All the way to North Cape, the breeze was out of the south, and the three schooners made slow progress tacking against it. Their sullsi, Sleekit among them, had gone northward to join their kin and tell a story such as none had heard before, and the serpents likewise.
At North Cape they spent a night and part of a day, and replenished their water, then continued toward Theedalit.
Juliassa's recovery was slow at first, and mostly she'd stayed in bed, eating what was brought to her, though the night at North Cape seemed to strengthen her. Often she stared long at her hand mirror and the deep and vivid scar creasing neck, jaw, and nose with purplish red.
As they sailed up the firth, Brokols, informed by royal courier of the sighting, and transported by hansom, was at the wharf on crutches. Leonessto was there too, and they stood together, Brokols grinning broadly as the ship approached. After a few moments he could see Juliassa at the rail, and waved wildly. She waved back, but without enthusiasm. She's been sick, he decided, and it was a long hard mission.
She was the first off the vessel though, except for the sailors who'd jumped down to set lines on the bollards. Brokols crutched rapidly along the wharf to meet her, while Leonessto walked more slowly to let them finish their greetings. Brokols had almost reached her before he noticed, and the grin slid off his face.
"Juliassa!" he said. "Hrum but it's good to see you again!" He embraced her with one arm; she held her body stiff. Then, "What happened?"
"We found Tirros," she answered, "or he found us. I don't know how he missed my throat. It's what he went for."
"Oh, darling!" Brokols said.
"Then he jumped overboard and Sleekit killed him. Sleekit's sword was full grown, and he ran him through." No tears welled; her eyes were dry, her words brittle. "He'd always done cruel things, from the time we were little. And now . . ." Her lips closed, tight and thin. Brokols didn't know what to do, so he hugged her again, and that was the right thing, for her rigidity lessened and she hugged him back, a brief stiff squeeze.
Leonessto had stopped some yards off and hadn't heard. Now Juliassa looked at him, and he started over. Then his eyes saw the scar, and shock flashed in them. "What happened?!" he asked.
"Tirros," she said. "He'd been driven to sea in a small boat, by a storm, and we came across him. It was night, or nearly, and the men who took him aboard didn't know who he was. He looked different—filthy, long-haired, half-starved. And somehow he learned I was on board. He hid himself away from me, in the hold I suppose, until he saw his chance.
"We were setting the mines, had set most of them, when he tried to kill me, but I screamed and he fled, jumped overboard. Sleekit caught him in the water." She gripped Leonessto's hand then. "He's dead, father."
Then, at last, she did begin to cry, a few silent tears. The amirr couldn't speak, just nodded, his own tears flowing, and Brokols' started too. The three of them stood weeping, others skirting them widely as they disembarked and left.
"Well," said Leonessto after a long minute, "shall we go to the palace? Your mother will want to welcome you."
* * *
Brokols and Juliassa had their noon meal with her parents, then went home. It was at home that she broke down, wept hard and loud, the violence of it shocking Brokols clear of empathy, though not of sympathy. He held her, patting her clumsily while she soaked his shirt with tears. Afterward they bathed, then made awkward love. After that, as they lay relaxed, she seemed—not entirely different from the girl he'd known. She commented on how active he was with his leg still splinted. "What does the healer say about you crutching around so freely?" she asked.
"I'm not sure. About the time you left, Panni came to see me. Asked me questions. When he'd gone, my leg felt distinctly better."
She turned onto her stomach and raised up on an elbow. "What kind of questions?" There was an unexpected sharpness in her words. "Give me an example."
"Well, the last one he asked was what a broken leg might be used for." Brokols shrugged slightly where he lay. "And every time I answered, he asked it again. After awhile I was giving some very strange answers, and feeling better and better. And Panni was grinning! Finally I said a broken leg could be used for staying home, and I got chills from head to foot. He laughed out loud, bid me sleep well, and left."
Brokols paused, giving her a chance to react. She didn't, beyond turning pensive. He leaned toward her and kissed her. "Maybe we should send for Panni, if he's willing to come. Send a hansom; I'd almost bet he's never ridden in one. Perhaps he could heal the wound that Tirros gave you—not on your neck and face, but on your heart."
"Perhaps," she whispered. "But right now I want to be alone with you. And let you remind me that fucking can be an act of love."