Kushiel's Avatar (22 page)

It was as simple as that.

And Mago and Harnapos had travelled to northern Aragonia, plying on the trade-rights Carthage enjoyed, had evaded the sparse border patrols and gone into the mountains with their map and their plan, crossing into Siovale, picking their prey with cunning. Goat-herds, cowherds, shepherd’s children, picking those who would not be missed, those whose loss would be grieved in silence, abducting them in stealth-they used a leathern baton, Harnapos gasped, weighted with lead shot, to strike their victims at the base of the skull. Afterward, quick flight and a careful erasing of tracks, tactics learned from the Euskerri, and tincture of opium to keep the children compliant.

It was here that I interrupted, putting my questions, which Nicola translated, to the Count’s enforcer. Where in Siovale? How many children? Where had they been taken? There was a pause, as one of Fernan’s men retrieved the map. Mago pointed with a trembling finger, beads of sweat glistening on his face. Here, here and here. Yes, three children, there had been a third. A boy, yes, a flawless child, fierce as a wildcat, with black hair and eyes of blue, the prize of the lot.

And where was the boy now?

Neither wanted to answer, although I think they knew, then, that death was a foregone conclusion. I was unfamiliar with the laws of Aragonia, but I knew to read faces and I saw only death writ in the expressions of Count Fernan’s men, and in the grave countenance of Nicola, who was wife to a King’s Consul. Still, hope is tenacious, and men will cling to it against overwhelming odds. In the corner, Harnapos whimpered, rattling his chains. Mago slumped on the stool, sweat-streaked and panting, raising his head to meet my eyes.

He was a man, only a man, thoughtlessly cruel and greedy, reduced by his folly to abject pain, his ruined feet useless as lumps of tallow. Caught in the net of Kushiel’s justice, he had walked into it of his own accord. And yet I had been in such a place, once, a terrible prison of stone, where humanity was stripped away by madness. Despite it all, despite his guilt, there was a spark of kinship between us.

One victim knows another.

What will you give me, his desperate gaze begged me, for the answers you seek? He did not speak my tongue, but he knew; he had heard my voice ask the questions.

I felt the presence of Kushiel, bronze wings buffeting-the Punisher of God, wielder of the rod and flail, despised, irresistible; ah, Elua! It was a storm in my head. Through the blood-haze that veiled my eyes, I saw the Count’s enforcer nod, the men take Mago’s arms, the torch lowered to his feet.

“Wait!” The word emerged harsh; I had spoken in Caerdicci unthinking. The Count’s men knew it, and paused. “A clean death,” I said, drawing a racking breath. “A clean death, if he answers it honestly.”

It was all I had to give, and at that, not mine to offer. The Count’s enforcer looked at Nicola. To her credit, she never paused, lifting her chin imperiously, addressing him in Aragonian. “The Comtesse of Montrève, favored of her majesty Ysandre de la Courcel, the Queen of Terre d’Ange, has spoken. The King’s Consul of the House of Aragon concurs. Let it be so.”

Mago exhaled, a long shuddering breath; the self-same breath, it seemed to me, that I had drawn. His hands, pinned by the Count’s men, clenched and unclenched. Only a man, after all. I had no knowledge of his life, his history, the exigencies of a harsh lot that had driven him, had driven Harnapos, to commit such a vile act. His head fell forward, accepting the bargain. In a broken whisper, he told the rest of his tale.

Folly, nothing but folly. Although the Tsingani had refused them, they had procured a wagon in the end, smuggling the sedated children into Amílcar beneath the careless eyes of the Harbor Watch, who gave a cursory probe into the goods they carried. Thence to port, and the meeting ordained-the rest was but Menekhetan treachery, smooth-tongued Fadil Chouma and a ship bound for Iskandria claiming their agreement had been for autumn, not spring. He would arrange for buyers on the other end, yes, but it was a matter of some delicacy, they must understand. D’Angeline blood will out, and Terre d’Ange notoriously ferocious in its persecution of slavers, of course … Menekhet is far, but Khebbel-im-Akkad holds much sway, and the Khalif s son wed to the Queen’s own kinswoman … perhaps he might take the one, yes, that one, peerless, that face … aiyee! And fierce, too, stronger than he looks, but Fadil Chouma had a buyer in mind; one, only one, mind, seeking somewhat special… another draught of opium, perhaps? Yes, a buyer in mind, and one fit to tame a mountain hellion, no, no names …

So much did I gather, piecing Mago’s story together, leaving me sick with despair. “And you’ve no idea the buyer’s name? The buyer in Iskandria?”

He didn’t, nor did Harnapos. The Count’s enforcer made sure of it, applying the flames over my protest. As much as they screamed and writhed, they knew no more; only that the Menekhetan had paid the purchase-price for the boy, less than they had agreed, promising to return in the fall for the other two if this deal went as planned, and meanwhile Mago and Harnapos left to care for a steadily weakening pair of D’Angeline children, keeping them hidden, keeping them silent, using the dwindling reserves of their money to buy lodgings, food, the opium that kept them sedated. No, they swore, both of them in extremis, they had left the children unmolested and intact, they were not such fools as to damage valuable merchandise, nor had they beaten them, no, not unduly, only enough to make them mind …

“Enough.” I pressed my fingers to my aching temples. “It is enough. Let them give what information they may regarding Fadil Chouma and the arrangements for his return. I have no more questions.”

Nicola spoke to the Count’s enforcer, and I made no effort to follow the conversation. Kushiel’s presence had faded, and I felt hollow, tired to the bone and ill with what I had seen. “It will be done,” Nicola said to me when she had finished. Her voice was steady, lending me strength. “Fernan’s clerk will see that you receive a full transcription of the account.”

“Thank you,” I murmured. “And the Carthaginians?”

“Execution at dawn. It will be public,” she said, “but swift.”

I nodded, and looked one last time at the men in the cell. “Then let us go.”

Outside, evening sunlight gilded the Plaza del Rey. The fading blue sky seemed a vast openness, the salt tang of the harbor mingling with the fresh cool breeze from the north. Nicola shuddered, filling her lungs with clean air. “Elua! I’ll not need to see the likes of that again soon.”

“No,” I said. “Nor I.”

“It’s a
long
way from playing with silken ropes and deerskin floggers,” she mused. An involuntary shiver ran over my skin and I closed my eyes briefly, opening them to find Nicola regarding me. “Even after that, Phèdre?” she asked simply.

“Always.” I gritted my teeth. “Always.”

“Ah.” For a moment, she continued to look at me, our escort of Lord Ramiro’s men waiting at a polite distance. “Somehow, I understand a little better now why you chose to fix your heart on that damned Cassiline.”

Unexpectedly, it made me smile. “It wasn’t a question of choice.”

“Nor for him, I suppose. Well, credit it to the wisdom of Blessed Elua.” Nicola gathered herself with a shake. “Come on. I’ve need of a bath and a drink, and mayhap not in that order.”

In the private dining-hall of the King’s Consul, we found our companions well ahead of us. The remnants of an early meal were scattered across the table and the wine had flowed freely; for once, even Joscelin had drunk enough for it to show.

“I’m sorry,” he said unevenly, greeting me with an embrace. There was a tension in his body that the wine had not dispelled. “Phèdre, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t go with you, I couldn’t bear to watch. I knew you were safe enough. I’d have gone, otherwise.”

“I know.” I found a clean glass and a flagon of brandy, and downed a measure, welcoming the burning heat of it in my belly. “It wasn’t something you needed to see.”

“No.” His expression twisted, nostrils flaring. “But I was near angry enough to want to. And it frightened me. What did you learn? What have they done with Imriel?”

“Sold him.” I poured another glass and curled myself into a corner of a dining-couch, letting weariness claim me. “Sold him to a Menekhetan slaver, bound for a buyer in Iskandria. How are the children?”

Joscelin sat down beside me, head in his hands. “Menekhet,” he murmured. “Blessed Elua. They’re sleeping,” he added belatedly, nodding in the vague direction of the guest quarters. “Well enough, under the circumstances. Ramiro’s chirurgeon examined them, and said they’ve taken no serious harm. Fear mostly, and lack of proper food and light. Opium sickness is the worst of it. It will be some days before they’re fit to travel. Weeks, mayhap.”

“Weeks.” I watched Nicola, Ramiro and Luc in conversation. “We can’t wait weeks. If we book passage tomorrow, we can be in Iskandria.

“No.” Joscelin lifted his head and stared at me. “Phèdre, are you mad? This has gone far enough. We found the trail here in Amílcar because of Nicola and Lord Ramiro’s help. How far do you think we’d get in Iskandria, the two of us, alone? Neither of us even speak the language, and we’ve scarcely funds enough for passage.” He shook his head. “No. Enough. We’re going home to the City, and making a report to Ysandre. She’s the Queen, Phèdre. If she wants to pursue it, she has resources at her disposal.”

“I could find a factor in Iskandria willing to loan money-”

“No!” Across the room, Luc startled at Joscelin’s raised voice. Joscelin sighed. “Name of Elua, you’re like a bloodhound on the scent. Phèdre, listen to me. Luc’s agreed to stay until the children are strong enough to travel, and Ramiro’s offered his hospitality. Luc and the men of Verreuil will see the children restored. If this Menekhetan’s coming back, they’ll catch him here in Amílcar. You and I are catching a ship to Marsilikos, and going home.”

“Fine.” I closed my eyes, the warming heat of the brandy spreading lassitude throughout my limbs. I hadn’t slept since the night before we arrived in Amílcar. He was right, of course; right, because he was Joscelin, and sensible when it came to risking my safety, and right for reasons both of us, in our exhaustion, had forgotten. “And then what?”

“And then we make our report to Ysandre, and it is in her hands,” he said grimly.

“And afterward?” I opened my eyes to look at him. “I promised to return to La Serenissima, Joscelin, and report as much to Melisande. Do you remember what she promised in turn?”

He stared at me a moment, then began to laugh, the soft, humorless laugh of a man defeated by irony. “A guide,” he said, pouring a tumbler of brandy and drinking it at a gulp. “The name of a man in Iskandria, who swears he can lead us to Shaloman’s people in the south of Jebe-Barkal.”

Hyacinthe.

Aware of the presence of an unseen pattern closing upon me, I nodded. “Even so.”

Twenty-Three

NICOLA’S CHEEK, soft and perfumed, lingered against mine as we embraced in farewell. “Take care of yourself, Phèdre nó Delaunay,” she murmured. “I would miss you if anything happened.”

“I will.” I smiled at her when she released me. “Come to the City, when this is all over. How can I believe you’d miss me, if I never see you?”

“Naamah’s Servant, still.” She laughed. “I come when I can, and you know it. ’Twas easier before Ramiro’s appointment. I may have lacked money, but I had time in abundance. You have my letter for Ysandre?”

“Yes.” I patted one of our bulging packs.

“Good.” Her expression turned sober. “I promise you, the Harbor Watch stands on full alert. The Menekhetan will be in our hands before his foot touches shore, and a courier en route within the hour.”

“Thank you,” I said. “For everything. You may be sure, I will advise that Ysandre commend Ramiro to the House of Aragon for his aid as King’s Consul.”

“It wouldn’t do any harm.” Nicola watched Luc Verreuil enter the reception hall, a child holding either hand. “But it’s not necessary, either.” She turned back to me. “I hope you find him.”

I opened my mouth to demur and didn’t, saying instead, “Elua willing, he’ll be found.”

She smiled tenderly, lifting one hand to caress my face, the garnet signet winking at her wrist. “By the burning river, my dear. Keep it in mind, whatever your quest. It may come in handy again, one never knows.”

“I will,” I promised.

I said my farewells in turn to Lord Ramiro and Count Fernan, dourly proud of his men’s performance, and then went with Joscelin to bid farewell to his brother and our foundlings, two very different children from those we had found only two days past. Neither was well-one could see the opium sickness in their pallor and trembling-but the worst of the fear had abated, and they stood without cringing or clinging.

“Agnette,” Luc said gently, “Sebastien. Say good-bye to the Lady Phèdre and my brother Joscelin, who came all the way from the City of Elua to find you.”

They did, in whispering voices.

“You’ll be all right?” Joscelin asked his brother.

Luc nodded. “Donal’s carrying word to Verreuil; he’ll bring a party back to meet us, and Lord Ramiro will send an escort as far as the Pass. Father will alert the Écots, and they’ll track down the boy Sebastien’s family as well. From what we can tell, they tend sheep near La Grange. Mahieu will find them, like as not.” He grinned. “Don’t worry, little brother. It’s been a right adventure, travelling at your side, and for once, I get to come home the hero. Yvonne’s like to box my ears for it.”

The boy Sebastien giggled at his words, and I relaxed a little at the sound. They would survive, these children; Blessed Elua willing. No child should have to endure the terror through which they’d gone, but they were young and resilient, and they had a chance to heal.

“Be well,” I said to Luc, “and be careful. You’ll send word as soon as you’re home?”

“I will.” He raised my hands to his lips and kissed them. “And I will speak naught but good of the Tsingani from this day forward, I swear it, my lady.”

So did we bid farewell to friends, to family, to Amílcar.