"It is so," the Master of the Straits murmured.
Hyacinthe ran his hands over his face. "The Straits were still open then, free waters…he took her here, to this place, this isle, the Third Sister, still untouched by the Scions of Elua, and she bore you here…though she loved you, she sang in her sorrow and captivity like a bird in a cage, until her song carried across the waters, and the Alban who loved her sailed the Straits to free her…" He fell silent.
"They died." The words rose around us, filled with the sea’s deep surge, ceaseless and sorrowing. "The waves rose, their boat overturned, and the deep water took them. I know where their bones lie." The Master of the Straits gazed across the sea from his vast, open temple, the fluid shifting of his features fixed in grief.
"And the One God punished Rahab’s disobedience, and bound him to His will," Hyacinthe whispered. "But for the heart of a woman he could not sway and his own lost freedom, Rahab took his vengeance, and laid a geis upon you, my lord. He brought up scattered pages, from the deep, to give you mastery over the seas, and he bound you here, that Alba and Terre d’Ange would ever be separated by the waters you ruled, until love daring enough to cross the breach was born once more, and one came willing to take your place."
The Master of the Straits spoke with the finality of a wave crashing to shore, and I knew, then, that I had lost. "It is so."
Hyacinthe straightened; his face cleared and he laughed, a raw gaiety to it this time. "Well, then, my lord, will I serve?"
"You will serve." The Master of the Straits inclined his head, his eyes gone a dark and compassionate blue. "A long and lonely apprenticeship, until you are ready to take on the chains of my geis, freeing me to leave this earth and follow Elua’s path, where Heaven’s bastard sons are welcome."
"You have used us harshly, Elder Brother," Quintilius Rousse muttered darkly. "What’s to become of the lad, then?"
"I have used you less harshly than fate has used me." The Master of the Straits turned an implacable face to him. "The sea has loved you, friend sailor; count it a blessing. Half your folk would have died in the crossing had I not taken you in hand. My successor will be bound to this isle, as was I. That curse will not be broken until the One God repents of my father’s punishment, and His memory is long."
"What of the Straits?" Drustan asked in Cruithne; his brow was furrowed with the effort of following the proceedings, for Hyacinthe’s words had been in D’Angeline. Enough, though, he understood. "Will the crossing remain forbidden?"
"You hold that key." The pale hand pointed once more at the gold signet on Drustan’s finger. "Wed, and open the lock."
"Naught but twenty thousand howling Skaldi and the traitors of Camlach stand in the way," Quintilius Rousse said sardonically. "While we languish on a forsaken rock in the middle of the sea, with no army in sight."
"I promised my aid," the Master of the Straits said, unmoved. "And you shall have it." He swept his arm above the bronze vessel again, its waters rippling. "All that has passed in Terre d’Ange, I will show you. Your men and your horses and arms, I will bring safe to land. No more, can I do. Will you see it now?"
They looked at me; surprised, I looked back, and found I was trembling. Truly, there is a limit to what the mind can compass in one day. I’d risen prepared to chain my life to this lonely isle. It is a hard thing, to turn aside from so deep a path. "No," I said, shaking my head and struggling to keep my voice steady. "My lord, if it please you…I would ask a little time, an hour, mayhap. Might we have that long?"
"You may. I will send for you an hour before sundown." He bowed, then turned to Hyacinthe. "This day, I give you. Only know that your feet will never again leave this soil."
Hyacinthe nodded, sober-eyed.
He understood.
In the tower once more, in a sitting room with glassless windows, I called for wine, raising my voice sharply. The servants jumped, and hurried to obey; I was beyond caring, at that moment. I drank half a glass at a draught when it arrived, and looked hard at Hyacinthe. The others drew away, leaving us alone.
"Why?" I asked him. "Why did you do it?"
He smiled faintly, toying with the wineglass in his hands. There were dark smudges under his eyes, but now that the worst had come to pass, he seemed more himself. "I couldn’t have, without you, you know. I didn’t have the answer. It was so vast, I couldn’t see it." He drank a little wine and stared past me out the window. "I knew it when I saw the isle, that my road ended here. I just couldn’t see why. Last night, when I saw that you knew, I was afraid."
"Hyacinthe." My voice broke as I whispered his name, tears starting in my eyes. "A nation at war has no need of anguissettes. It should be me. Let me stay."
"And do what?" he asked gently. "Throw rocks at the Skaldi? Knife the dying? Tell their fortunes? A nation at war has no need of Tsingani half-breeds untrained to arms, either."
"You have the dromonde! It is more than I can offer!"
"It’s the dromonde that brought me here, Phèdre." Hyacinthe took my hands in his and looked down at our interlaced fingers. "It’s the dromonde that sets me apart from D’Angeline and Tsingani alike. If it has led me to a place where I belong, then let me stay." Releasing my hands, he touched the diamond at my throat. "Kushiel marked you as his own," he said softly. "Whatever target he had in mind when he cast his Dart, I think it was not the Master of the Straits."
I shuddered and looked away.
"Besides," Hyacinthe added wryly, "that damned Cassiline would only turn around the instant we reached dry land, swim the Straits, and damn the lot of us. Bad enough he’s vow-blinded; being besotted with you makes him a positive menace."
"Joscelin?" Startled, I raised my voice. Joscelin looked over, brows raised in inquiry. I shook my head at him, and he turned back to Rousse.
"Elua help him, if he ever comes to realize it." Hyacinthe traced the line of my brows, brushing my lashes with a fingertip; the red-moted eye. "And you."
"Hyacinthe," I pleaded with him, pulling away, glancing around the austere tower room. "Look at this…this place. You’re the least-suited person in the world to end here! Without friends, laughter, music…you’ll go mad!"
He looked around, shrugging. "I’ll teach the Master of the Straits to play the timbales and the waves to dance. What would you have me say, Phèdre? If you could survive crossing the Camaeline Mountains in the dead of winter, I can survive one lonely island."
"Eight hundred years."
"Mayhap." Hyacinthe rested his chin on his hands. "The Prince of Travellers, chained to a rock. It’s funny, isn’t it?" I stared at him, until he shrugged again. "The rest of the Lost Book of Raziel is out there, somewhere. I’ve always been good at finding things. Who knows? Maybe there’s somewhat in those drowned pages to free me. Or maybe someone good at riddles will find a way." He flashed his impossible grin. "It wouldn’t be the least likely thing you’ve done."
"Don’t," I begged, half-laughing through tears. "Hyacinthe, it’s not funny."
"It is, a little." He looked more soberly at me. "Do me a favor, will you?" I nodded. "My house, the stable…it should go to my crew in Night’s Doorstep. I’ll write out a deed. Give it to Emile, I left him in charge. If there’s aught left of the City of Elua when this is done, he’ll know what to do."