Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [146]
He nodded. "As you wish."
We made good time to Marsilikos, arriving a day and a half before the Tiberian merchant ship was due to depart. Gilot and I made our way to the quais, booking our passage with the ship's captain. He was an affable Tiberian fellow, glad to have our company and our gold, happy to recommend an inn where we might abide for a night.
Gilot was disgruntled.
"Surely the Lady of Marsilikos would receive you!" he complained, fussing at the threadbare blankets that covered his pallet. "My Lady Phèdre counts her as a friend. Do you mean to live as a peasant, Imri?"
I reclined on my own pallet, thin and lumpy, folding my arms beneath my head. Our rented room had one small window. Through it, I could glimpse the Dome of the Lady high atop its hill, overlooking the harbor, gilded and glorious, impervious to the knowledge of our presence. I smiled to myself.
"Mayhap," I said to Gilot. "Or near enough as makes no difference."
He scowled at me. "Why?"
I closed my eyes. "Because that's how I was raised, Gilot. As a peasant. As an orphan taken in by Brother Selbert of the Sanctuary of Elua in Landras, taught to herd goats for a living. And I wonder, betimes, who that boy might have grown up to be." I opened my eyes. "Does that trouble you?"
"No." His scowl deepened. "I'm the fourth son of a poor manor. It's why I sought service in her ladyship's household; that, and her reputation. But why hold yourself cheap? You don't need to compromise, Imri."
I sighed. "Let me do this in my own way, Gilot. If you don't like it, you needn't come."
He snorted. "Oh, I'm coming! Make no mistake. If you want to be the only peasant in Tiberium with a bodyguard, so be it."
I grinned at him. "Well, mayhap not a peasant, exactly."
Our ship sailed on the morrow. We presented ourselves at the quai. Our mounts and pack-horses were ushered belowdecks, our belongings stowed. I made my way to the prow of the ship, cheering alongside the sailors as we hoisted anchor. The rowers bent to their oars and stroked. The ship turned slowly in the harbor of Marsilikos, green-blue waves breaking along her prow. Its sails began to fill and belly, and we picked up speed as we went.
Gilot shivered. "I've never left Terre d'Ange."
We passed Eisheth's Isle, narrow and barren. A few fishermen watched us go. I touched Gilot's arm. "I know," I said. "It's all right. Believe me, I have gone farther than this. I promise you, all is well."
It was a good journey, though a strange one. Gilot retired to our tiny cabin, where he spent most of his time. It wasn't that he was seasick—not like Joscelin—but the sight of all that open water made him uneasy. For the most part, I stayed abovedeck. It all came back to me; how to stand, how to walk. I helped where I was able, and tried not to make a nuisance of myself otherwise. I leaned in the prow and watched the dolphins that toyed in our wake, leaping and smiling their enigmatic smiles.
I remembered Fadil Chouma pointing them out to me.
I remembered the fountain in Elua's Square.
But mostly, blessedly, I forgot. Aboard the ship, I was only Imriel, a paying passenger who was less trouble than not. I gazed out at the four quarters of the world, bounded only by water and more water, and felt giddy with freedom. In the wind's salt spray, I felt scoured clean of my own dark desires. I diced with sailors and scrambled in the rigging when they dared me. I perched, swaying, in the crow's nest athwart the mainmast, hollering at the sight of land.
It came too soon.
"Ostia!" one of my shipmates shouted, crowding into the narrow space beside me. He flung his arm out like a spear, pointing straight and true. "Ostia!"
I clambered down from the rigging, sobering. As we neared the lighthouse, Gilot emerged from belowdecks, staring at the shore. "So," he said. "That's where we're bound."
I clapped my hand on his shoulder. "It's a start," I said. " 'Tis the gateway to Tiberium."
It was a massive, bustling port. Once we disembarked, we had to wait for the horses and our gear to be unloaded.