Kushiel's Dart - Jacqueline Carey [273]
So I mulled over the problem, until it came together in my mind. All knowledge is worth having. "Hyacinthe," I said. "Mayhap he can help. He can speak the dromonde, and tell us where to land."
"You believe it?" Quintilius Rousse glanced at me sidelong, profound doubt in his blue gaze. "It's enough that we come in a single ship, I think. Even Delaunay wasn't so credible, lass, and he could ferret out truth in the strangest of places."
Resting my chin in my hands, I watched the waves pass. "I know. But my lord Admiral. . . when I was but thirteen, his mother spoke the dromonde for me, unbidden. While I was trying to get at the truth of Delaunay's history. She told me I would rue the day I learned it."
"And you did, I suppose," Rousse said gruffly, when I ventured no more.
"There were two days." It was hypnotic, watching the sliding waves, unchanging, never the same. "I learned half of it the day Melisande Shahrizai contracted me for the Longest Night, and used me to flush out your messenger, my lord, whose liege led d'Aiglemort's men to Delaunay. I learned that he had been beloved of Prince Rolande. And I learned the balance of it the day he was killed, and all of the household with him, including Alcuin, who was like a brother to me. That was the day I learned that he was oath-sworn to protect Ysandre de la Courcel, which Alcuin told us, dying. Yes, my lord, I rue those days."
Quintilius Rousse was silent for a moment, tending to the wheel. "Anyone could say as much," he said finally. " 'Tis dangerous, to chase after buried secrets."
"It is," I agreed. "But she spoke the dromonde twice. The second time, she said, 'Do not discount the Cullach Gorrym.' Do you know what that means, my lord?"
Rousse paused, then shook his head, ruddy locks fraying in the wind.
"Neither did she," I said. "It means the Black Boar, in Cruithne. And there is no reason, no reason at all, my lord, why she should have known those words, or linked them to me." I rose, stretching out my joints. "When we are in sight of the kingdom of Dalriada, then, will you let Hyacinthe speak?"
"Those were his mother's words." Quintilius Rousse's voice was rough, though I could see he believed, a little. No one could pass the Master of the Straits and not come to believe in things unseen. "Did the lad ever speak you true?"
"Not me," I answered truthfully. "He fears it, to speak for friends. But he spoke it for Melisande, once."
"What did he tell her?" The Admiral's hands lay slack on the wheel, caught up despite himself. All sailors love a good tale, I have learned. He looked at me with sharp curiosity.
"That which yields," I said, feeling a chill despite the mild wind and hugging my elbows, "is not always weak."
I walked away, then, close-wrapped in my velvet cloak, salt-stained now, a gift of the Duc de Morhban, feeling Rousse's sharp gaze still at my back. An easy enough prophecy, a skeptic might say; but not if one is that which yields. I made my way across the wooden decks, polished to a high gleam-Quintilius Rousse abided no idle hands on his ship-to find Hyacinthe trying his luck at fishing. He glanced up at me, boasting.
"Phedre, look! Three to one, I've caught." He dangled a string offish at me, bright silvery bodies jerking and twisting, drowning in dry air. "We had a wager, Remy and I," he added, nodding toward the sailor beside him, who looked more amused than not.
"Very nice." I inspected