Kushiel's Chosen

been mountains, he might even have smiled.
    At least, until we reached the crossroads of Eisheth's Way, where it curves to within a half-day's ride of the City of Elua.
    "Smell that?" Ti-Philippe stood in his stirrups, sniffing conspicuously. "Salt air," he declared, grinning at me; I knew full well he couldn't smell the sea at this distance. "A sailor's nose never lies! Two days' ride to the south, and we're in Marsilikos, my lady, with ten days' leisure in harbor."
    "So we would be," I said, drawing up my mount and shifting my shoulders so that the fabric of my gown rubbed my skin. Kushiel's chosen may heal swiftly, but 'tis betimes an itchy process. "If we were going straight to Marsilikos."
    They stared at me, all of them; I hadn't told them this part. I'd not told anyone. It was Joscelin who sighed. "Phèdre," he said in a tone of weary resignation. "What have you planned?"
    I rested my reins on my pommel. "If we move quickly," I said, "we've time enough to reach the southernmost garrison of the Allies of Camlach and ask after the missing guardsmen."
    Joscelin looked at me without replying, a strange expression on his face. "You want to query the Unforgiven."
    I nodded.
    "Bloody hell and damnation!" Ti-Philippe grumbled, fiddling with a purse at his belt. "I bought a set of new dice for this journey. Azzallese staghorn, guaranteed lucky. You mean to tell me we're riding all the way to Camlach, just to turn around and race for Marsilikos?"
    "You can gamble from Marsilikos to La Serenissima," I told him, "and if your stakes hold out longer, it will be lucky indeed. Unless you'd rather not go?"
    "No, my lady!" Eyes widening, he took up the reins and turned his horse's head to the north. "Whatever the seven hells you're about, I'll not be left behind. Camlach it is."
    Fortun and Remy laughed. I glanced at Joscelin, who was looking away, and identified at last his odd expression. I had seen it before; he was trying not to smile.
    Unaccountably, my heart lightened, and I laughed too. "To Camlach!"
    The truth of Ysandre's parting words to me-her real words, in our audience-was more than evident in this journey. Terre d'Ange was at peace, and prosperous. Eisheth's Way, built by Tiberian soldiers over a millennium ago, was solid and well tended. More than once, we saw teams of masons and bricklayers at work, repairing winter's damage. There are no major cities in Camlach, but the road wends through myriad villages, and in each one, we saw the signs of contentment and prosperity-open markets, with the first fruits of spring for sale, and the last of winter's dried stores; poultry, mutton and wild game; fabrics, threads and necessities. Once we saw a Tsingani kumpania, outfitted with a travelling smithy. There was a line of villagers waiting, with horses to be shod, pots to be mended. I thought of Hyacinthe and all that he had sacrificed, and swallowed hard.
    And flowers; there were flowers. "You see that, my lady?" Fortun asked, nodding toward a stand where a young woman buried her face in a nosegay, eyes closed with pleasure. "When common folk have coin to spare for flowers, it bodes well for the land." He laughed. "Though they say in Caerdicca Unitas that D'Angelines will buy flowers before food."
    That first evening we reached the village of Aufoil, which had an inn large enough to lodge our party. If my purposes had been different, I would have been carrying letters of invitation to half a dozen noble holdings, and we would have been welcomed and feasted in style, but 'twas better this way. No one would be looking for the Comtesse de Montrève on the road to Camlach, and if they were, they'd not look in common travellers' inns.
    For their part, the villagers made us welcome. The inn-keep rushed about to procure fresh bed-linens, ordering a cask of their finest wine breached. We sought to repay their hospitality with courtesy as well as coin, and Phèdre's Boys surely excelled at that, remaining in the common room to take part in revelry and drink into the small hours of the night.
    It was not wasted time, either. In the morning, a bleary-eyed Fortun sketched for me a map to the closest garrison of the Unforgiven, some few days' ride away. One more day on Eisheth's Way, and then we needs must turn aside, on less travelled paths.
    "I wondered why you wanted camping gear," Remy muttered. "Thought you'd never sleep on aught but silk sheets, after campaigning with the Cruithne."
    I smiled. "Now you know better." In truth,