Kushiel’s Dart

I think Drustan understood, for he answered before the words were out of my mouth. "And what happens to your Hyacinthe?" he asked me, turning around, holding up one hand, light flashing on the gold signet. "If I do not wed Ysandre," his face was strained, "if I die, if Ysandre dies, and the curse remains unbroken, what happens to him? And how do we get home, if the Lord of the Seas remains chained to his rock, wroth with our failure? What song will sing us home, Phèdre nó Delaunay?"

My eyes burned with tears; I had brought him here. "I don’t know," I whispered. "My lord, I am so sorry."

"The fault is not yours." His deep eyes dwelled on mine. "You followed your Queen’s command; my destiny is my own, and you cannot change it. But I must give my people the choice. It is my destiny, but it is not their war. If they are to die, they must have the manner of choosing, to take their chance against wave or sword."

I nodded, scarce seeing him. Drustan called sharply to Eamonn and Grainne, and they left, taking their guard with them. I related his words to the others.

"It’s fair," Ghislain said softly, tracing Troyes-le-Mont on the map, head low. "Whatever you told them, they couldn’t have understood the odds. None of us did." He looked up then, his face grim. "But if you go, I’m going with you. My father’s in there." He gave Joscelin a hard look. "And if I’m not mistaken, so is yours, Cassiline."

We spoke of it that night.

The stars were clear and bright in the vast black sky, familiar D’Angeline stars. There is no quiet place in a war-camp, but I found Joscelin a little distance away from our tents, seated beneath an elm and gazing at the camp. There was no celebratory atmosphere, as there had been after the defeat of Maelcon’s army; this had been a skirmish, no more, a small victory in a hopeless war. The Azzallese cleaned their arms and wondered grimly what was next. There were fires burning wherever Drustan’s army was encamped, discussion going long into the night.

"Did you know?" I asked Joscelin, sitting beside him.

He shook his head. "I wasn’t sure. I knew it was possible. I didn’t see our banner, on the isle, but there were so many."

"I’m sorry," I said softly.

"Don’t be." His voice was rough. "House Verreuil has always served. Did you know, my father fought in the Battle of Three Princes? That’s when he won the title Chevalier." One corner of his mouth quirked. "You know, the one you bestowed on Rousse’s men."

"I’ve no right to grant lands, though."

"No." He stared at the stars. "Verreuil’s a small estate, but it’s been in the family for six hundred years. Shemhazai’s line, you know. We kept up the library, sent one son a generation to the Cassiline Brotherhood, and served the throne of Terre d’Ange as need required."

"Is it just your father?" I asked in a low voice.

Joscelin shook his head again. "No," he said quietly. "Luc would have gone with him."

"Luc?"

"My older brother." He sighed, resting his chin on his knees. "I’ve a younger, too, but they’d have made Mahieu stay. Mother’s comfort, the youngest; Father’s strength, the eldest. It’s the one born in the middle goes to Cassiel. So they say, in Siovale. My sisters used to tease. Three of those, too, you know."

And eleven years since he’d seen any of them; I remembered that, well. It must be twelve by now. Better than half my life, and near as much for Joscelin. I’d come to think of him as nigh as rootless as myself, but it wasn’t true.

I wanted to say something, but I’d no words. I took his arm instead, and he looked ruefully at me.

"I thought I’d have a chance to see them," he said. "Before…well, before the end. At twenty-five, they let us visit home, in the Brotherhood, if we’ve served well…" He shivered. "Or…they would have. I’m anathema, now. Does my family know, do you think? Or do they know only that I’m a condemned murderer, convicted of killing Anafiel Delaunay?"

"No one who knew you would believe it, Joscelin."

"What do they know?" There was a hard note in his tone. "I was ten years old, Phèdre! How do they know what I became?" He turned his forearms, starlight glinting on his steel vambraces. "I hardly even know myself, anymore," he whispered. "Ah, Elua! Did we come all this way for nothing more than this?"

"I don’t know," I murmured, gazing past the campfires, across the darkened land. I had known the number of the Skaldi, had seen them, but even so…thirty thousand. Somewhere out there in the darkness, they camped around a fortress and made ready to rend the very fabric of all I held dear.

Joscelin drew a long breath, gathering himself. "Whatever may come in the morning, we’ll make ready to ride to Trevalion. It’s well-garrisoned and Ghislain’s promised his hospitality. Rousse will spare a guard for you, too. His men wouldn’t let him do aught else."

I looked at him and said nothing.

"No." His jaw set stubbornly; even by starlight, I could see the white lines forming alongside his nose. "Oh, no. Don’t even think it."

"They came at my word."