrugged, and Lukin returned the coin.
    "You want to know why we melt good coin, eh?" It was Kazan Atrabiades himself, who'd come to glower at me. He'd laid his good clothes aside and was bare-chested as the others. "The Serenissimans-" he turned his head and spat reflexively, "-they make a law against Illyrian coin that shows the face of the Ban or his arms, old or new, living or dead. Only in Epidauro is it safe, and not there any more, maybe. Any man who trades in Illyrian coin, he have his money taken, and Serenissiman officials, they do not pay. They put him in prison if he makes complaint. So people are scared, eh, and poor even though they have coin. We take in trade, we, and melt it.”
    I thought how simple a means it was to oppress a vassal nation. And I thought of Kazan's arms, hung with pride and care in his room, and the device they bore. "You served in his guard," I said. "The Ban of Illyria."
    His scowl deepened. "It is not your concern, you, what I did," he said, and turned to Lukin, issuing an order in Illyrian. My escort nodded, and indicated to me that we should leave. By that time, I was glad enough to do so, for my ribs had begun to ache. The sun stood high overhead, and its heat coupled with the blast from the furnace made my head swim. When I looked at Kazan Atrabiades, I saw strange, twining shadows about him. Only sunstroke, I told myself; but I remembered the kríavbhog, and was uneasy.
    In the house, Marjopí took one look at me and shook her head in disgust, giving Lukin a bucket and a sharp command. He grinned at her and trotted off good-naturedly, while she gave me an ungentle push toward the room I'd been given. I lay down on the bed, and a few moments later, Marjopí came in with a basin of cool water and a linen towel. She dipped the towel and wrung it, laying it on my brow, shook her head once more, and left me.
    I slept clean through until supper, waking when a servant lass I'd not seen before came creeping in to awaken me in the twilight. She pointed to the door, saying only, "Kazan." It was enough. I rose and smoothed my crumpled dress, washing myself with the tepid water remaining in the basin, then went to meet him.
    The terrace had been prepared for dining, and I own it was a pleasing sight. A table was set below the arbor, where bunches of grapes hung, still green, but swelling. Stands with fretted lamps were set about, casting a gentle glow, and the sea murmured gently. Kazan stood as I emerged onto the terrace, and his eyes drank in the sight of me.
    "Phèdre," he said, forgetting his earlier anger. "Sit." I took a seat opposite him, and he sat too, smiling and pouring me wine from a clay pitcher. "What do you think, eh?" he asked, waving his hand around the terrace. "Does your land have such beauty?”
    "Not like this." I drew a deep breath. "My lord Kazan, you said you meant to hear me out. May I speak?"
    "No." His quick scowl darkened his features. "First we will eat, you and I. Such talk is for after, yes? That is how we do it in civilized countries."
    "I-" I paused. "Yes, of course. Forgive my rudeness."
    We dined on fish fresh-caught and poached in a wine sauce, a dish of greens and fennel, and bread dipped in oil, and I confess, my appetite was sharper than I had reckoned. When we had done, Kazan gestured for the servant lass to clear the plates. He poured more wine-a pale wine, with a faint taste of resin from the pine casks in which they store it-and regarded me.
    "Now," he said, "you may speak of these matters, you."
    I nodded. "Thank you, Kazan. What I said to you before, on the ship, is true. It is a matter of great urgency to my country that I am restored to it swiftly. This is my desire, and of no import to you; this I recognize. But it is also true that my friends and kinsmen will pay handsomely for my swift return, and you stand