This time I spent writing my missives, and the first was the lengthiest; that was for Roxanne de Mereliot, the Lady of Marsilikos. There was no need and no purpose in concealing my intent now, and I wrote frankly of the situation in La Serenissima, of Benedicte's betrayal, of Melisande's role, of the plans of Marco Stregazza. I wrote too of the compliance of Percy de Somerville, and his role in Melisande's escape from Troyes-le-Mont, as well as the means by which she had blackmailed him, the letter regarding the ancient matter of Lyonette de Trevalion's betrayal. And I wrote such things as might verify my identity, bidding her if she were uncertain to ask of Quintilius Rousse who it was that counted grains of sand on the beach in Kusheth, likening their numbers to the Skaldi. That I was certain he would remember, for it had been the turning point that had persuaded him to pursue Ysandre's fool's errand to Alba, and it was known only to him and me.
All of this and more I wrote, suggesting allies and courses of action, debating the allegiance of Ghislain de Somerville, who may or may not have been complicit in his father's plans. I wrote too much, no doubt, for I had been alone with these thoughts for weeks on end, and putting them to paper was almost like sharing them. At last I gauged the position of the sun and saw how much time had passed, and set myself to writing the second missive.
This one was to Duc Barquiel L'Envers.
To him, I wrote only this, my hand shaking somewhat as I set pen to paper. "Your Grace, pay heed to the words of the Duchese Roxanne de Mereliot, the Lady of Marsilikos. All that I have told her is true. By the burning river, I adjure you to hold the City of Elua against all claimants, including Duc Percy de Somerville."
It was done. I sanded my writing, tilting the page to remove the excess and blowing on the ink. It was only one city in a realm of seven provinces, but it was the City of Elua, the only place in Terre d'Ange that Blessed Elua made his own, and no one, man or woman or child, may be rightfully crowned sovereign of the realm anywhere but there. If this worked-oh, Elua, if it worked!-I owed a greater debt than words could utter to Nicola L'Envers y Aragon, who had sought in good faith to convince me that her cousin Barquiel and I threatened to tear Ysandre in twain with our mistrust of one another, who gave me the sacred password of her House as proof of her earnestness. It doesn 't matter what you. believe. Just remember it.
And Delaunay's pupil to the end, I had recorded it in memory, along with her wry smile and farewell kiss. Do me a favor, and don't put it to the test unless you 're truly in need.
I am in need now, Nicola, I thought, sealing this second letter with a wax taper, I am well and truly in need now, and whatever bargain you ask of me, I will make. Ah, my lord Kushiel, if your blood truly runs in the veins of House L'Envers alongside Naamah's and Elua's, let him heed this plea!
It was Timanthes who came for the letters. I gave them into his keeping.
"Demetrios is truly grieved that he could not grant your request in full," he said quietly to me. "I hope that you know this."
"I do." I met his calm gaze. "He's a good ruler, isn't he?"
"He ..." Timanthes took a deep breath. "Yes. He is."
It could have been like this, I thought, with my lord Delaunay and Rolande de la Courcel, who loved him. Delaunay would have been like this man Timanthes, with pride of place at his side, a steadfast beacon no matter whence his lord's whims turned, knowing he would always return in the
end. It would have been so, if Prince Rolande had wed his first intended, Edmée de Rocaille, who loved them both and smiled upon their friendship. The Lady Althaia understands as much, and asks no more, loving her brother and lord alike. Let Demetrios Asterius wed her, then, and have his Timanthes as well; let no bitter rival come between them as Isabel L'Envers had done, setting in motion an irrevocable chain of betrayal and hatred.
Those events made Anafiel Delaunay what and who he was when I knew him, brilliant and ruthless and wise, and kind, too; Elua knows, I had reason to know it. And yet, I never knew him happy, save those few precious weeks before the end, when Alcuin won through his stern walls to offer him a measure of love-and even that, I had begrudged, with a child's jealousy.
"Love him well, then, Timanthes," I said, tears stinging my eyes. "It is a rare enough thing to find, a good ruler and a dear friend. Love him well, and let him do the same in turn, for Blessed Elua asks no more of us."
"I will," he said gravely, looking only a little startled. "I do. Lady Phaedra, Demetrios bids me ask you, are there some words you would have the courier commit to heart? I do not think the Serenissimans will dare blockade and search a Kritian ship, but if they do, 'twere best your message was engraved in memory, lest it be necessary to destroy your letter."
It was well-thought of him; I paused a moment to gather myself. "Yes. Bid him memorize this: Benedicte is a traitor, he has taken Melisande to wife. They plan to kill the Queen. Percy de Somerville is in league with them. Tell Barquiel that by the burning river, I adjure him to hold the City against them all."
He repeated it several times, until I was sure he had it letter-perfect; he was a quick study. When he had done, he took my hands in his own. "The message will be delivered, Lady Phaedra. The Kindred of Minos do not swear lightly, and that ship will sail with the Kore's blessing on it; Mother Dia herself will see it brought safe to harbor. Word has come from the Temenos only this hour past." He Sullied Slightly at my expression. "There are things the Kore knows untold, and of those, we do not ask."
"Pray you give her my thanks," I whispered.
Timanthes nodded. "I shall." Still holding my hands, he hesitated, searching for words and gazing past me. "There are ... other rumors, that have come from the Temenos," he said slowly. "Servants will talk, where priests and priestesses hold their tongues, although surely this too is a thing the Kore permits. But.. . this thing they name you, lypiphera; they speak it with awe and hope, they who serve."
A shiver ran the length of my spine, as though a great wing had brushed me unseen. "It is not always an ill thing, to know pain," I said, meeting his eyes as his gaze returned to my face. "To remember. I have been a slave, Timanthes. It is a pain I remember. And it is poorly done, to treat humans as chattel."
He looked at me for a long time without speaking, and then looked away. "Others have argued as much; but Kriti is ancient, and we are ancient in our ways. Still, ways change, and there are new things born under the sun. You are one such, you children of Elua. I will think on what you have said, and speak of it to Demetrios."
"Thank you." Pressing his hands, I gave him a kiss of farewell. "Tell the Archon I am grateful for his aid, and keep you well." I stepped back, smiling. "Next time, I will come at a more auspicious time, I promise."
At that he laughed, and shook his head, and we parted on a note of cheer. It was naught but bravado on my part, but so will warriors make jest on the battlefield, and having said a thing, be heartened by it. So it was that I half-believed my own words and found my spirits rising as I left the Palace of Phaistos, escorted by a squadron of the Archon's guards through the city to Kommos Harbor. Though I was headed once more into certain danger, the sun shone brightly overhead, the glances of the guards and the folk in the streets were filled with covert admiration, and I left behind me at last a thing well-done.
If the Kritian ship could not win through to Marsilikos, 'twas out of my hands, whether I was aboard it or no. And if it did-well, Roxanne de Mereliot would heed my words, that much I trusted. I had not told the Archon of my past, beyond those events in La Serenissima which pertained to the situation, but the Lady of Marsilikos surely knew I of all people would send no false warning. As for Barquiel L'Envers, he would honor the password of his House or not; he did not love me so well that it would help to plead the cause in person. In truth, if the letters arrived safely, I thought, I could do no more if I were there myself.
The harbor was crowded and busy, for trade was urgent in these last fair weeks of autumn. My escort surrounded me, forcing a path along the wharf until we came to Kazan's ship. Sharp-eyed Oltukh spotted me first and gave a cry of welcome, and all of them echoed greetings, jostling for a place at the rail to aid me aboard the ship; a warm welcome, from the superstitious pirates who had once shunned me as a fearful spirit. Glaukos, who had never been aught but kind, folded me in a great embrace.
Kazan watched it all with a look of irony. "You have become a luck-piece, eh?" he said to me. "It is a thing I never dreamed, to go home to Epidauro. If you are ready, we sail, we."
The wind was blowing fresh and steady, the sea beyond the harbor dancing with white-crested ripples; a brisk sea, but not treacherous, the kind of challenge Illyrian sailors dearly love. I felt the wind tug at my hair and smiled.
"I am ready, my lord pirate. Let's sail."
SIXTY-FIVE
It was, for once, an uneventful sea journey. Although the nights were cool, the winds and the weather held fair. The repairs made to the ship in the Temenos served admirably, and it was wholly seaworthy. Kazan had made good use of his time in Phaistos and our stores were replenished; moreover, he had bartered for charts of the Hellene waters, enabling him to plot a swift course homeward.
We crossed first a vast expanse of open sea, the steep mountains of Kriti dwindling quickly to a speck behind us.
From thence it was a mere day's sail to reach sight of the Hellene mainland. Mindful of our terrifying, storm-born flight southward, Kazan was careful to keep always within sight of the coast, which lay off our starboard bow.
Although our progress was steady, it was a slow business, working our way up the coast. My euphoria at the sending of the Kritian courier had faded, and my thoughts turned once more to La Serenissima, rendering me fretful and overly conscious of the passing of time. I spent fruitless hours guessing at the course of Ysandre's progressus, and I daresay strained even Glaukos' patience quizzing him on the length of Caerdicci roadways. He knew them well enough, having been a merchant's clerk during his slave days, but he could guess no better than I how swiftly a progressus regalis would travel, nor how long the D'Angeline monarch would linger in any given city.
Of a surety, though, we were well into autumn, and Ysandre's entourage would turn for home before ,the season's end. I slept poorly at night and took to wandering the decks, wrapped in my woolen mantle, the Kore's gift. The sailors on watch seemed glad enough of my company, and taught me Illyrian songs and jests, showing me, too, such games as they played to pass the time. I learned to throw dice on Kazan's ship and became a passing fair hand at it, for it requires a certain deftness of wrist, not unlike some of Naamah's arts.
As for those, Kazan Atrabiades never laid a hand upon me; and in truth, I am not sure what I would have done if he had. It was due in part to shipboard discipline, for Kazan was one of those leaders who would do without whatsoever his men did-and too, there was little privacy on a ship of that size. Indeed, I was acutely reminded of this each time it was necessary to relieve myself, which, I may add, is no easy chore on a ship lacking a privy. I had cause then to be grateful for Illyrian modesty.
But in greater part, Kazan's forbearance was due to what he had undergone in the thetalos, for he spoke candidly of it to me on the first day aboard the ship.
"What we had between us, you and I; know that I do not look for that again, to have you in that way." He shook his head, tear-shaped pearl eardrops glimmering in the dim light of the cabin. I had learned since first we met that Illyrian sailors believe they enhance vision; even Kazan was superstitious enough to believe it. "It is a thing I saw, in the thetalos, I. A guest, I named you, for although I lost my birthright, I had pride, I, in what I made of Dobrek, yes." He laughed. 'To shun the title of lord, and to live as one, eh? And a pirate, too, as it pleased me. I made you a bargain, you, that was no bargain. I knew you could not say no. If I had not, maybe things would have been different, eh? If we had trusted to speak truth, we, the Serenissimans would not have tricked us. So." He shrugged. "Now, I do not ask, I."
"Thank you, my lord Kazan." I smiled. "It is a lordly gesture, truly."
"Maybe I will be that again, eh? Lord Atrabiades." Kazan glanced unerringly through the cabin walls toward the north, homeward, undisguised yearning on his face. "Whatever happens, it is all worthwhile, to set foot in Epidauro." Another thought crossed his mind and he looked back at me with narrowed eyes. "Did you go with him, you?"
"Who?" I was genuinely unsure whom he meant.
"That..." He made to spit, then thought better of it. "That Demetrios, that Archon, with his oils and curls and his fancy-boy."
I raised my brows. "It is no concern of yours, my lord, if I did."
"Well." Kazan grinned, unabashed. "I said I would not ask, eh; I did not say I would not think about it, I!"
At that, I rolled my eyes and gave him no answer; he left the cabin laughing, well-pleased with himself. It is a thing I have noted, that men will compete with one another even when there is no prize to be gained. Mayhap women are no better, on the whole, but we are more subtle about it, and quicker to reckon the stakes.
And quicker to play men for fools.
I could not but think of Melisande, then, and in some part of me, shake my head in admiration. She had played us all for fools, men and women alike. The outrageous brilliance of her ploy fair dazzled the mind. To hide in plain sight, in the very place she dared us seek her-Elua, what nerve! Even I, who knew what she was capable of, had never dreamed such a thing.
Tell me, do you believe I would make so poor a sovereign?