Kushiel's Dart

flame trimmed low. A familiar figure drowsed beside it, sitting in a chair.
    "Hyacinthe," I whispered.
    He started, and lifted his head, white grin reassuring. "Did you think you'd lost me?"
    "I wasn't sure." I struggled to sit upright, then gave up, resigning myself to the hammock. "I saw at least one go over."
    "Four." He said it quietly, no longer smiling. "It would have been more, if not for Jean Marchand. He made us lash ourselves to whatever we could."
    "You saw it, then." My voice was hoarse still. It is something, to sing down the sea. Hyacinthe nodded, a faint movement in the shadows.
    "I saw it."
    "Where's Joscelin?"
    "Above." Hyacinthe yawned. "He wanted to see the stars, to gain his bearings. He's not vomiting anymore, at least."
    I began to laugh, then stopped. It hurt my throat. "We owe him all our lives."
    "You sang." He looked at me curiously through the darkness.
    "He made me. He remembered the songs. Gunter's steading." I lay back, exhausted again. "I never thought I'd be grateful to the Skaldi."
    "All knowledge is worth having," Hyacinthe said, quoting Delaunay, whom I had quoted to him. "Even this. Even the dromonde ." Rising, he smoothed my hair back from my brow and kissed me. "Go to sleep," he said, and blew out the lamp.

SIXTY-EIGHT
    The following day dawned as calm and bright as one might wish, as if in apology for the Master of the Straits' dreadful storm. We had turned northward in the night, rounding the lower tip of Alba, and I could see her green coastline lying off our starboard bow, hazy in the distance.
    "Where do we make landfall?" I asked Quintilius Rousse, standing on deck with him. The wind tugged at my cloak, but it seemed milder than yesterday, with less of a biting chill. I felt more myself, and thanked Blessed Elua for the thousandth time that I healed quickly.
    "That," the Admiral said dryly, "is a very good question." He looked haggard and tired, having gotten but a few hours sleep, delegating the wheel to his helmsman once he'd determined we were well and truly clear of danger. He swept one brawny arm toward the coast. "There, in all its glory, lies Alba. Where Ysandre's deposed Cruarch bides is another matter."
    "I thought you knew," I said, dismayed once more. "You sought him before, you said. Among the Dalriada."
    "I know where the Dalriada lie." Rousse turned to spit, then remembered my presence, and refrained. "On the land that juts out nearest to Eire. Our sources said that's where Drustan mab Necthana fled. But it's a sizeable kingdom."
    "How do we even know it's true?"
    Rousse shrugged. "Delaunay said it was, and Thelesis de Mornay. They had some system of exchange, across the waters, with Alban loyalists. Folk that Thelesis had known, during her exile. Then the messages stopped coming, and they reckoned Maelcon the Usurper caught them. That's when I tried the coast. But I never caught sight of any Pictish Prince."
    And I had doubted, when he called it a fool's errand. I sat down on a spar near his feet, thinking. In the prow, Joscelin was doing his Cassiline exercises, silhouetted against the sky. Sunlight flashed from his steel. He had found his sea-legs, it seemed.
    "How long until we reach the kingdom of the Dalriada?" I asked.
    "A day, no more." Quintilius Rousse shrugged again. "Then we take our chances, I reckon, and hope they can lead us to the Cruithne."
    I was not entirely sure I liked his plan. I'd doubts enough about my own skill with the tongue-it is one thing to learn a language on paper, with tutors who speak one's own language, and another to deal with native speakers-and I wasn't sure the Dalriada spoke the same Cruithne I had learned. Eire is its own island, and separate from Alba; if their folk had established a foothold on Alba, would they speak a dialect I recognized? Or somewhat altogether different? The scholars do not say, for the armies of Tiberium never ventured so far before being ousted by Cinhil Ru. And if it were so ... how could I make them understand? Ysandre's ring, Drus-tan mab Necthana's pledge, would mean naught to them.
    So I mulled over the problem, until it came together in my mind. All knowledge is worth having . "Hyacinthe," I said. "Mayhap he can help. He can speak the dromonde , and tell us where to land."
    "You believe it?" Quintilius Rousse glanced at me sidelong, profound doubt in his blue gaze. "It's enough that we come in a single ship, I think. Even Delaunay wasn't so credible, lass, and he could ferret out truth in