Kushiel's Chosen

mother; he wore his hair in a topknot, and had long, pointed mustaches like Kazan. I wondered if it was in emulation, or if 'twas a style set by the Ban's Guard. I never did learn which was true.
    "Phèdre nó Delaunay," he said, greeting me with a sweeping bow. "Kazan Atrabiades. You come late to join this mission. I was awake into the small hours of the night, briefed by mother and father alike."
    "I am grateful for your aid," I said formally. "On behalf of Terre d'Ange, I thank you."
    He smiled, and there was somewhat of his father's tight shrewdness in it, and somewhat of a warrior's grin. "I have my orders. If aught goes awry, my men are to throw down their weapons," he said to Kazan, "and yours to make shift to hold them hostage, that we may claim you overcame us, by treachery and surprise. Such is the lot of a middle son, whose honor may be cast aside at need. But if all goes as planned..." His grin blossomed fully into a warrior's ferocity. "The Serenissimans will pay a heavy toll for the tribute they exact!"
    "And the middle son rises in the eyes of the Zim Sokali!" Kazan agreed with bloodthirsty good cheer. "Yarovit's grace upon your sword, Pjètri Kolcei. Did you train under Gjergi Hamza?" he added, eyeing the aforementioned weapon.
    I left them to compare notes on the merits of the Ban's swordmasters, perambulating the deck and taking simple pleasure in the sun's rising warmth, the bright rays burning off the mists as we gained the open seas. The Illyrian sailors startled to see me, hands moving in quick warding gestures; I had nearly forgotten how Kazan's men had received me at first. Now one of them trailed behind me, a self-appointed guard. It was Ushak, his prominent ears concealed beneath a conical steel helm. He turned scarlet whenever I glanced back at him, until I laughed aloud and paused to wait for him, giving him my arm which he took, blushing.
    "It is a fair day," I mused in Illyrian. "Is it not, Ushak?"
    "Y-yes." He was as red as a boiled lobster, and stammering with it. "Every day is f-fair, when it is graced with the sight of you!" he said all in a rush.
    "Is it?" I halted, gazing at him. "Is that why you came, Ushak?"
    His throat worked convulsively. "It is ... it is one reason, my lady," he said stiffly. "I think... we do not have such things on Dobrek, such things as you. To die in your name ... it, it w-would be an honor!"
    "To live would be a better one," I said gently. "I am D'Angeline and Naamah's Servant, yes, but beauty is not worth dying for."
    He shook his head, blushing and swallowing fiercely. "Not... not that alone, my lady. You, you were kind to us, you learned our tongue, you laughed at our jests ... even, even mine." He swallowed again and added helplessly, "You were kind."
    I thought on it, searching the empty blue skies. "Is the world so cruel, then, that that is all that is required to move a man to risk his life? Kindness?"
    "Yes." Trembling and gulping, Ushak stood his ground, holding manfully to my arm. "Sometimes ... y-yes, my lady," he finished firmly.
    Ah, Elua! I bowed my head, overwhelmed by nameless emotion. I understood Kazan, and the debt he perceived; I understood the Ban and his kin, weighing merit against risk. Even those of Kazan's men who had been my shipmates, I understood better; we had forged a bond, we had, during that dreadful flight, and the terrors of the Temenos. But this ... this came straight from the heart.
    Love as thou wilt.
    They are fools, who reckon Elua a soft god, fit only for the worship of starry-eyed lovers. Let the warriors clamor after gods of blood and thunder; love is hard, harder than steel and thrice as cruel. It is as inexorable as the tides, and life and death alike follow in its wake.
    I spent much time in contemplation during that journey, for there was naught else to be done and I wished to make my peace as best I might with Blessed Elua and his Companions before entering La Serenissima. Our plan was a simple one, insofar as it went. When we drew nigh unto the harbor, I would conceal myself within the trunk. If the harbor guards' search penetrated my hiding place ... well and so, it would go no further. If it did not, the tribute ship would continue up the Great Canal to make anchor at the residence of Janàri Rossatos, who was the Illyrian Ambassador to La Serenissima, and thence plot our next move.
    It was my hope that the presentation of tribute-gifts to the newly elected Doge would take place before the ceremony of