Kushiel's Chosen

the realm to gain-and your own life as well. What do you say?"
    He waited, watching, and I gave no answer. At my side, Kazan stirred restlessly. "He speaks wisely, he," he muttered. "I would say the same, did you ask."
    It was tempting-Elua, it was tempting! To sail not back into danger and near-certain death, but to Marsilikos and safety; home, to go home. To the calm wisdom of Roxanne de Mereliot, who would take matters into her capable hands, to the reassuring might of Quintilius Rousse, yes, even to go to Barquiel L'Envers, that clever, cunning Duc I had been so sure I could not trust...
    ... and condemn to death Ysandre de la Courcel, who had once trusted me enough to risk the entire nation on my bare word; not only Ysandre, but mayhap all who travelled with her in the progressus, all who supported her in La Serenissima...
    Joscelin.
    I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, thinking. Demetrios Asterius was right, there was danger in trusting to a message in a stranger's hand, almost reason to go. Almost. I lowered my hands and opened my eyes. "My lord Archon, do you swear to me that your courier will do all that is humanly possible to deliver my message to the Lady of Marsilikos?"
    He paused, then nodded soberly. "That much I do swear, my lady. By Mother Dia and the House of Minos, I swear it."
    "And you ..." I turned to Kazan, "... you will get me to La Serenissima, no matter what happens in Epidauro?"
    Kazan's eyes gleamed. "I have said it, I; may the kríavbhog swallow my soul if I lie! This is the debt I owe, and I will honor it, I." He gave a broad grin. "If you did the wise thing always, I would be dead, yes?"
    I turned back to face the Archon. "I thank you, my lord, for your offer, which was generous," I said softly. "And for your advice, which was well-conceived. But I believe I can send a message that will not go unheeded."
    "So be it." There was a starkness to his features, and I knew he did not look to see me alive again. "Deliver unto me your letter, and I will have the ship sail at once. May your gods protect you, Phèdre nó Delaunay. They've done a poor enough job of it thus far."
    I made no reply but knelt briefly to him, and we took our leave, though not before I caught a sympathetic glance from Timanthes, standing at his post beside the Archon's throne. Kazan departed for the harbor, where I was to meet him in two hours' time.
    This time I spent writing my missives, and the first was the lengthiest; that was for Roxanne de Mereliot, the Lady of Marsilikos. There was no need and no purpose in concealing my intent now, and I wrote frankly of the situation in La Serenissima, of Benedicte's betrayal, of Melisande's role, of the plans of Marco Stregazza. I wrote too of the compliance of Percy de Somerville, and his role in Melisande's escape from Troyes-le-Mont, as well as the means by which she had blackmailed him, the letter regarding the ancient matter of Lyonette de Trevalion's betrayal. And I wrote such things as might verify my identity, bidding her if she were uncertain to ask of Quintilius Rousse who it was that counted grains of sand on the beach in Kusheth, likening their numbers to the Skaldi. That I was certain he would remember, for it had been the turning point that had persuaded him to pursue Ysandre's fool's errand to Alba, and it was known only to him and me.
    All of this and more I wrote, suggesting allies and courses of action, debating the allegiance of Ghislain de Somerville, who may or may not have been complicit in his father's plans. I wrote too much, no doubt, for I had been alone with these thoughts for weeks on end, and putting them to paper was almost like sharing them. At last I gauged the position of the sun and saw how much time had passed, and set myself to writing the second missive.
    This one was to Duc Barquiel L'Envers.
    To him, I wrote only this, my hand shaking somewhat as I set pen to paper. "Your Grace, pay heed to the words of the Duchese Roxanne de Mereliot, the Lady of Marsilikos. All that I have told her is true. By the burning river, I adjure you to hold the City of Elua against all claimants, including Duc Percy de Somerville."
    It was done. I sanded my writing, tilting the page to remove the excess and blowing on the ink. It was only one city in a realm of seven provinces, but it was the City of Elua, the only place in Terre d'Ange that Blessed Elua made his own, and no one, man or woman or child, may be rightfully crowned sovereign of the realm