Krista flinched at the words. She was sure that the Prince had let her go unpursued, unmolested, because he loved her and would not try to keep her if she wanted to leave. He had been true to her, and she had repaid him now with this: a hunting party armed with steel and iron. Thyatis stepped closer, her voice dropping in volume.
"If we are in the heat of it and the Prince lies under my knife, or yours, could you bring yourself to drive the point into his heart? Could you stand to see me or Nikos spill the red life from him? I do not think you could. He is in your heart, and you are in his. Should you think of him now, a smile would come to your face. You are here" Thyatis gestured to encompass the house and the city- "because of duty and honor. But when the die is cast and spins upon the table, you may still choose love."
Krista tried to speak, but words did not come to her. Memories of the Prince were still strong in her mind. The thought of him lying dead, or dying, bleeding out his life on the floor of the kitchen at Ottaviano, filled her with horror and dread. She raised a hand and batted at the air, causing Thyatis to step back. Odd, dark motes danced in the air before her eyes, and Krista felt a sharp pain in her gut.
"I will not risk my men on the balance of your heart." Thyatis turned away, the line of her jaw stiff.
Krista gasped silently, feeling some great pressure closing on her. She put out a hand to the edge of the door and struggled to keep upright. This was far worse than it had been on the mountainside. She struggled for breath. "I"- she wheezed, and Thyatis stopped, her slim hand on the haft of a spear- "I wilclass="underline" I will kill him." The pressure eased a little, and Krista could draw a ragged breath. Air in her lungs had never seemed so sweet. "I will kill him." Her voice was stronger. "I must kill him, Lady Thyatis. I will drive this knife into his eye if I must, but he will die by my hand."
Krista pushed away from the wall, feeling stronger and able to breathe freely at last. The black haze in the air was gone. She felt giddy and almost euphoric with relief.
Thyatis looked her up and down, a quizzical frown on her face. But she shook her head. "No. I will not take you."
Krista stiffened and turned on her heel. If the pigeon-brained peasant refused her help, she would find another way. She had to end this thing and soon.
"The Duchess already said no." Thyatis' voice echoed down the hallway, but Krista ignored her.
The Wine Dark Sea, South of the Island of Creta
Foam curled away from the knife-edge prow of the Tyrean coaster, sending up a fine, cool spray. Dwyrin sat, his legs hanging over the side of the ship, one arm casually wrapped around a stay. He had stripped down to sweat-stained woolen breeches and had been barefoot for days. A new layer of calluses was growing on his feet, joining those added by marching the length of the Empire. The coaster had found a quartering wind and was doglegging its way south from the rocky cliffs of Creta, now a day behind. The Tyrean crew were truly lax fellows, rarely leaving the shade of a big awning that stretched over the back half of the ship. Nicholas was back there now, testing his luck against theirs at bones.
Dwyrin spent most of his time watching the sea. It cheered him up to see the waves sparkle and dance under the sun. The sea was alive, too, and many a day passed with dolphins or short-backed whales accompanying them on their journey south. Once past the coast of Creta, the Tyrean captain had agreed to sail by night as well as day, since the sea was open and free of reefs or islands until they reached the Egyptian shore. They were making for the way marker of the great Pharos at Alexandria. Then they would hug the coast of the delta and make their way northeast to the ports of Judea.
Dwyrin lay back, resting against a coil of rope that was stowed in the prow. The cool wind of their passage made the hot day quite bearable. He considered taking a nap, but kept his eyes propped open. As they neared the mouth of the delta, they might encounter other ships. With luck they would see one of the massive grain haulers. That would be a sight!
"Pardon, lad, do you mind if I sit with you?"
Dwyrin looked up, canting back his straw hat. It was the beast-man, Vladimir, looking a little peaked. Dwyrin shrugged. It was unusual for the Walach to come out of the cabin during the day. The motion and vastness of the sea seemed to make him uneasy. "Surely. Pick a plank."
Vladimir sat oddly, with his legs crossed over each other. Like Dwyrin, he had shed shirt and boots, leaving just long linen trousers. These were a fine weave, though, and dyed a dark woad blue. Lacings in green-dyed leather ran down the outside of each leg. Vladimir looked out over the water, shading his eyes with a thick hand. "Do you love the sea?"
Dwyrin raised an eyebrow and pushed his hat back, turning to face the Walach. "The sea is in my blood," he said, pressing two fingers to his chest. "All of my people came to Hibernia from the sea in the great migration. Even if we live in the green heart of the land, the ocean is never far away. You can hear the beat of the surf in the ground, it seems. Of course, it's nothing like this tranquil lake." He indicated the horizon, "The true ocean, beyond the Pillars, is mighty and awesome."
Vladimir nodded, scratching the side of his head with a thick fingernail. "My people: we came out of the Sea of Grass, but even then, when we came to the waters of the Sea of Darkness and tasted them, we knew that something lay beyond. Our old legends, the ones that the k'shapacara elders learn from the memory chant, speak of the great ocean that circles the world. We must have seen it once, long ago."
Dwyrin nodded companionably. He no longer felt ill in the presence of the beast-man, seeing that he and Nicholas were fast friends. It was good that the Walach had come out of his cabin to sit under the open sky. It did no one good to spend their days mewed up in some dank hole. The clear clean air was better. Dwyrin suddenly realized that the dark feeling that had lain over him since Antioch was gone. He missed Zoe and Odenathus terribly, but he hoped to see them again, one day.
Perhaps they will have put their anger aside. It was a hope, anyway.
"I would like to see the great ocean," Vladimir said, still talking and looking out over the waters. "Some day, before I am called into the close darkness. There are many stories, in the old tales, of the endless sea and the water-that-tastes-like-blood."
Dwyrin clapped the Walach on the shoulder, feeling the fine, soft fur. "You will see it, then, my friend. It is a journey of many days, but between us we can convince Nicholas to turn the ship and take us there. Then you will see the gray vastness:."
Vladimir laughed, a deep throaty sound that reminded Dwyrin of a forest stream spilling over mossy stones.
The Siq, Near Petra, Roman Nabatea
Torches flared in the wind, casting red-and-orange light high on the walls of the canyon. The shadows of men trembled across the watercarved stone surfaces, growing enormous and small by turns. Fitted stones making a metaled road covered the floor of the canyon where the native stone had not been planed smooth. Boots clattered on the flagstones, and the jingle of armor and the creak of leather filled the air. Water, carried in round, ceramic pipes fitted into channels in the wall of the canyon, gurgled past. Somewhere high above, catchment dams and cisterns gathered the rain and the seepage of tiny springs. The men were tired and footsore and hungry, and the canyon continued to narrow. Even the night sky above, strewn with a field of stars, was soon closed off, and they marched under striated red walls.
At the head of the column, Odenathus led a weary horse by its bridle. He was tired, too, for the sprint across the flat desert wasteland to the east of these hills had been taxing. Ahead of him, the lead scout suddenly stopped and raised a hand in warning. Odenathus shook his head, trying to clear the fog of fatigue away. He handed off the bridle of his horse to one of the Palmyrenes in the van and splashed forward. The scout, a Bostran shepherd who had joined them a week ago, was standing at a turn in the canyon. It was very narrow here, barely wide enough for a horse to pass through.