Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [327]
And then it was over, and we were still aboard the ship. The moment had passed, the summoning failed. On the shore, Hyacinthe was doubled and panting, each breath wracked with pain. "Not... so ... easy . . ." he said, forcing out the words, straightening with an effort.
In the prow of the ship, Sibeal wept for the first time.
So be it.
"I'm sorry," I said to Eleazar ben Enokh. "It would have been nice if it had worked." I turned to Imriel. "Remember what I promised," I said. "I would not leave if I didn't believe I'd be back."
He had his mother's eyes. Imri nodded, gravely, understanding, even as Joscelin understood too, already in motion, moving to intercept me, crying, "Phèdre, no!"
Placing one hand on the railing, I vaulted over it, my skirts trailing. Even as I leapt, I was aware of Joscelin reaching for me, trying to grasp the merest fold of fabric and halt my momentum.
Too late.
I jumped.
NINETY-SIX
A MIGHTY gust of wind caught and held me.
I hung suspended in midair, buffeted by gale forces, my hair lashing like a nest of angry adders, skirts snapping and whipping, my watering eyes slitted against the pressure as the winds tore the very breath from my lips.
Behind me, I heard above the roaring wind faint shouts of alarm, the ship creaking, ropes singing taut as the sails flapped and bellied in the fallout from the raging winds that held me. Below me stood Hyacinthe, his arms outspread. The terrible, deadly power of the Master of the Straits suffused his features, and there was nothing in him I could speak to.
Like a great fist, the knotted winds began carrying me back toward the ship.
"Idiot!" I shouted, the word lost in the winds. Master of the Straits or no, I'd spent the last two years with Hyacinthe's voice haunting my dreams. "Put me down! I have the key! Give me the chance to use it!"
Doubt surfaced in those inhuman eyes. Somehow, in the roaring gale of his own elemental power, he'd heard my shouts. "You're certain of it?"
The words came from all around me, as if the wind itself had spoken. I laughed. How many times had I asked Imriel that very thing? And now the question came back to me. "Yes," I said in the center of my personal whirlwind, trusting Hyacinthe to hear. "I'm sure."
His hands and lips moved and the winds ceased.
I dropped like a stone onto the barren promontory and caught myself on hands and knees, jarred by the impact.
"TSINGANO!”
Joscelin's voice was the first thing I heard when the winds stopped, shouting with fury. I turned my head to see him clambering over the railing, preparing to make the leap even as hands grappled at him, trying to hold him back. The gap had grown wider, the ship blown several yards from shore.
"Joscelin, no!" I cried, getting to my feet. He stared at me, eyes wild and desperate, his fair hair wind-lashed. "Don't do it," I pleaded. "I was the only one who needed to come ashore. Only me. And if I'm wrong . . . there's no need to put the rest at risk."
"You knew." His knuckles were white on the railing, his face taut. "You planned it all along."
"I thought it might come to it," I said softly. "No more."
"Joscelin. Joscelin!" It was Imriel, catching his sleeve, who got Joscelin's attention. "Don't," he said, his voice cracking with fear. "Please don't. Not both of you. You promised."
It was a tense moment. Quintilius Rousse watched with glowering concern, the others with a mix of fear and interest. Ti-Philippe and Hugues stood close at hand, prepared to wrestle Joscelin over the railing if need be. I wouldn't have given much for their chances, if he'd set his mind to it, but Imriel's plea had reached him. Joscelin sighed, defeated, sagging against the railing. "Then do it," he murmured, "and be done with it."
Only then did I fully realize that I