A wailing arose then and they mourned Hyacinthe, as if he were not standing alive before them. I saw the blood drain from his face, leaving him grey. It was Joscelin who held us together, then, shoving his daggers into their sheaths, gathering our things, herding us out of the camp of Manoj’s kumpania. On the outskirts of the Hippochamp, we met Neci’s folk.
"Are you still minded to make your name?" Joscelin asked Neci bluntly, speaking in plain D’Angeline.
The Tsingano glanced at us all, startled, then looked to his wife. She shrugged once, looked at the others, then nodded vigorously, beginning to summon the children.
Somewhere, in the background, the Shahrizai were concluding a deal, and I shivered as if with the ague.
"Good," Joscelin said in a hard tone. "Get your horses and your things. We’re riding west."
And so we did.
It is a remarkable thing, the speed with which a Tsingani company can become mobile. I daresay most armies could learn a thing or two about efficiency from them. Neci’s family had one wagon, a team to draw it, and five horses to trade. Only two were hunters; there was a broodmare and her foal, and a yearling besides. In a matter of minutes, Neci had concluded a deal for the mare and the younglings, trading for two more hunters and a rangy gelding of indeterminate ancestry. And in that time, Gisella and her sister had the wagon hitched and the family ready to move.
Enough time, however, for word to spread. By the time we set out, they knew Hyacinthe no longer existed in the Tsingan Kralis' eyes. I thought for a moment that Neci would back out of the deal, but then Joscelin paid him a deposit in gold as surety against the trade with Rousse, and greed and pride won out. They would take the risk.
We were four days riding with Neci’s family, following the Lusande west toward the harsh, stony hills of outlying Kusheth. The Lusande Valley is lush and rich in the center of the province, and we saw a fair number of folk as we traveled. The Tsingani traded with them, mending pots and horseshoes in exchange for wine and foodstuffs. Sometimes we saw nobles and their retinues, House Guards in gleaming Kusheline devices, but we had no fear of discovery. With Neci’s family, our disguise was complete, more than it would have been even with Manoj’s riders. Joscelin performed for small crowds more than once, growing confident in his Mendicant’s trade, while the children went among the spectators with tins, begging copper coins. I had a quiet word with Gisella to ensure that no purses were lifted; if we landed before the judiciary, our quest would be in vain.
It was a strange thing, to sojourn with an eloquent Cassiline and a quiet Tsingano. I spoke with Hyacinthe the first night, the others leaving us to it in privacy.
"You could still go back, you know," I said, sitting beside him. "When this is done. Manoj would take you back, I think. They like to forgive."
Hyacinthe shook his head. "No," he said softly. "He never forgave my mother, you know, for all his tears. Some things are unforgivable. Murder, theft, treachery…but not that which is vrajna. I knew this. I was swept up in it, Phèdre. I’d never known what it was like to have such a family, so many folk to call cousin and aunt and near-brother."
"I know." I slipped my hand into his. "Believe me, I do know."
So much to say, at such a time, and none of it adequate. We sat like that for a long time. Hyacinthe put his arm about me and I laid my head on his shoulder, falling at length into the white exhaustion that follows strong emotion, until at last I slept, and dreamed I was awake. At least I did not dream of Melisande, which I had feared; Hyacinthe’s presence kept those dreams at bay. So I slept, and woke to find it morning, and Hyacinthe still asleep, the two of us entwined like twins, my hair spread like a silken drape across his chest. Someone had laid a blanket over us. I sat up blinking at the daylight. Across the camp, Joscelin glanced at me, and politely looked away. Hyacinthe stirred, waking.
It was hard to leave the warmth of him. I fumbled for Ysandre’s signet, on its chain beneath my dress, beneath the deadly weight of Melisande’s diamond.
A mission for the Queen; that, above all else.
Our caravan moved slowly, the pace dictated by the Tsingani wagon, which was not built for speed, but by the third evening we left behind the rich spring valleys for the rocky terrain of outer Kusheth, and on the fourth day our progress was torturously slow, as the wagon had to be pushed at times. The children bounced shrieking in the back while all the men-Neci, his brother-in-law and cousin, Hyacinthe and Joscelin alike-set their backs to it and shoved, grunting.
But when we made camp that night, we could smell salt air.
I had taken our landmarks from atop the tallest hill, and studied them against the map Ysandre had provided us-a luxury, after the Skaldic wilderness. Joscelin gazed over my shoulder.
"There," I said, pointing. "The Pointe d’Oeste lies there. Rousse’s fleet is quartered three miles to the north. If we take the road that runs just south of that ridge, we should reach him before noon."
"Good." Hunkering on his heels, Joscelin sifted a handful of dirt through his hand. Opening his hand, he showed me the thin, pale grass sprouts taking root even in the rocky soil. "Spring’s coming even here," he said softly. "How long do you think Waldemar Selig will wait?"
"We’re months from the first harvest." Fear made my heart beat faster. "He can’t possibly be provisioned. And he’ll wait for that."
"Not so far off." Joscelin lifted his head, staring toward the darkening west. "And we’ve a long way to go."
"Tomorrow," I said, and repeated it more firmly. "We’ll reach Quintilius Rousse tomorrow."
And indeed, so we should have done. Except that it was not to be.
Perhaps we had grown overconfident, secure in our disguise, traveling unimpeded the breadth of Kusheth; but truly, I think it would not have mattered. The guard that stopped us was there for a purpose, and they would have stopped any travelers, Tsingani or royal courier alike.
Laboring over a hillcrest, we didn’t see them until we were nigh upon them, and one of the children shouted out a warning. "Dordima! Gavveroti!"
A squadron of twenty guardsmen, arranged across the road, waiting for us. Behind them, a mile off, we could see the grey sea wrinkling. The day was overcast, and the light glinted dully on their armor. A breeze lifted the standard-bearer’s flag. I knew its device, echoed on their livery. I had seen it, in another time and place.
A raven and the sea.
The arms of the Duc de Morhban.
Spurring his horse, Hyacinthe rode quickly to the head of the caravan. This much, we had discussed. Better that he should be our spokesman than Joscelin or I, who might be marked as unusual.
"Where are you bound, Tsingano?" The leader of the guard invested the word with scorn; I noticed it more, now.
"We have an agreement to trade with the Queen’s Admiral," Hyacinthe said reasonably. "May we pass, my lord?"
The leader of the guard turned his head and spat upon the ground. "The Queen’s Admiral sails where he will, but this is Morhban. No one crosses without the Duc’s permission. You’ll wait on his grace."
In point of truth, we’d been crossing Morhban for some time now; it is the sovereign duchy of Kusheth, and vast. I understood. It was access to the Queen’s Admiral that Quincel de Morhban was controlling. Hyacinthe turned back as if to survey our party, meeting my eyes briefly. I gave an imperceptible nod. We dared not try to fight our way through, not with the rest of Morhban’s troops a mere mile or two away.
"Then we will wait," Hyacinthe said calmly.
So wait we did, while de Morhban’s men idled and a rider headed south. The adult Tsingani were scared, but bore it well; the children, our best disguise, carried the act for us. One of the little girls found a nest of baby rabbits, which kept them all occupied.