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For some hours, we flew over the water. Altogether too soon, the cry came from the crow’s nest-the Three Sisters had been sighted. The sun was not yet at its zenith when we drew in sight of the tall cliffs of Third Sister. So close to land; so far from the world! For this short journey, I had travelled to Saba and back. I held my breath as Quintilius Rousse took the helm and shouted orders, maneuvering the flagship around the jutting coast of the island and into the narrow defile that marked the ingress to the harbor.

Between the towering cliffs, it went suddenly wind-still.

“Out oars!” Rousse bellowed as the sails fell slack and empty, the pennants drooping. “Row!”

When first I entered the domain of the Master of the Straits, it was wave-borne; on the second occasion, wind-blown. This time, we glided into the secluded harbor on the effort of mortal labor, wrought of muscle, sinew, bone and sweat.

The water was as flat and calm as a mirror, reflecting the rocky promontory and the carved steps, so that it seemed a second stair led to a temple at the bottom of the harbor, small with distance and impossibly deep, wreathed with clouds on the sea’s floor. The advancing ship’s prow forged ripples, revealing the illusion, distorting the image of the lone figure who stood upon the promontory, waiting.

Hyacinthe.

The Name of God surged within me, and I yearned to shout it to the empty skies.

He was clad as before, in rusty black velvet in an archaic style, old lace spilling like sea-foam at his cuffs and throat. This time, a cloak of indeterminate color hung from his shoulders, satin-lined. It may have been violet, once; time and sun and salt had faded it to a vague tarnished silver, like twilight on the ocean. As our ship drew near the shore, only a few yards of open water remaining, Hyacinthe placed the palms of both hands together at waist height, then opened them and held them flat to the earth.

I heard Sibeal whisper his name.

The ship halted, oars locked fast in the limpid water. The rowers strained in vain, sinews cracking. Across the distance I gazed at Hyacinthe unspeaking, the Sacred Name locked fast in my throat.

He gazed back at me, unnamable colors shifting in his fathomless eyes, and hope and fear lying distant at the bottom, as tenuous as the temple’s reflection. “You’ve come,” he said at last, and his voice sounded odd and unused, not at all like my dream. “I saw you set sail in the sea-mirror of the temple.”

“Yes.” I swallowed. “Hyacinthe, I have the key.”

Fear and hope leapt in his too-dark eyes and the boy I’d loved looked out of the face of the Master of the Straits. He bowed his head to hide it, pressing his fingers to his temples.

“Elder Brother!” Quintilius Rousse made his way to the railing, addressing him with the traditional title sailors accorded the Master of the Straits. “I’m here in the name of her majesty Queen Ysandre de la Courcel, Tsingano. Have you grown too proud to let old friends ashore? We’re on the Queen’s business, breaking this curse of yours.”

“My lord Admiral.” Hyacinthe lifted his head, mouth twisting in a smile. “Forgive my manners. It is a pleasure to see you once more. My lady … my lady Sibeal.” He looked at her for a moment, and what was exchanged in that glance, I could not say. “And you, Cassiline.”

“Tsingano.” Joscelin bowed, arms crossed. “
Tsingan kralis
.”

Hyacinthe went still, then, seeing Kristof. “Why have you brought him here?”

“The Tsingani await your return, Prince of Travellers,” I said to him. “Kristof, Oszkar’s son is here on their behalf. Eleazar ben Enokh is here for the Yeshuites, who seek the Name of God. Will you let us ashore? “

He paused, then shook his head, as I had known he would. “I cannot, Phèdre. I dare not.” His voice softened. “It would invoke the
geis
.”

“And we will break it,” I said steadily. “That’s why we’ve come.”

“No.” His face was set and hard. “It cannot be.”

“Then you will have to cross to us,” I said.

Something stirred in the depths of his eyes. “You saw what happened before.”

I nodded. “Rahab, or an invocation of him. Hyacinthe, it must be. Rahab must manifest to be banished. I will try to summon him if you will try to cross. Will you dare that much?”

His smile was edged with bitterness. “I would risk any part of myself to break this curse. It is innocent blood I will not endanger. Summon him, if you think you can.”

“So be it.” I turned to Imriel, and bade him fetch my writing case from the stateroom. Everyone aboard the ship was quiet as he did, waiting and watching.

Hyacinthe frowned, perplexed, dark irises waxing and waning. “
Melisande’s
son?”

“Ours, now.” I glanced at Joscelin, who smiled quietly. Imriel returned with the waxed leather case that contained parchment, pens and ink. Ti-Philippe unlashed an empty water-barrel and rolled it over unasked, making a writing surface. I opened the case and tested the point of a quill, emptying my mind of aught else. Uncorking the inkwell and dipping the pen, I wrote upon a virgin piece of parchment, forming the acrostic square I’d studied in Eleazar’s banned treatise.

RAHAB ABARA HABAH ARABA BAHAR

It was done, and the name of Rahab bounded the cruciform palindrome of Habah-Hu Habah, He-Who-Shall-Come, one of the secret names of the Mashiach. I laid down the quill with trembling fingers and recorked the ink, bowing to the four corners of the globe, acknowledging the One God’s dominion. “Rahab do I summon,” I cried, giving the Habiru incantation. “As the Hidden Name of the Mashiach does inhabit and summon thee, Rahab who is Lord of the Deep, come thouforth, and answer me, as all spirits are subject unto Yeshua ben Yosef, that every spirit of the firmament and of the ether, upon the earth and under the earth, on dry land or in the water, of whirling air or of rushing fire may be obedient unto the will of Adonai.” Leaning over the railing, I let the parchment flutter onto the waters. “Rahab, I summon thee!”

In the depths of the harbor, something stirred. The ship trembled.

“Now, Tsingano!” Joscelin shouted.

He tried, Hyacinthe did; tried, as he had before. Trusting, haunted, he took a step onto the now-churning waters, fearless of the depths. And as it had before, the world
shifted
. A maelstrom opened, and something moved within it, something bright and shining and terrible. Squinting my eyes, I saw water surge like a vast wing, green and foam-edged, a roiling eye. I opened my mouth, and the Name of God was there, on my tongue. There it remained, oar-locked and tight as the moment of manifestation trembled on the edge of being. The ship bucked like a restive mount, riding the surge; I fell to my knees and bit my tongue, tasting blood. There was shouting, somewhere, from Rousse’s sailors as they sought to steady the craft.

And then it was over, and we were still aboard the ship. The moment had passed, the summoning failed. On the shore, Hyacinthe was doubled and panting, each breath wracked with pain. “Not… so … easy …” he said, forcing out the words, straightening with an effort.

In the prow of the ship, Sibeal wept for the first time.

So be it.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Eleazar ben Enokh. “It would have been nice if it had worked.” I turned to Imriel. “Remember what I promised,” I said. “I would not leave if I didn’t believe I’d be back.”

He had his mother’s eyes. Imri nodded, gravely, understanding, even as Joscelin understood too, already in motion, moving to intercept me, crying, “Phèdre,
no
!”

Placing one hand on the railing, I vaulted over it, my skirts trailing. Even as I leapt, I was aware of Joscelin reaching for me, trying to grasp the merest fold of fabric and halt my momentum.

Too late.

I jumped.

Ninety-Six

A MIGHTY gust of wind caught and held me.

I hung suspended in midair, buffeted by gale forces, my hair lashing like a nest of angry adders, skirts snapping and whipping, my watering eyes slitted against the pressure as the winds tore the very breath from my lips.

Behind me, I heard above the roaring wind faint shouts of alarm, the ship creaking, ropes singing taut as the sails flapped and bellied in the fallout from the raging winds that held me. Below me stood Hyacinthe, his arms outspread. The terrible, deadly power of the Master of the Straits suffused his features, and there was nothing in him I could speak to.

Like a great fist, the knotted winds began carrying me back toward the ship.

“
Idiot
!” I shouted, the word lost in the winds. Master of the Straits or no, I’d spent the last two years with Hyacinthe’s voice haunting my dreams. “Put me down! I
have
the key! Give me the chance to use it!”

Doubt surfaced in those inhuman eyes. Somehow, in the roaring gale of his own elemental power, he’d heard my shouts. “You’re certain of it?”

The words came from all around me, as if the wind itself had spoken. I laughed. How many times had I asked Imriel that very thing? And now the question came back to me. “Yes,” I said in the center of my personal whirlwind, trusting Hyacinthe to hear. “I’m sure.”

His hands and lips moved and the winds ceased.

I dropped like a stone onto the barren promontory and caught myself on hands and knees, jarred by the impact.

“TSINGANO!”

Joscelin’s voice was the first thing I heard when the winds stopped, shouting with fury. I turned my head to see him clambering over the railing, preparing to make the leap even as hands grappled at him, trying to hold him back. The gap had grown wider, the ship blown several yards from shore.

“Joscelin, no!” I cried, getting to my feet. He stared at me, eyes wild and desperate, his fair hair wind-lashed. “Don’t do it,” I pleaded. “I was the only one who needed to come ashore. Only me. And if I’m wrong … there’s no need to put the rest at risk.”

“You knew.” His knuckles were white on the railing, his face taut. “You planned it all along.”

“I thought it might come to it,” I said softly. “No more.”

“Joscelin. Joscelin!” It was Imriel, catching his sleeve, who got Joscelin’s attention. “Don’t,” he said, his voice cracking with fear. “Please don’t. Not both of you. You promised.”

It was a tense moment. Quintilius Rousse watched with glowering concern, the others with a mix of fear and interest. Ti-Philippe and Hugues stood close at hand, prepared to wrestle Joscelin over the railing if need be. I wouldn’t have given much for their chances, if he’d set his mind to it, but Imriel’s plea had reached him. Joscelin sighed, defeated, sagging against the railing. “Then do it,” he murmured, “and be done with it.”

Only then did I fully realize that I stood upon the rock of Third Sister, the isle of the Master of the Straits. I raised my gaze to meet that of Hyacinthe, who stood near enough to touch.

“Phèdre,” he whispered.

I flung both arms about his neck and burst into tears.

He felt the same, under my touch. Whatever changes his long ordeal had wrought in him, whatever powers endowed him, beneath it he was Hyacinthe still, my childhood friend, my Prince of Travellers. The scent of his skin triggered more memories than I could count. Before Joscelin, before the Queen, before Thelesis de Mornay, Cecilie Laveau-Perrin, before my lord Delaunay himself… before them all, I had known Hyacinthe.

“Phèdre,” he said again, drawing a wracking breath, holding me close. “You said you were sure. You said you were
sure
!”

I lifted my tear-stained face. “I am, Hyacinthe; as sure as I can be. You wouldn’t risk any of us. Should I risk them, when I am the only one needed?”

His smile was a ghost of its former self as he released me. “You’re awfully willful for an
anguissette
, you know. A sickness in the blood, my mother would say.”

I laughed through my tears. “I remember.”

Hyacinthe shuddered and laid his hands upon my shoulders. “You know I have to ask?”

I nodded. “What is needful to break this curse. I know. I will take your place.”

“I could ask more,” he reminded me.

“Do I need to say it?” I dashed away the tears with the back of my hand, steadying my voice. “I know the source of your power, that is pages from the
Sepher Raziel
, the Lost Book of Raziel, which Rahab brought forth from the deep. I know that Rahab loved a D’Angeline woman who loved him not, and thus the curse was born. Do you require more? I know more. I can tell you tales of Rahab himself, and how he was punished once before, for failing to part the seas at the One God’s command. The
geis
is fulfilled, Hyacinthe. You are free of it.”

“The book.” He gazed at the stairs. “I shouldn’t leave without it.”

“Then let’s get it.”

Hyacinthe nodded and walked to the edge of the promontory, addressing the ship. A dozen faces ranged along the railing, staring back at him. “My lord Rousse,” he said in the echoing voice that came from everywhere and nowhere. “We go now to retrieve the one item of value on this forsaken isle. We will return, and attempt once more the crossing. Forgive me, but I must ensure before then that no other disembarks on this deadly shore.”

And so saying, he blew out his breath and pushed gently with both hands, whispering unheard words, circling three fingers in the air. The water in the still harbor surged, bearing the ship on a hummock into the center and depositing it there, untouched, while a wall of water circled about it in a contained maelstrom, sea-green and clear, unwitting fish swimming in the limpid barrier.

I heard shouts of dismay and consternation. Even at a distance, I could make out a few reactions. Quintilius Rousse was ordering his men about, rigging the ship with storm-sails, preparing for the worst. Sibeal remained in the prow, clinging to hope. Eleazar looked here and there, visibly exclaiming and beaming at the marvel. Joscelin stood with arms folded, his face a mask of betrayal. And Imri … Imri was leaning over the railing, reaching out one hand in an effort to touch one of the circling fish, while Hugues held his legs anchored and Ti-Philippe pointed his efforts.

He wasn’t afraid, I thought. Ah, Imriel! Blessed Elua be thanked for that mercy.