Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [245]
"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?
It is a dangerous thing, to admire one's enemy.
I forced down my hand, that had risen to clutch at my bare throat where her diamond used to lie, and thought instead of the terrible, blood-shot darkness within the cavern of the Temenos. There I had faced the trail of death that lay behind me, those who lived no more due to the folly of my choice. But the Kore had spoken true; it was the darkest truth the thetalos revealed, and not the whole of it. Betimes I had chosen poorly, yes; but it was Melisande who led me to the crossroads of the worst of those choices, and the blood-guilt of it rested as squarely on her shoulders as on mine.
No wonder the Unforgiven named themselves as they did. It was proud, doomed Isidore d'Aiglemort who led them to that crossroads, yes, but who led him? Melisande.
Ah, my lady, I thought, gazing beyond the cabin walls. You have made your choices, and it is I who count the cost and bear the pain of them. But it is in good part yours, this shadow I carry, and Blessed Elua willing, I will bring it home to you, from whence it came. And then we will see how you like it.
So I looked northward too, with as much yearning and a good deal more fear than Kazan Atrabiades, and league by league, we crawled up the coast of Hellas and into Illyrian waters, the sailors shouting and cheering when we passed the lamphouse off the isle of Kérkira, that marks the beginning of Illyria proper for all seafaring sojourners. And Elua help me, I cheered with them, as if I were Illyrian myself. We had become comrades-in-arms, Kazan and his men andI, and we had faced common enemies together; the Serenissimans, the kríavbhog, the storm, and even the terror of the thetalos.
On the third day after we entered Illyrian waters, we reached Epidauro.
I had seen it twice before; 'twas very nearly a familiar sight by now, the generous harbor encompassed by solid granite walls, fortified ward-towers looming at either side of the entrance. I do not know who first sighted the city, for this time, no one gave cry, and in time, we all saw it. In the harbor, one could make out a dozen or more ships; members of the Ban's armada with the red sails, fishing vessels and traders. No Serenissiman war-galleys. The day was fine and bright, a lively nip in the wind that drove warm-blooded types like Glaukos and myself to don our woolen outerwear, It ruffled the sea into wavelets, sunlight glinting from a thousand peaks.
And it chuffed loudly in the flapping canvas when Tormos, unbidden, gave the order as second-in-command to loose the sail. He remembered—we all remembered—far too