Kushiel's Chosen

endure it, and even I have known pain beyond bearing, under Waldemar Selig's knife on the fields of Troyes-le-Mont.
    This was worse.
    After a time, I was no longer aware of specific incidences of blood-guilt, but only the vast, featureless agony of it. It bore me up and carried me down all at once, and I felt the surge of it in my very bones. A scream gathered at the back of my throat and I locked my jaws on it, thinking, I will not scream, I will not scream, until I was not sure whether I thought it or said it, whether I screamed or not. I saw red in the blackness of the cavern, and Kushiel's face before me, stern and bronze, lips shaping words I could not understand; I thought, if only I could, all would be redeemed, but I could not concentrate for the vastness of my sins. And then it came to me that if only I gave my signale, all of this will end, and I heard Melisande's voice telling me as 'much, rich as honey, coming from somewhere beyond the pain ...
    ... and thought with my last gasp of consciousness, no!

SIXTY-ONE
    There were voices speaking somewhere.
    It seemed I had to come back from a very long distance to make sense of them, to derive words and sentences from the meaningless sounds assailing my ears. I could not understand why it seemed so very difficult, but it did, for even when I recognized the sounds as speech, I could not make out what they said, although they seemed very close at hand. Ah, I thought, pleased at the discovery, it is because they are speaking Hellene, and it seemed to me that I knew that tongue. I fumbled for it with difficulty, and thought perhaps if I opened my eyes, it would be easier to think. I tried to do so, but it was hard, for my lashes were glued shut with sticky matter.
    "... move her or tend her here?"
    Yes, I thought, I know that voice; that is the Hierophant of the Temenos. I am on the island of Kriti in the place called Temenos, and I have profaned their mystery.
    "Hush. She is waking."
    I knew that voice, too. It belonged to Pasiphae Asterius, daughter of the House of Minos, who is called the Kore.
    "Here." There was a sound of someone moving, the faint slosh of water, and then I felt my eyes gently bathed with a damp cloth. I opened them, and saw the Kore kneeling beside me, frowning gravely, still clad in her ritual regalia. "Can you speak, Phèdre?"
    I wasn't sure. I opened my mouth and tried it. "Yes, my lady."
    A war whoop sounded somewhere behind her; loud enough to split the cavern roof, I thought, and surely loud enough to split my skull. And then I was scooped up from the floor where I lay into a vertiginous, bone-rattling embrace by a grinning Kazan Atrabiades.
    "Kazan! Put her down!”
    He did; if he did not know Hellene, he knew what the Kore meant. I wavered unsteadily on my feet, clinging to his sleeve. He was still grinning, and his face was as joyous as a lad's. I moved my head slightly, tested my limbs to see if they yet worked. It seemed they did. The Kore and the Hierophant and a handful of initiates all stood within the sunlit cavern, staring at me with incomprehension in their dark Kritian eyes.
    "You are ... well?" Pasiphae asked cautiously.
    I moved my tongue around in my mouth and swallowed. It seemed that worked, too. "I am ... alive, my lady."
    The scions of Minos exchanged a glance, and the Hierophant spread his hands, relinquishing judgement. Pasiphae shook her head, still frowning. "No one has ever undergone the thetalos undedicated and lived to tell of it. I cannot bestow the rites of absolution upon you, Phèdre, but Mother Dia has spared you, and where She shows mercy, we can but follow. If you are able to walk, we will return to the Palace and speak of this later."
    "I understand."
    I made the return journey unaided, although the procession had to stop many times so I could rest. By light of day, the Kritians-even Pasiphae-looked worn from the ordeal of the ritual; among the initiates, flutes and drums dangled loosely from their hands. They looked at me often, uncertainty in their dark eyes. Only Kazan was exultant with energy and high spirits. Whatever had transpired in the cavern, he had come out of it changed.
    In the Palace, I was shown to my former chamber and given fish broth and mulled wine to drink. One of the elder initiates remained at my side, and Kazan hovered in the room until she made to chase him away.
    "She wants you to leave, Kazan," I informed him; through layers of exhaustion, I was aware of being amused. "I'm