Kushiel’s Dart

I translated for Drustan, adding somewhat about Cassiline vows. The Cruarch looked thoughtful and rubbed his misformed foot unselfconsciously, working at the cramped ligaments. Then he said, "You have sworn no vow to the Cullach Gorrym. Our lives we risked to regain Alba, Do not demean my sister’s death in taking it from her."

Joscelin started at his words, when I spoke them. I swear, the arrogance of Cassilines, even outcasts-especially outcasts-is beyond my compass. It dawned on him though, slow and gradual, that Drustan was telling him he was overstepping the bounds of his responsibility. And even more slowly, that it might be true. Having said his piece, Drustan merely continued to look evenly at Joscelin, holding out his hand, blue-whorled and strong.

"Brother," Joscelin said in Caerdicci, and clasped Drustan’s hand. "If you will have me."

No need to translate that; Drustan understood and grinned, standing and pulling Joscelin with him, embracing him.

"There you are!" A woman’s voice ran out in Eiran; I looked up to see Grainne, Eamonn a step behind her. Not a cut on them, either one. It must be true that they fought like tigers. I didn’t doubt it. "Ah, little sister," Grainne said sorrowing, gazing at Moiread. Plucking a jeweled dagger from her kirtle, she seized a lock of her own red-gold hair, cutting it. Approaching the bier, she laid it carefully beneath Moiread’s folded hands. "We avenged you, little sister, do not doubt it, a hundred times over."

Eamonn followed suit, his hair paler than his twin’s, still streaked with traces of lime. He touched Moiread’s cold hands gently. "Be at peace with it, little sister. We will sing of your valor."

"Folk need to see you," Grainne said to Drustan in her direct way, eyes on a level with his. "To share your grief, to share the victory. They followed the Cullach Gorrym and fought well for you this day."

Drustan nodded. "I will come."

"And you." Grainne looked at me, still kneeling, and smiled. "You come as the Swan’s emissary, you ask the Cullach Gorrym to follow you. They need to see."

"I’m coming," I said, and stood, small beside the Twins. Joscelin gave his smooth Cassiline bow, not quite meeting my eyes. I glanced at Hyacinthe. Our eyes met in a small silence, the old familiarity and the new.

"I will stay," he said softly. "Let the dreamers and the seers keep watch. It is what we do."

Chapter Seventy-Four

The next day we marched into Bryn Gorrydum.

It was a small city, which surprised me; I recognized the underpinnings of Tiberian stonework. We intersected with a mighty river and marched along its banks, toward a bay, for the city lay on the eastern shore of Alba. Commonfolk turned out and cheered. Maelcon had not been loved. When we reached the fortress proper, we found the gates open and the door lowered, the garrison turned out to surrender arms.

They had heard. And they gave us Foclaidha.

Maelcon’s mother.

Later we learned that it was not only the defeat of Maelcon’s forces that put the fear of the Cullach Gorrym into the followers of the Red Bull, but the numbers of commonfolk, especially within the fortress itself, servants who had escaped the slaughter of Maelcon’s betrayal, whose black eyes gleamed to hear the news of the Cruarch’s return.

Discretion is the greater part of valor; the Tarbh Cro surrendered.

So it was that Drustan mab Necthana took his throne.

Down came the standard of the Red Bull; the Black Boar flew once more from the peaks of Bryn Gorrydum. The Cruarch’s sister, Moiread, was buried in state. The head of Maelcon the Usurper was nailed above the gates of Bryn Gorrydum. Drustan had not spoken in jest.

We do not call them barbarians entirely without reason.

Seated on the throne, he heard Foclaidha’s petition.

As a guest of honor, I was privileged to attend; a privilege I’d gladly have foregone. I stood, watching. It seemed a thousand years ago that I had stood in the Hall of Audience where Lyonette de Trevalion stood trial, Alcuin and I straining to catch a glimpse of the proceedings. Now I stood at the left hand of the throne of Alba, my Cassiline companion attendant, struggling to keep my features expressionless as I represented the Queen of Terre d’Ange. If I had felt a fraud bestowing knighthood on Quintilius Rousse’s men, it was nothing to this.

I could not help but think, if Ysandre de la Courcel knew we would succeed thus far, she would never have chosen to send me. A whore’s unwanted get, I remembered, the Dowayne’s voice echoing in my memory.

But send me she had, and if I was a whore’s unwanted get, I was Anafiel Delaunay’s chosen pupil too, and he had deemed me worthy of his name, when my own parents sold my right to carry theirs. And this woman who stood before Drustan’s throne, tall and unrepentant, had caused not only the bloodshed to which I’d born witness yesterday and that which had stained these halls, but the deaths I’d witnessed decreed that other day, when I stood on tiptoe in the Hall of Audience.