Kushiel's Dart

doesn't sound as though any help's coming from that quarter."
    "Then they fall," Joscelin said softly. "And Terre d'Ange falls with them."
    As long as Selig's discipline holds . . .
    I stared at the map. "We have one chance," I said, thinking aloud, unaware that I'd spoke until Ghislain de Somerville looked quizzically at me. "Selig's army, it's fractious, there must be, what, a hundred tribes, at least?" I glanced at Joscelin. "Remember the day we rode into the All-thing?" I asked. He nodded soberly. "Some of them are blood enemies. If we stir them up, break Selig's discipline . . . it's somewhat, at least."
    "And how do we do that?" Rousse asked skeptically; but Ghislain was eyeing the map intently.
    "The Cruithne scared them," he said thoughtfully, tapping the map. "All those blue faces ... the Skaldi didn't know what to make of it. I could see that well enough, from the far shore. They're a superstitious lot, you know. If we could harry their flanks, small strikes, retreating fast... it would give them somewhat to think about, at any rate. We'd need a secure retreat, somewhere in the mountains here. Someplace hidden."
    I looked at Drustan, Eamonn and Grainne, and did not yet translate. "How many of us would be like to survive?" I asked Ghislain. "Truly."
    Glancing up from the map, he drew a deep breath. "None," he said quietly. "In the end? None. We'd live as long as we were lucky, and no longer. And it may be that we'd die for naught. You're right, it's our only chance; but it's a slim one at best."
    "Thank you," I told him, and then repeated it all to Drustan in Cruithne.
    He took it soberly, walking half-gaited away to gaze out the door of the tent, startling the Azzallese guard. Eamonn and Grainne glanced at each other.
    "Tell him I'll see his folk returned to Alba's shores," Quintilius Rousse said gruffly to me. "Every last blue-stained, lime-crested one of 'em. We didn't ask 'em here to commit suicide."
    I think Drustan understood, for he answered before the words were out of my mouth. "And what happens to your Hyacinthe?" he asked me, turning around, holding up one hand, light flashing on the gold signet. "If I do not wed Ysandre," his face was strained, "if I die, if Ysandre dies , and the curse remains unbroken, what happens to him? And how do we get home, if the Lord of the Seas remains chained to his rock, wroth with our failure? What song will sing us home, Phedre no Delaunay?"
    My eyes burned with tears; I had brought him here. "I don't know," I whispered. "My lord, I am so sorry."
    "The fault is not yours." His deep eyes dwelled on mine. "You followed your Queen's command; my destiny is my own, and you cannot change it. But I must give my people the choice. It is my destiny, but it is not their war. If they are to die, they must have the manner of choosing, to take their chance against wave or sword."
    I nodded, scarce seeing him. Drustan called sharply to Eamonn and Grainne, and they left, taking their guard with them. I related his words to the others.
    "It's fair," Ghislain said softly, tracing Troyes-le-Mont on the map, head low. "Whatever you told them, they couldn't have understood the odds. None of us did." He looked up then, his face grim. "But if you go, I'm going with you. My father's in there." He gave Joscelin a hard look. "And if I'm not mistaken, so is yours, Cassiline."
    We spoke of it that night.
    The stars were clear and bright in the vast black sky, familiar D'Angeline stars. There is no quiet place in a war-camp, but I found Joscelin a little distance away from our tents, seated beneath an elm and gazing at the camp. There was no celebratory atmosphere, as there had been after the defeat of Maelcon's army; this had been a skirmish, no more, a small victory in a hopeless war. The Azzallese cleaned their arms and wondered grimly what was next. There were fires burning wherever Drus-tan's army was encamped, discussion going long into the night.
    "Did you know?" I asked Joscelin, sitting beside him.
    He shook his head. "I wasn't sure. I knew it was possible. I didn't see our banner, on the isle, but there were so many."
    "I'm sorry," I said softly.
    "Don't be." His voice was rough. "House Verreuil has always served. Did you know, my father fought in the Battle of Three Princes? That's when he won the title Chevalier." One corner of his mouth quirked. "You know, the one you bestowed on Rousse's men."
    "I've no right to grant lands, though."
    "No." He stared at the stars. "Verreuil's a