Kushiel's Chosen

"Your lord Delaunay might not have died had he toyed less lightly with Melisande Shahrizai. If you're right, lass, and you find her in La Serenissima, don't play at her game. Go straightaway to Prince Benedicte, and tell him. Royal-born he may be, but Benedicte's a soldier from olden days. He rode with Rolande de la Courcel and Percy de Somerville, and aye, Delaunay too, before you were born. He'll know what to do."
    "Yes, my lord," I promised him. "I will."
    "Good." One last squeeze of my shoulders and a rough embrace, his coarse red hair tickling my ears, and then Quintilius Rousse released me, turning to Joscelin. "You, lad!" he said gruffly, shaking him. "You're travelling with the most beautiful courtesan in three generations of Naamah's Servants! Try to look a little less as if it were a death sentence, will you? And keep her safe, for if that prune-mouthed Cassiel doesn't have your guts for bowstrings, I surely will, if she comes to harm."
    To his credit, Joscelin grinned. "I will remember, my lord!" he said, giving a sweeping Cassiline bow, his steel vambraces flashing in the sunlight.
    Rousse merely grunted, and turned away. He brooked no foolishness, the Lord Admiral, and he knew whereof he spoke; one does not command the seas and face down the Master of the Straits without learning to take the measure of a man. He gave a seaman's salute to Fortun, Remy and Ti-Philippe, crisply returned by all three, then strode away, his rolling gait carrying him swiftly the length of the quai.
    A fair breeze sprang up past the noon hour, and all was in readiness. Sailors on board the Darielle shouted to and fro with those on the docks; knots were undone, ropes tossed on deck. My chevaliers were restless, eager-eyed, clinging to the railings. This had been their lives, once. The rowers set to, and the galley moved ponderously away from the dock, into the narrow harbor, where the breeze briskened. At a shout from the Captain, the mainsail dropped. The stiffened canvas filled slowly, bellying in the wind, and the ship glided toward the mouth of the harbor, prow nosing toward the open seas.
    We were on our way.
    In truth, a lengthy and uneventful sea voyage makes for a poor tale; and, by Elua's grace, that is what we were granted. Laden with cargo, our ship rode low in the water, but for all of that, the winds blew fair, and we made good time.
    For the first two days of the voyage, Joscelin Verreuil, my Perfect Companion, spent a great deal more time than was seemly hanging over the railings and disgorging the contents of his stomach. No born sailor, he.
    My chevaliers, for their part, were at home in an instant, and it did not take long for the crew of the Darielle to ascertain that they had expert sailors aboard ship. They took turns at manning the rigging, or the oars, when we rounded the Caerdicci point and the winds turned against us. I daresay I could have bartered their aid against the price of our passage, if I'd been minded to, but it kept them out of trouble and the Captain's nature sweet, so I held my tongue.
    As for me, I had a cabin in the aft castle; a narrow berth, to be sure, but my own. The hempen strands of my hammock cradled me securely, and I slept soundly therein.
    The winds held steady and we surged ahead of them, a froth of white water where our prow cut the seas, keeping in sight of the coastline for the most part. The Captain, whose name was Louis Namot, was quick to summon me, pointing out such sights as might be seen from shipboard. I have learned, since, that there are sailors who think a woman's presence aboard ship to be a sign of ill luck. Elua be thanked, D'Angelines are spared such idiotic superstitions.
    There is a certain peace to it, committing one's fate to the seas, even as there is in surrendering to a patron's will. I thought often of Hyacinthe on that long journey, wondering if he had come to gain mastery over the scudding waves, and how such a thing might be accomplished. I wondered, too, how far his dreadful inheritance extended. Rahab's realm lay everywhere pn the deep, if Yeshuite teaching was to be believed; but the Master of the Straits was born of a D'Angeline woman, who loved a mortal Alban, and I never heard of his dominion extending beyond the waters that bordered our two lands.
    With such things were my thoughts occupied during our journey, and I daresay it passed quickly enough. White-winged gulls circled our three masts as we travelled, always within a half-day's sail of