Kushiel's Avatar Read Online Free PDF Page A

Hyacinthe’s mother’s honor had been lost in a careless bet, laid by a cousin who must needs then trick his headman’s daughter into a seduction to settle his debt with Bryony House.
    It was true, after all. Hyacinthe’s grandfather Manoj was the Tsingan kralis, King of the Tsingani. And he had welcomed his long-lost grandson with open arms when he met him.
    That, too, Hyacinthe had sacrificed. He had committed an act that was vrajna when he used the dromonde on my behalf, that gift of sight he had from his mother to part the veils of past and future. It is forbidden, among the Tsingani, for men to wield the dromonde . But Hyacinthe had done it, and the Tsingan kralis had cast him out once more.
    These things I thought on as we travelled, remembering, and I saw Joscelin’s gaze sober when it fell on the companies of Tsingani in their gaily painted wagons.
    We avoided cities and larger towns, staying only in modest inns such as catered to couriers along the roads where the proprietors looked askance at my features and murmured speculation, but asked no questions. Twenty years ago, few D’Angelines recognized the mark of Kushiel’s Dart; there had been no anguissette in living memory. Now, they know. I have heard it said that country lasses hungry for fame in Naamah’s service will prick themselves to induce a spot of red in the whites of their eyes. I do not know if it is true; I hope not. They do not do it in the City of Elua, where any urchin in the streets of Mont Nuit would know it for a sham. I would have thought, as a child in the Night Court, I would rejoice to have my name regaled throughout the realm; now, a woman grown, I kept my mouth shut on my fame and thought of other things.
    It took a matter of some few days to reach Pointe des Soeurs, where our company was greeted with a certain awe, part and parcel as we were of the legend over which they maintained a watch. Duré’s men Guillard and Armand affected a careless swagger, relishing their role as escorts, and the commander himself, Evrilac Duré, cast an indulgent eye on their antics.
    I think the garrison at Pointe des Soeurs was a lonely one, for the fortress overperches the sea and there is no village within ten miles’ ride; they grew starved, there, for polite company and news of the broader world. Still, I do not think they were expecting such news as we brought and the men fell silent when Duré called for volunteers for our excursion.
    “Are you feared?” It was stocky Guillard who challenged his comrades, jeering. “I tell you, the Queen herself, Ysandre de la Courcel, said to the commander, ‘Messire Duré,’ she said, ‘I will not command any man of Trevalion to assail the Three Sisters … but I will ask.’ What have we seen to fear, lads? Fish?” He thumped his chest. “I tell you, I’m going! I’ll not be left behind to hear secondhand stories around the fire!”
    After that, the volunteers came forward in twos and threes, until Duré had to turn them away. Young Hugues watched it all with open-mouthed delight, his face glowing. I smiled at his pleasure, and wondered what we might find.
    Following on the heels of an afternoon repast, Armand and Guillard showed us about the fortress and its grounds. Here, I was told, the wave had broken on the stony shores, bearing its stricken load of sea-life. I paced the curve gravely, examining the drying corpses of fish left lying on the shore. Atop the parapet, Armand pointed northwest across the grey rippling sea, toward where a faint shadow lay on the horizon, nearest of the Three Sisters. There, he told me, the cloud had hung and the unnatural lightning played, quiet now since their departure.
    I listened well and nodded solemnly. High on the fortress walls, the cries of gulls resounded in the salt air along with the fainter sounds of Duré’s men making ready a ship for the morning’s sojourn, checking the rigging and tending to minor details.
    “What do you make of it?” Joscelin