Kushiel's Chosen

him. "When my many-times removed grandmother fled the steppes, she did as many Chowati, and sewed false bottoms into her saddle-packs to hide gold. It is a fitting tribute for Marco Stregazza, I think."
    My heart quickened. "A tribute ship. You are sending a tribute ship to La Serenissima, my lord?"
    "And young Atrabiades and his men may take their place among my tribute-bearers, with none the wiser," the Ban said to his wife, finishing her thought; a broad smile spread across his face. "It is well-thought, my dear, and a fitting gift indeed."
    "Yes!" Kazan said eagerly. "And if anything goes ill, we can claim to have taken the ship by force, that there is no blame on you, Zim Sokali!"
    "Kazan, no -"
    Vasilii Kolcei held up one hand for silence, looking sternly at me. "It is not for you to choose, what Kazan Atrabiades does or does not do. As he is an Illyrian subject, he is under Serenissiman rule, and those laws he has broken, to the extent that neither I nor, of a surety, the children of Minos can protect him from prosecution. It is an honorable course he proposes. That you do not wish his blood on your head is commendable, D'Angeline; but you wish to save your Queen. You have put it to two rulers, and now I put it to you. Is the gain not worth the risk?"
    I looked at Kazan and thought of his mother's face, old and grief-worn, streaked with tears of joy. And I thought of Terre d'Ange, my beloved gilded fields churned into bloody strife by civil war if Ysandre was slain and Benedicte de la Courcel took arms against Barquiel L'Envers to contest for the throne. I thought of a nation weakened by internal struggles, and the Skaldi massing on our borders, needing only some second Selig to see and seize the opportunity.
    And Melisande Shahrizai's smile.
    "Yes." I bowed my head. "Yes, my lord. It is."
    In the arts of covertcy, it is death to second-guess oneself. An action, once done, cannot be undone; a word, once spoken, cannot be taken back. For this reason, Delaunay taught Alcuin and me to think thoroughly at leisure and swiftly at need, and having once chosen, never to seek to return to the crossroads of that decision-for even if one chooses wrongly, the choice cannot be unmade. So it was with this. In truth, I needed Kazan's aid; without aid, I had no chance of succeeding. If the pain it cost was too great, well, the reckoning would come; but first, I would see it done.
    Our arrival had been timely indeed, for the tribute ship was set to sail on the morrow, bearing gifts in honor of Marco Stregazza's investiture as Doge. Carpenters labored throughout the night to construct a false-bottomed trunk fit to hide me and hold the tribute; gold in plenty, as if La Serenissima had need of it, marten skins and civet, and amber from the Chowat. There were air holes drilled cunningly into the richly carved cypress wood at the base of the trunk so I could breathe.
    Still, I did not relish the prospect.
    The Ban and his wife gave me lodging that night, treating me kindly. Already they had begun a campaign of misinformation, at her suggestion, giving the lie to the widespread rumor of Kazan Atrabiades' return. Small traders lost at sea come home safe at last, ran the counterrumor; and oh, yes, a young Hellene slave girl aboard the ship with them if any had heard of it, her freedom purchased dearly on distant Kriti, not a D'Angeline, no, but passing fair.
    To be sure, too many people had seen it firsthand to believe the lie, but enough had not. Enough to give them grounds for denial if it came to it. People believe what they are told, Melisande had said. It was unnervingly true.
    It was a long night and I slept poorly, although it seemed foolish when in truth I would do naught but climb aboard another infernal ship come daybreak. We would be four days at sea, and I had no intention of clambering into that trunk until I saw the cursed rocks of La Dolorosa. But it was the beginning of the end of this long game that had begun the day Melisande Shahrizai folded my sangoire cloak and wrapped it in a parcel. If I lost this round, there would be no other, no second cast, no last ploy. Whatever befell Terre d'Ange, Melisande would have won her game. Ysandre would be dead, and all who sought to aid her; including me, if Marco Stregazza had his way.
    And if he did not... I would be hers.
    I wasn't sure which was worse.
    More than anything, I missed Joscelín that night. I do not think I ever fully reckoned, until then, how much he served to