Kushiel's Chosen

he closeted himself with his captains and discussed strategy. I found Lukin inspecting javelins in the armory and pestered him for information, grateful that my studies in Illyrian had progressed to a point where I might do so.
    "He's right angry, my lady," Lukin said, shrugging apologetically. "Though likely he would have done the same thing himself. Still, it put them at risk, to sail such a distance in a half-manned ship. But 'tis no fault of yours, and Kazan knows it, I think."
    "Where is the ... trade ... to take place?" I asked him.
    "Off the southern Caerdicci coast, there's a little isle, near Baro; small traders put in to take on fresh water, sometimes, but there's naught of value that the Serenissimans would garrison it, and Baro has no navy. The D'Angeline ship should be on its way already, slow as it is." He grinned at the latter; Illyrians have no respect for anyone else's seamanship.
    "We trade on land?"
    Lukin shook his head. "Nay, we'll anchor at sea, and come alongside her. We're mobile at sea, my lady, more so than any war-galley or merchanter. Kazan's not like to give up that advantage. Nor will he give you over until his men are safe."
    In another corner of the armory, two men were tallying barrels of pitch and stripping rags. Kazan Atrabiades was taking every precaution, I thought. "He will, though, yes? Give me over?"
    "Of course!" Lukin jerked his head up, as though I'd stung his honor. "If your people do not break faith," he added grimly.
    "They will not," I said quietly, taking my leave.
    We were four days making preparations for this journey, and I was right, Kazan was indeed preparing for the worst. For three days in a row he drilled his men mercilessly, at close fighting with short sword and buckler, and at javelins and archery with straw-stuffed targets under the blazing sun, until they sweated buckets and cursed his name. I could believe, then, that he had commanded a unit in the Ban's Guard. I do not know much of soldiering, but I have seen some little bit of it, and from what I saw, his men were well-trained; better than one would expect of lawless brigands.
    Me, he ignored during this time, and while I was glad enough of the reprieve, it made me uneasy. I knew his mind and his temper well enough by then; I misliked this brooding discourtesy.
    Still, the days passed, though they crawled in my eyes, and in time Kazan bade me to gather my things and make ready to sail on the morrow. I thought he had done with me by then, but I was wrong; he had me that last night, summoning me once more to lie in his great bed with the gilded headboard. I went, praying to Naamah to have a care for her Servant, who kept the honor of her bargain so well. He was fierce with me that night-he had learned how well I responded to that, although I do not think he ever fully reckoned why-but his face as he labored above me was closed and distant. What visions Kazan Atrabiades saw behind that fixed gaze, I do not know; his brother, mayhap, or his captive men wearing his brother's face.
    What he asked, I gave; I cannot help it.
    And on the morrow, we sailed.
    Once again, we assembled on the beach, and the old priest gave the blessing. We sailed at dawn, and I stood shivering a little in the rose-damask gown, a woolen cloak over my shoulders. All six ships would set forth on this venture. Marjopí was there, and fell wailing on Kazan's neck; he bore it better than I would have reckoned, until she began to berate the priest on his behalf. To me, she nodded a stoic farewell, and I daresay she was glad enough to see the last of me.
    Glaukos would sail on our ship, and he was there, cheerful and smiling; his young wife had come too, and her sister. They bade me shy farewells, thanking me once more for the meager gift of fabric I had given, awestricken by the language I had acquired. I met their parents, who were a shepherd and wife, tongue-tied and staring, murmuring about Vili and thinking I did not understand.
    At last it was done, and Volos, the boy who could talk to birds, handed me aboard Kazan's ship. I breathed deep of the scent of sun-warmed pine boards. Kazan gave the command to hoist anchor and it was done; the oars dipped and splashed in the morning light, and our prow turned, nosing outward.
    Green water sluiced along the sides of the vessel and a brisk breeze plucked at our furled sails; Kazan gave the command, and his men leapt to obey, scrambling along the yard to unlash the sails. One, three, six ships