"We will be," I whispered, shivering.
We were dismissed. Gildas and Tilian hurried past us to take up the bronze vessel, lifting it gently from the tripod and carrying it with exquisite care to the verge of the steps. I watched them disappear, piece by piece, as they descended one step at a time. I did not envy their job.
Walking back toward the tower, I gazed up the length of it, oriel windows lit from within, blazing amber, cobalt, ruby and sea-green across the rocky terrain. The chamber at the very top of the tower was ringed all round with them.
Hyacinthe.
Chapter Eighty
We set sail at dawn.
Needless to say, much of the evening was spent in planning. At our request, the servants brought pen and ink and a clean-scraped parchment; there was no new paper to be had, on the Three Sisters. I sketched out a map of Terre d’Ange and the battle as we knew it, with Rousse, Joscelin and Drustan looking over my shoulder, adding and correcting.
Necessity had dictated by now that communication among us was accomplished in a polyglot babble, D’Angeline, Caerdicci and Cruithne mingled together. I could not be everywhere to translate. I daresay anyone listening would have found it nigh incomprehensible; nonetheless, everyone made themselves understood.
Hyacinthe listened with shadowed eyes.
We had told him, of course, what had transpired in the Master of the Straits' bronze mirror of seawater. He heard it without comment, sorrowing at the news.
It pained him to hear our plans, I could tell. After a time, when we had dined-absentmindedly from dishes brought into the library, where we worked-he bowed and took his leave.
"I’ll see you off in the morning," he said softly.
I watched him go; and felt, unexpectedly, Joscelin’s gaze upon me. He smiled wryly when I took notice, and shrugged, opening his hands. In the depths of a Skaldic winter, we hadn’t needed words. I understood.
"My lord Admiral," I said. Quintilius Rousse looked up from pondering a drawing of a Caerdicci catapult scavenged from the library shelves. "You do not need me, I think, to plan a war."
"You trace a fair line…" He caught himself, shaking his head, and a compassionate expression crossed his scarred face. "No, my lady. We don’t need you tonight."
Nodding my thanks, I returned to my chamber.
If the maidservants had labored to find fitting sea-treasures to adorn me last night, it was nothing to what I set them to now. I think, at least, that they enjoyed it; the young one giggled a great deal. Scavenging through trunks, piling high gorgeous garments cleansed and restored with loving care, they found another deemed acceptable; deep amber, like a low-burning flame, with gold brocade on the fitted bodice. A caul of gold mesh, to hold my hair; and, I swear it, tight-sealed vessels from some noblewoman’s toilette, with cosmetics untainted by the sea.
I leaned close to the darkened glass of the old mirror, brushing a hint of carmine on my lips. Red, echoing the mote that blossomed on my left iris, startling against the dark bistre. My eyes, I touched with kohl; I have never used a great deal of color. I do not need it.
My attendants drew in a collective breath when I stood.
"'Tis like somewhat from an old lay," the eldest said, hushed. I ruefully glanced in the mirror.
"It is," I said, thinking of Hyacinthe’s fate. "Very like."
His door was unlocked. Candle in hand, he glanced up sharply when I turned the handle and opened it; I caught him readying for bed, coatless, in a white shirt and dark breeches. He took one look at me, then another, staring hard.
"I’m not Baudoin de Trevalion," he said harshly. "I’ve no need of a farewell gift, Phèdre."
I closed the door behind me. "If it’s easier on you to be cruel," I said softly, "I understand. I will go. But if it’s not…how do you want to remember it, Hyacinthe? On a battlefield outside Bryn Gorrydum, or here, like this?"
For another long moment he stood staring, then gave his best sweeping bow, high spirit rising, flashing his white grin. "To the Queen of Courtesans!"
In that moment, I loved him.
"And the Prince of Travellers," I said, inclining my head.
Of what passed between us that night, I will not speak. It had no bearing on aught that happened before or after, and was of no concern to anyone save Hyacinthe and myself. Seldom enough have I had the luxury of bestowing my gift, Naamah’s art, where I chose. I chose that night, and I do not regret.
We were awake when the sky began to grey in the east.
"Go," Hyacinthe said, kissing my brow, his voice unwontedly tender. "Before my heart breaks. Go."
I went.
From my sea-buried finery, I changed into my traveling attire, Quincel de Morbhan’s gift, cleaned with the same care as the gown I’d worn. I laid it back in the trunk, thanking the bleary-eyed servants, and went out to rejoin my companions.
On the wind-swept temple, we took our leave, the Master of the Straits standing silent as a statue, only his robes stirring. I would not relive that moment, for gold or jewels. How Hyacinthe endured it, I cannot say, but he had a word for each one of us, while our ship rocked on the water far below, and Tilian and Gildas oversaw the loading of our crew.
"My lord Cruarch," he said to Drustan, in the Cruithne taught him by Moiread and her sisters, "I will be watching." Hyacinthe grasped Drustan’s hands, gold signet uppermost. "Blessed Elua keep you safe."
Drustan nodded. "The Cullach Gorrym will sing of your sacrifice," he said quietly. Their eyes met; there was no need of translating.
As the Cruarch made his lame progress to the steps, Quintilius Rousse stepped up to embrace Hyacinthe. "Ah, lad!" he said roughly. "You guided us through the mists to safe landing. I’ll not forget." He wiped his eyes. "I’ll curse the name of the Master of the Straits no more, Younger Brother. If there’s aught you need sail for, send the wind to whisper in my ear."
"Bring them safe to shore," Hyacinthe said. "I ask no more than that, my lord Admiral."
Rousse left, and Joscelin took his place. "Tsingano," he murmured, gripping Hyacinthe’s wrists. "I have no words."
Hyacinthe smiled wryly. "Funny. There’s plenty I could say to you, Cassiline. You’ve come a long way since first I saw you, baited by Eglantine tumblers. You made the beginnings of a fair Mendicant, even."
"That I owe to you." Joscelin’s hands tightened on Hyacinthe’s wrists. "And a lesson in courage, too, Tsingano." He said the traditional Tsingani farewell, then; he must have learned it among the kumpanias. "I will speak your name and remember it."
"And yours." Hyacinthe leaned forward, and spoke in a low tone, so low I could not overhear. Awaiting my leavetaking, I turned to the Master of the Straits, who stood watching with eyes opaque as clouded crystal.
"Why did you let us cross for a song?" I asked abruptly, the question arising from wherever unanswered mysteries dwell. "And Thelesis de Mornay, and others. Why?"
The clouded eyes met mine. "My mother sang," the Master of the Straits said softly, his voice merging with the winds. "Sometimes, she sang to me. It is the only kindness I remember. After eight hundred years, I hunger for new songs."
I shivered and drew my cloak about myself. "I have no kindness to give you, my lord of the Straits, nor thanks. The price of your freedom is too high."
He did not answer, but only bowed. He knew, I think, the measure of that price.
Then Joscelin was gone and it was time to say good-bye.
Atop the lonely isle, Hyacinthe and I looked at one another.
"You’re right," he said. "From Mont Nuit to the Palace, we would have ruled the City."
That was all he said and all there was to say. For a moment, I clung to him, then he pried my fingers gently from about his neck. "Elua keep you, Phèdre," he whispered. "Go. Get out of this place."