The girls gave muted squeals of excitement as the mules trotted stolidly forward. Danele shushed them, her arms around them both. I sighed, quietly, and felt Joscelin do the same beside me.
We were three days with the Yeshuites.
There are those who do not hold that there is any innate goodness to mankind. To them I say, had you lived my life, you would not believe it. I have known the depths to which mortals are capable of descending, and I have seen the heights. I have seen how kindness and compassion may grow in the unlikeliest of places, as the mountain flower forces its way through the stern rock.
I had kindness from Taavi’s family.
They asked us no questions, only shared with us wholeheartedly what they had to give. I learned a little bit of their story; I wish I knew more. They came from one of the inner villages of Camlach, where their families had settled a generation ago, filling a need for village weavers and dyers. But fever came to the village, and the Yeshuites were blamed, for all that a courier had clearly brought it from the City of Elua. So it was that they fled, southward, the whole of their livelihood packed in that wagon.
It was a strange thing to me, to see a family entire. I’d never thought, before then-save at Perrinwolde-how such a thing formed no part of my life. I remembered my parents, vaguely; the road and the caravanserai, and after that, the Dowayne of Cereus House. For Joscelin, it was different. Until the age of ten, he’d been a part of a family, a loving household. He’d had brothers, and sisters. He knew how to play with children, to tease and tickle them.
And they adored him for it.
Taavi and Danele smiled, well content that they’d chosen aright in aiding us. Me, they regarded with a gentle pity, and spoke to with soft words.
Such kindness; such misunderstanding.
I grieved at what I was.
Some miles shy of the City of Elua, we parted ways. We had discussed it, the four adults, over the past night’s fires. They had no wish to enter the City, where it was rumoured that fever still raged; we had no choice.
"We would take you to the gates," Taavi said, worried. "It is not so far out of our way, I think, and you will be safe with us. Is it not so? No one will trouble with a poor weaver and his family."
"You’ve done enough, father," I said fondly; I understood, by then, that the title was of respect to an elder, for all that Taavi and Danele had but a handful of years on us. "We don’t know what welcome awaits us. Go to L’Arene, and prosper. You’ve done more than enough."
The girls-Maia and Rena, their names were, six and eight years of age-played in the background. Maia had Joscelin’s white wolf-pelt on her head and chased her younger sister, shrieking with laughter, while Rena ducked behind the placid pony and giggled. Danele watched them complacently. Such sounds of fearless innocence, rising up to the dusky sky. If Waldemar Selig had his way, the laughter of children, D’Angeline or Yeshuite, would no longer ring freely under these same emerging stars.
"Still, I would-"
"No." Joscelin said it gently, smiling, but with a firmness that said he would not be swayed. "We will ride with you to the crossroads, father, and the last miles we will walk. Not for love of Cassiel himself would I put your family in any further danger."
Taavi opened his mouth for a final protest, and Danele laid her hand on his arm. "Let be," she reprimanded him kindly. "It is their will, and for the best." He nodded, then, reluctantly. On an impulse, I withdrew Melisande’s diamond from around my neck and held it out to him. The diamond glittered in the firelight.
"Here," I said. "For all you have done. It will go a long way to enabling you to establish yourselves in L’Arene."
They looked at each other, then shook their heads, while the diamond hung glittering from my hand. "It is too much," Taavi said. "And we did not help you for gain." Danele, her fingers still laced around his arm, nodded agreement.
"But-" I protested.
"No." Taavi was firm. "Thank you, Phèdre, but no. It is too much."
"You’re stuck with that thing," Joscelin said wryly, looking past me to where Maia and Rena hugged our Skaldi pony, their chase forgotten. "But mayhap there is some small thing we may give you, father," he added, grinning.
So it was that we took our leave of them, with tears and blessings on both sides. Perched high in the driver’s seat, Taavi clucked to the mules, and they set off southward at a steady pace. Danele and the girls waved from the rear of the wagon, and the shaggy pony trailed behind on his lead, trotting gamely. He had been the most loyal and steadfast of companions, and though it grieved me to part with him, I was happy that he would be rewarded by such tender fondness.
Ahead of us, to the west, lay the white-walled City of Elua, my home. Joscelin blew out his breath, frosty in the chill morning air, and shouldered our packs. We’d not much to carry, having left the bulk of it with Taavi’s family. I kept my wolfskin cloak and Trygve’s dagger, while Joscelin had the pelt of the White Brethren stowed in a bag along with some foodstuffs Danele had provided and a pair of waterskins. These things were all we had by way of proof of our sojourn.
The ease that we’d found among the Yeshuites slipped away as we walked toward the City. It was months we’d been away. Who ruled from Elua’s throne? How deep-laid was the conspiracy that had felled Delaunay? Who was part of it, and who was not? I realized, with mounting anxiety, the pitfalls that awaited us. What had Alcuin said? Trust Rousse, Trevalion. Thelesis de Mornay. The Dauphine, and not the King.
The odds of Quintilius Rousse being in the City were slim; he would be wintering with his fleet. Trevalion…perhaps. But he would be quartered at the Palace, as likely would Thelesis de Mornay-the King’s Poet-and of course, Ysandre de la Courcel. And I remembered all too well what had happened when we tried to reach her at the Palace.
Blessed Elua, I prayed fervently, let Melisande Shahrizai be elsewhere.
Yet even if she were, I’d no idea who her allies were, the extent of her network. There was no way to approach the people Alcuin had named without running the gauntlet of the Palace, and no one else I dared trust.
Except Hyacinthe.
I shared my thoughts aloud with Joscelin. He heard me out and gave no answer.
"You don’t like it."
He walked steadily, eyes on the horizon. There was some bit of traffic on the road now, not much, as it was winter, but the occasional carriage passed, the occupants glancing curiously at us. Roadworn and disheveled, our attire a mix of rude woolens and fur pelts lashed with thongs or pinned with bronze, Joscelin’s Cassiline hilt protruding over his shoulder; no wonder they stared. It made me increasingly uneasy.
"There is no one else," Joscelin said finally, "that you can turn to? No patron, no friend of Delaunay’s?"
"Not without risk." A gust of wind blew, and I tugged my cloak reflexively about me. "We aren’t talking about a simple favor, Joscelin. Whomever we approach will hold our lives in their hands. I trust Hyacinthe with mine. No one else."
"The Prince of Travellers." He pronounced it with irony. "How much gold could he get for it, do you think?"
Without thinking, I struck him across the face with my open palm. We stopped on the road and stood staring at each other. "Tsingano or no," I said softly, "Hyacinthe has been a friend to me, when no one else was, and never asked a centime for it. When Baudoin de Trevalion was executed, it was Hyacinthe who gave me money to make an offering in his memory at the temples. Did you know that I was Melisande’s farewell gift to Prince Baudoin before she betrayed him?"
"No." Joscelin’s face was pale beneath the wind-burn, save for a ruddy patch where I’d slapped him. "I’m sorry."
"If you have a better idea," I said grimly, "then say it. But I’ll not hear you speak against Hyacinthe."