Kushiel's Dart

is true.
    Mile upon mile we travelled, twice, thrice the length of our crossing, longer mayhap. How long it took, I cannot say. Terror gave way to wonder, then a slow mingling of despair. Were all behind us drowned? I could not help but fear so. Onward and onward we rushed, the great wave never breaking.
    Until, at last, an island rose before us, thrusting bleak and lonely into the sea. Closer and closer the wave brought us, still riding its crest, and I saw no inlet, and thought we should be dashed to death against its tall, grey cliffs.
    There, at the final moment, I saw it; a narrow harbor carved in the rock, ringed by high walls. It was toward that we sped. At the mouth of the harbor, the great wave sighed, and flowed backward beneath us, the deadly crest receding to a gentle slope. Our ship slid down it, easing between the high cliff walls, and whether Quintilius Rousse had aught to do with it, I cannot say, but that wave deposited us in the small, still harbor as neatly as a cat laying a mouse at its master's feet.
    I was afraid it was an apt comparison.
    Sodden in places, salt-stiff where clothing had dried, and lulled into near-paralysis by our fearful passage, we began to gather our wits, shaking off the awe and looking about. There were thirty-some of us on the ship, mostly Cruithne, with eight horses in the hold. It was one of Drustan's men who saw it first, pointing with a sharp cry.
    A promontory of rock jutted into the harbor. Steps, terraced and smooth, led down to the water. Above were more broad steps, cut into the cliff-face, leading upward. Behind us, nothing but the harbor walls and open sea, empty. I glanced up to where, high above us, columns rose into the sky, distant and foreshortened, for all the world like a Hellene temple. The sky was grey, and the white marble of the columns blurred against it.
    But that wasn't what had caused the Cruithne to point.
    Standing on the promontory, two robed figures awaited us.

SEVENTY-SIX
    I will go." It was Drustan who spoke first, quick and firm, his dark eyes resolute in the blue masque of his face. I remembered how he had stepped forward, unhesitating, to take the blame for the Tarbh Cro.
    One could not help but admire him.
    And realize his worth to the folk of Alba.
    "No, my lord." I shook my head, feeling the mass of my hair windblown and heavy with seawater. What would my loss cost Terre d'Ange? A nation at war had no need of one rather travel-worn anguissette . "We are near D'Angelme shores. It is my place to go."
    While we argued in Cruithne, Quintilius Rousse peered over the edge of the ship, gauging the open water that lay between our vessel and the steps, mindful of the fact, which we ignored, that no one was going anywhere until it was bridged. The taller of the robed figures came to the edge of the promontory, pushing back his grey cowl to reveal himself a young man with dark hair and unassuming features.
    "The waters are deep, sirrah," he said in a calm, carrying voice, speaking in archaic D'Angeline. "Bring your ship in close, and thou mayest lower a plank."
    "Hear that?" Rousse turned around, snapping his fingers at the closest Cruithne, who stared uncomprehendingly at him. "Go on, to oars! We're bringing this ship ashore!" The Admiral turned his best glare on me. "Whatever's in your head, lass, no one's going in alone, Queen's emissary or no. So tell these wild blue lads to bend their backs, and we'll see what game Elder Brother's playing at."
    I did, feeling a little foolish. Drustan gave Rousse a deep look, and went to the stern to survey the seas for any sign of our missing fleet. If he could buy the Albans' safety with his life, I thought, he would still do it. But Rousse was right, we didn't know why the Master of the Straits had brought us here.
    "What do you see?" I asked Hyacinthe, as the oars dipped raggedly and the ship drifted close to the terrace.
    He gazed at the cliff wall, the broad steps, smiling strangely. "I see an island," he murmured. "What do you see, Phedre no Delaunay?"
    To that, I had no answer. And, in short order, the ship came alongside the promontory and Quintilius Rousse gave word to drop anchor. The gangplank was lowered, but none of us disembarked, standing instead on deck and awaiting word from our strange hosts.
    The second figure drew back his cowl: an older man, white-haired. "Those among thee, the Master wishes to see," he said, in the same archaic D'Angeline dialect his companion had used. I spared a