Cassiel's Servant by Jacqueline Carey

Author:Jacqueline Carey [Carey, Jacqueline]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sci Fi & Fantasy
Publisher: Tor Publishing Group
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

In the morning, the campfire had burned low and the cavern was chilly. I stoked the fire just enough to melt snow for drinking water and provide a measure of heat while Phèdre and I scrambled into our clothing and packed the horses, our teeth chattering. Outside it appeared that the storm had passed, leaving the skies an empty grey.

We didn’t discuss what had transpired between us; not out of awkwardness, merely the exigency of our journey. But before we set forth, I caught a glimpse of silvery lines that stopped me in my tracks etched above the entryway to the cavern.

“Phèdre!” I pointed.

It was Blessed Elua’s sigil, a lily and eight stars representing his Companions, shimmering like veins of silver against the dark grey rock. It meant that they had sheltered here crossing the Skaldic wilderness in search of a home—in search of Terre d’Ange, where they were welcomed with open arms and the ichor of their blood was written in the veins of their descendants.

We stared at the sigil and then at each other, both of us wide-eyed with wonder. “You know what this means,” I said. “They took shelter here. Blessed Elua, Cassiel, Naamah … all the Companions. They were here.”

“They were here.” Phèdre echoed my words as though they were a prayer. “Joscelin, let’s go home.”

I tugged my wolf-pelt in place. “Home.”

In the following days, I thought often about that night. It was only in the secret places of my heart that I dared wonder: If the gods themselves condoned our joining, was there a measure of grace in it? Of hope? Or was I truly damned for eternity for a single night of soul-shattering joy? For even if I never spoke of it again, I could never forget. Although it lay sealed behind us by Elua’s blessing, it was an absurdly pleasurable distraction from the things which attempted to kill us as we travelled toward the Camaeline Mountains; things which included first and foremost the weather, more wolves, and once, a bear we disturbed from its winter sleep in a cavern we’d thought empty. It lumbered after us, gaunt and massive, one last swipe nearly taking down the pony as we floundered away through the snow.

For a mercy, our attackers did not include further human pursuers. Between the markings on Selig’s maps and her own well-trained powers of observation, Phèdre was adept at spotting signs of human habitation or activity in the distance, and we were able to steer clear of any steadings or hunting parties.

Given our circumstances, we made good speed, but Waldemar Selig had not been idle. Our pursuers had been forced to track us across the wilderness through which we’d fled. According to Phèdre, Harald the Beardless had traded places with one of Selig’s personal thanes to accompany the trackers, for he had some vision of restoring the honor of Gunter’s steading by securing her return.

That meant it was likely Selig had sent riders carrying word of our flight to the steadings between us and the border.

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