Kushiel's Dart

servants brought pen and ink and a clean-scraped parchment; there was no new paper to be had, on the Three Sisters. I sketched out a map of Terre d'Ange and the battle as we knew it, with Rousse, Joscelin and Drustan looking over my shoulder, adding and correcting.
    Necessity had dictated by now that communication among us was accomplished in a polyglot babble, D'Angeline, Caerdicci and Cruithne mingled together. I could not be everywhere to translate. I daresay anyone listening would have found it nigh incomprehensible; nonetheless, everyone made themselves understood.
    Hyacinthe listened with shadowed eyes.
    We had told him, of course, what had transpired in the Master of the Straits' bronze mirror of seawater. He heard it without comment, sorrowing at the news.
    It pained him to hear our plans, I could tell. After a time, when we had dined-absentmindedly from dishes brought into the library, where we worked-he bowed and took his leave.
    "I'll see you off in the morning," he said softly.
    I watched him go; and felt, unexpectedly, Joscelin's gaze upon me. He smiled wryly when I took notice, and shrugged, opening his hands. In the depths of a Skaldic winter, we hadn't needed words. I understood.
    "My lord Admiral," I said. Quintilius Rousse looked up from pondering a drawing of a Caerdicci catapult scavenged from the library shelves. "You do not need me, I think, to plan a war."
    "You trace a fair line . . ." He caught himself, shaking his head, and a compassionate expression crossed his scarred face. "No, my lady. We don't need you tonight."
    Nodding my thanks, I returned to my chamber.
    If the maidservants had labored to find fitting sea-treasures to adorn me last night, it was nothing to what I set them to now. I think, at least, that they enjoyed it; the young one giggled a great deal. Scavenging through trunks, piling high gorgeous garments cleansed and restored with loving care, they found another deemed acceptable; deep amber, like a low-burning flame, with gold brocade on the fitted bodice. A caul of gold mesh, to hold my hair; and, I swear it, tight-sealed vessels from some noblewoman's toilette, with cosmetics untainted by the sea.
    I leaned close to the darkened glass of the old mirror, brushing a hint of carmine on my lips. Red, echoing the mote that blossomed on my left iris, startling against the dark bistre. My eyes, I touched with kohl; I have never used a great deal of color. I do not need it.
    My attendants drew in a collective breath when I stood.
    "'Tis like somewhat from an old lay," the eldest said, hushed. I ruefully glanced in the mirror.
    "It is," I said, thinking of Hyacinthe's fate. "Very like."
    His door was unlocked. Candle in hand, he glanced up sharply when I turned the handle and opened it; I caught him readying for bed, coatless, in a white shirt and dark breeches. He took one look at me, then another, staring hard.
    "I'm not Baudoin de Trevalion," he said harshly. "I've no need of a farewell gift, Phedre."
    I closed the door behind me. "If it's easier on you to be cruel," I said softly, "I understand. I will go. But if it's not. . . how do you want to remember it, Hyacinthe? On a battlefield outside Bryn Gorrydum, or here, like this?"
    For another long moment he stood staring, then gave his best sweeping bow, high spirit rising, flashing his white grin. "To the Queen of Courtesans!"
    In that moment, I loved him.
    "And the Prince of Travellers," I said, inclining my head.
    Of what passed between us that night, I will not speak. It had no bearing on aught that happened before or after, and was of no concern to anyone save Hyacinthe and myself. Seldom enough have I had the luxury of bestowing my gift, Naamah's art, where I chose. I chose that night, and I do not regret.
    We were awake when the sky began to grey in the east.
    "Go," Hyacinthe said, kissing my brow, his voice unwontedly tender. "Before my heart breaks. Go."
    I went.
    From my sea-buried finery, I changed into my travelling attire, Quin-cel de Morbhan's gift, cleaned with the same care as the gown I'd worn. I laid it back in the trunk, thanking the bleary-eyed servants, and went out to rejoin my companions.
    On the wind-swept temple, we took our leave, the Master of the Straits standing silent as a statue, only his robes stirring. I would not relive that moment, for gold or jewels. How Hyacinthe endured it, I cannot say, but he had a word for each one of us, while our ship rocked on the water far below, and Tilian and Gildas