Kushiel's Justice (61 page)

“I’ll go wide and circle around.” Maslin pointed. “That’s our route, yes? I’ll make camp a half day’s ride to the north and wait for you in the forest.”

I nodded. “You’ll take Berlik’s skull?”

He grimaced. “If I must, yes.”

I put out one mittened hand. “If I’m not there by midday tomorrow, leave without me. Once you reach Kargad, you can take the Ulsk upriver to Vralgrad. I’ll follow when I can. Whatever it is, I daresay I’ll get it sorted out in time. But in case I don’t . . .” I shrugged. “See his damned skull back to Clunderry, will you?”

Maslin clasped my hand. “Stubborn ass. Yes, of course.”

I grinned at him. “My thanks.”

I watched him depart from the road, leading our pack-horse. The leather bag containing Berlik’s skull bounced and jostled. It was stupid. I’d worked so hard for that dubious, grisly prize to risk ceding it to another. But in the end, it didn’t matter who brought it back to Clunderry. Once it was buried beneath Dorelei’s feet, her spirit would rest easier. I believed that to be true. However much I’d come to understand Berlik, he had murdered her, horribly and violently. Her and our son.

But I had to go on living.

And the Rebbe had given me a charge. I wanted to go home. I wanted nothing more. I wanted to go home to the people who loved me. I wanted to feel Joscelin’s strong presence keeping every danger at bay. I wanted to let myself be a child again for a few moments, to sit at Phèdre’s feet, lean my head against her knee, and feel her stroke away my fears. I wanted to hear Hugues and Ti-Philippe bicker.

And I wanted to get on with the business of being a man, too.

Most of all, I wanted to fall into Sidonie’s bed and never get out of it.

And I didn’t ever want to tell her, yes, I killed two men whose only crime was being too stupid to listen, and I burned their bodies in the woods, and their bones and ashes lie there still, while those who loved them wonder what ever become of them. There was guilt enough between us. If there was atonement to be made, I would make it.

So I went to Tarkov.

S
IXTY-FOUR

I
DIDN’T EVEN MAKE IT
to the gate before I was seized.

Four soldiers saw my approach and rode me down in a hurry, surrounding me. They stared at my face, then exchanged glances with one another. I dropped the reins and raised my empty, mittened hands, leaving my sword-hilt untouched.

“Peace,” I said in Rus. “I am here in peace.”

One pointed to me. “Are you Imriel de la Courcel?” he asked in Habiru.

“Yes,” I said. “I am.”

His face was grimly exultant. “Come with us.”

I went without protest. Having committed myself to this course, I had no choice. I wasn’t sure if I was a prisoner or a guest. They didn’t disarm me, but they didn’t give me time to speak, either. They hustled me through the gate and down the streets toward the town square. Outside the guardhouse, we dismounted and two of them ushered me inside.

The outer guardroom was packed with guards and soldiers alike. Some spectacle transpired in the next room, the captain’s study, but I couldn’t see what passed therein. The guards were thronged before the open door, their backs presenting a solid mass of humanity. Beyond them, I could hear the captain’s voice shouting in Rus.

“Ask her, my lord! If he is innocent,
why did he free the Tatar
?”

“The captain asks, if he is innocent, why did he free the Tatar, my lady?” a vaguely familiar voice repeated in Habiru.

My soldier escorts shoved futilely at their comrades and the Tarkovan guards, pounding on backs and muttering urgently in low tones.

“Name of Elua! My lord Micah, I’ve no idea. Probably because he has a soft heart.” It was a woman’s voice, exasperated, speaking Habiru with a D’Angeline accent, and I would have known it anywhere in the world. I felt my heart crack open and soar, and an impossible grin spread across my face. “I let all the prisoners in La Dolorosa free, and I’ve
no
idea what they’d done.”

“Yes, but—” Micah ben Ximon began.

The guards in front of us began shifting reluctantly. Someone pushed me from behind. The guards gave way. I stumbled through the open doorway of the captain’s study and caught a glimpse of its occupants. No one noticed me yet.

“You know perfectly well he’s not a spy,” Phèdre said. There was a flush of anger on her cheekbones. Her eyes were bright with it. Every man in the room was staring at her in rapt fascination. Joscelin stood beside her, arms folded. Her voice turned calm and reasonable, with somewhat implacable behind its sweetness. “I don’t care what your role in this was, my lord. You could have spared
one man
from the battlefront to send word that you vouched for him. Because I swear to Blessed Elua, if this idiot’s men have killed him—”

It was Ti-Philippe who saw me first. His jaw dropped. He stared. His mouth worked, but only a squeak emerged. He grabbed Hugues’ arm and pointed.

“Imri?”
Hugues whispered, dumfounded.

It was enough to cut Phèdre’s speech short. Her head whipped round. For a moment, I don’t think she dared believe her eyes. I couldn’t stop grinning. I watched her take a sharp breath, hands rising involuntarily to cover her mouth. Beside her, Joscelin found his voice and loosed a victorious shout of laughter.

And then we were all laughing and crying at the same time. One of the soldiers behind me gave me another shove and I stumbled forward to be hugged and pounded. Phèdre took my face in her hands and said my name over and over, kissing me.

“Stop.” I pulled away, laughing. “Stop! What in Elua’s name are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Joscelin said softly. “Did you think we wouldn’t?”

“No, I . . .” I took off my mittens and wiped my eyes. “I didn’t know. Oh gods, it’s good to see you. But there’s somewhat I have to do here. I’m sorry. Give me a moment.” I took a deep breath and turned to face the Tarkovan captain. “My lord,” I said to him in Rus, “I am sorry I was not honest. I am not a spy. I was hunting the man who killed my wife. He fled here. I was afraid he was a pilgrim and you would stop me if you knew.”

The captain’s face looked hard and set. “Was he?”

“No,” I said honestly. “In the end, no.”

The captain looked at Micah ben Ximon. “You knew this?”

“I knew this,” ben Ximon said. “I will answer to Tadeuz Vral for it.”

“And my men?” The captain’s mouth hardened.

“Dead.” I squared my shoulders. “I’m sorry. I tried to tell them. They would not listen. We fought. I have told this to Rebbe Avraham ben David of Miroslas. He sent me here . . .” My Rus was inadequate, so I glanced at Micah ben Ximon and switched to Habiru. “To make atonement.” I repeated the Rebbe’s words. “ ‘Tell them you have confessed it to me, and I have absolved you of all guilt and laid my blessing upon you, bidding you to spread the word among men that it is better to be filled with compassion than suspicion, and remind them that in the end, in Yeshua’s kingdom, all men are brothers. That your coming is a sign all must be mindful of this, always and forever.’ ”

Micah ben Ximon translated the Rebbe’s injunction into Rus, his voice growing soft toward the end.

For a long moment, no one spoke, including the D’Angelines present. At last the captain sighed. He made an unfamiliar gesture, touching his fingertips to his brow, chest, and shoulders. “As Yeshua wills,” he said. “The Rebbe of Miroslas is said to be a great and wise man. I will abide.”

A profound sense of relief filled me. “Thank you, lord captain. Truly, I am sorry.”

“Why
did
you free the Tatar?” he asked.

I spread my hands. “It was wrong. But he was not much more than a boy. We shared a prison, a blanket. I felt bad.”

“A soft heart,” he said. “Is that the Rebbe’s lesson?”

“Perhaps it is,” Micah said unexpectedly. “Perhaps that boy will grow to a man and a leader of men, and he will be the one to extend the olive branch of peace, because a stranger did him a kindness once.” His gaze rested briefly on Joscelin, who had once done him a kindness. “Or perhaps not. We cannot always know the outcomes of our actions.”

“I know that,” the captain said. “Still, two good men are dead.”

“I will make recompense to their families and make good on any losses,” Micah said. “What Phèdre nó Delaunay said is true. If I had spared one man from the siege to answer your query, they would not have died. No one is blameless here.”

“You had more important concerns,” the captain said shortly.

Micah ben Ximon tilted his head. “So I thought,” he said. “And yet I am reminded, nations may rise and fall on a chance encounter. And old debts demand no less honor than new ones.” He gave the Cassiline bow, crisp and correct, but without the effortless fluidity of Joscelin’s. “On the morrow, I will take these people to Vralgrad.”

The captain grunted. “Please do, my lord.”

So it was done. We filed out of the guardhouse with an appropriate air of solemnity. My heart was so full, I didn’t know what I felt. They’d come to find me. Of course they had. They’d been on the other side of the world, and I’d nearly gotten killed, then vanished into the wilderness. Still, it was like a dream, seeing them here. As strange as Maslin’s appearance in the wilderness had been, this was no less unexpected, and a good deal more joyous.

I stopped in my tracks. “Maslin.”

Joscelin raised his brows. “
Maslin
? What of him?”

“He came for me, too,” I said. “Sidonie sent him. Not a-purpose, I don’t think.” I shook my head. “It’s a long story. But he found me. I owe him my life, really, although he doesn’t think so.” I pointed north. “He’s waiting for me, or at least he will be. We should send word.”

“I’ll fetch him,” Hugues offered.

I grimaced. “I’m not sure if
fetching
is such a good idea. Maslin wasn’t exactly honest with the captain, either. His involvement in this whole business didn’t arise. I daresay the captain thinks I killed him along with the others. It might be best to keep it that way.”

Ti-Philippe grinned. “What in Elua’s name have you been up to, Imri?”

“Too much,” I said.

“Oh, gods above,” Phèdre said in a small voice. She covered her face with both hands. “We should never have left you alone in Alba with that curse hanging over you. And Dorelei, poor, sweet girl. Hyacinthe promised to keep watch. I thought if anyone could keep you safe, it would be him.”

“He did try. And there wasn’t anything you could have done,” I said gently. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

She shuddered and lowered her hands. “You can’t know that. Not for a surety.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “It’s over.”

We lodged that night in the manor of the mayor of Tarkov, who had gladly accepted the honor of turning his home over to the heroic warlord Micah ben Ximon. I never did meet the mayor, who had already taken lodgings at an inn where he might boast of his illustrious guests. Hugues and Ti-Philippe elected to go in search of Maslin together and await us wherever he’d made camp. I suspect they were being discreet, allowing us time alone together as a family. It made me smile, picturing the shock on Maslin’s face when they found him. Out of the same tact, Micah ben Ximon retired early.

We didn’t.

I wanted to hear their story first. Mine was too big. They didn’t press. It was the sort of thing they understood. I daresay they didn’t care, as long as I was alive to tell it. It was Joscelin who told theirs; Phèdre couldn’t bear to. Ti-Philippe had set out after them as soon as the news from Alba had come. Acting without thinking, he’d gone immediately, while my life still hung in the balance. He’d found them in Kriti, completing their mysterious mission. Whatever it was, they concluded it in haste and departed immediately. For the entire duration of the long journey back to Terre d’Ange, they hadn’t known whether I was alive or dead.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. I’d been saying this a lot lately.

“Well, we found out as soon as we made harbor in Marsilikos.” Joscelin smiled slightly. “Alive, and overturning the Court.”

“Is Ysandre still furious?” I asked.

“Mm-hmm.” He glanced at Phèdre. “We didn’t stay long enough to attempt to reason with her. Not after weeks of not knowing, then hearing you’d set out on your own with Urist to some unknown land.”

Their sea passage home from Kriti had been infuriatingly slow, plagued by bad winds. By the time they travelled to Maarten’s Crossing, it was well into autumn. There had been no word yet of the fate of Talorcan’s party, but Adelmar of the Frisii was growing anxious about his decision to allow them passage, fearful that his greed in accepting Ysandre and Drustan’s bribes would cost him Tadeuz Vral’s goodwill. He knew perfectly well who Phèdre and Joscelin were, and he adamantly refused to grant passage to them, and moreover, had sent orders to Norstock not to allow any D’Angeline or Alban passengers until further notice. Phèdre’s solution was ingenious.

“We made our own pilgrim caps,” Joscelin said. “Let Adelmar think we were leaving, then doubled back through the wood and caught the pilgrims’ route further north.”

I laughed. “You
sewed
for me?”

“No.” Phèdre flushed. “Ti-Philippe did.” I laughed harder. Her eyes sparkled. I think she was beginning to believe I actually was alive and well, sitting and talking with her. “I tried, I did. But I’ve never been handy with a needle.”

Miraculously enough, it had actually worked. There were still stories told in Skaldia about the D’Angeline pair who had outwitted Waldemar Selig and ultimately caused his downfall; but no Skaldi in his or her right mind would imagine that they’d travel boldface the length of the land, passing themselves off as pilgrims under false names.

It was a long, long journey, rendered worse by encountering Talorcan and his men early at the outset. They’d arrived at the Vralian border to find the pilgrims’ passage heavily guarded, alerted by the handful of Urist’s veterans who’d made the attempt earlier. Largely outnumbered and unable to convince or bribe the Vralian border guard to grant them passage, Talorcan’s company had been forced to turn back and they’d had trouble with the Skaldi on their return route. They were still seething from their defeat and had not the slightest idea what had become of Urist and me.

“So that’s what happened to them,” I murmured. “Talorcan must have been frustrated as hell.”

“Yes.” Phèdre nodded. “It was disheartening. Still, we kept going.”

It was strange to think about all of us on our separate quests at the same time, struggling with mishaps, misfortune, and misunderstanding. Halfway through Skaldia, winter had struck with a vengeance. Ti-Philippe had gotten desperately sick, a relapse of the ague he’d suffered after swimming in the canals of La Serenissima. It must have been, I thought, around the time that I was beginning to search the endless holdings of Miroslas, while Maslin’s Tarkovan companions were realizing that they’d ridden the wrong direction in pursuit of me.

Ti-Philippe had recovered, but his illness had slowed their progress. Although he begged them to leave him, they hadn’t dared. Not in Skaldia. By the time they reached Vralia, the siege in Petrovik had ended and the country was abuzz with Micah ben Ximon’s name.

“So we went in search of him,” Joscelin said. “We found him a few days ago on the road from Petrovik bound for Vralgrad.”

“And learned you’d been imprisoned as a spy, and he couldn’t be bothered to spare a man to free you!” Phèdre’s voice crackled with rare anger.

“Well, he
was
in the midst of a war,” I said philosophically.

“He thought you were safe enough where you were,” Joscelin said. “And that mayhap a few months in a gaol cell would cool your ardor for vengeance.”

“It did, in a way,” I said.

“Did you . . . ?” His voice trailed off.

“Yes.” I rubbed my eyes. I’d forgotten, they wouldn’t have understood all of what transpired in the guardhouse. I’d been speaking Rus when I spoke of Berlik. I hadn’t done so badly after all, if I’d mastered—well, not mastered, but learned a bit of it—a tongue that Phèdre didn’t know. “It wasn’t what I thought it would be in the end. Not at all. But it’s done. Maslin has his head,” I added.