"Move away!" he snapped as the crowd pressed in. "Move back!"Elayne sat up, aided by many hands. She struggled for air through the veil, bewildered, trying to rememberwho she was and where.

"Take her to the church!" the guard captain said.

"Nay, let me take her to my galley," the Raven said, kneeling beside her. "She's half-dead with fright. Escortus, keep me in your eye, but let her be made comfortable. Then I'll return with you to make a deposition.""Well enough," the captain said. He turned. "Who has the Signor's purse? Count the coins. What should be in it, sir?""Two hundred ducats!" several voices chorused at once."Two hundred," the pirate agreed dryly. He looked up at the wall of the church across the square. "Let it be given to San Giacomo, in thanks for our deliverance, and restitution for my soul."Elayne rubbed her throat, still trying to piece together what had happened. Her neck was sore and bruisedfrom his fingers. Inside the stuffy little cabin on the galley, Margaret fluttered about her, trying to applycompresses which Elayne removed as soon as the maid pressed them to her forehead. The pup grabbed thecloths from her fingers and shook them vigorously, flinging drops of rose water into every corner of the small space, which made Margaret's baby laugh and struggle in its swaddling. Matteo stood at the portal, hisfingers curled anxiously about the ragged curtain as he held it open."I am not faint," Elayne said for the tenth time as the maid tore yet another strip of cloth to soak. Her voice was hoarse. "I am perfectly well."

"Yes, Your Grace," Margaret said, soaking the cloth in her bowl of rose water and stubbornly wringing thecotton to fold again.Elayne wiped a drop from her eyebrow. They had taken away her blood-soaked shoes, but even attar of roses could not seem to cleanse the smell of butchery from her nostrils. "He is a demon," she said."Yes, Your Grace," Margaret replied, lifting the compress to Elayne's forehead."I can't live this way," Elayne said, pulling off the cloth and resting back on the pillows. "I refuse to do it.""Yes, ma'am." The maid nipped her compress from Elayne's fingers before the pup could steal it and prepared to soak the cloth again. Nimue bounded out onto the galley's deck, looking for easier game."Margaret!" Elayne cried faintly. "He killed those men. In the dark. He could not even see them!""Yes, Your Grace. I am so glad."Elayne sat up. "As if they were brute animals. As if it were no more than slaughtering pigs.""They were pigs, my lady. Riata pigs."Matteo dropped his wide-eyed gaze and looked down at his toes. He stepped back and let the curtain fall closed."But-in the dark," Elayne said, staring after him at the swaying drape. "Two of them. He had no weapon."Margaret put the compress to her forehead again. "Do you lie down, my lady, please.""He told me he was a manslayer," Elayne said, closing her eyes."My lord is very skilled," Margaret said. "Zafer says he can kill anyone he pleases, Your Grace, no matter how well-guarded they believe themselves to be.""God shield." Elayne slumped back on the pillows. Rose water dripped down into her eyes. While she hadbeen craving his touch, dreaming of his kisses, he had been planning how he would cut a man's throat. He had choked her pulse until she swooned, there in front of a hundred people, and none had seemed to knowthe difference. "He is a demon.""Yes, Your Grace," Margaret said."And he has bewitched the whole lot of you!" she exclaimed. "I believe he can make the entire city believe he killed those men because they tried to rob us.""I pray so, Your Grace." The maid's brow creased. "I pray so."Elayne plucked off the compress. "What would they do to a plain murderer?" she asked the ceiling of the cabin."A murderer would be hanged, I think, Your Grace.""Hanged and beheaded and drawn and quartered," Elayne said.Margaret stopped soaking the cloth in the rose water. She made a little frightened whimper. Elayne stared at the planks above her. He had caressed her that way, made her tremble with desire for him, in full knowledge of what was to come. She thought of the long bloody knife and felt a furious revulsion in her throat. She could hardly say if she was more terrified for him, or of him.

She sat up. "Do not fear." She dipped both hands in the bowl and splashed cold water over her face. "They won't execute him," she said angrily. "They could not. They can't kill one of Satan's own fiends." He returned in the night. Elayne sat on the stern of the galley, hooded and cloaked in the cool air, watching a great harvest moon rise over the domes of San Marco and the glimmering roll of the water. She did not hear him come aboard; she only heard Dario's soft salute, in between the magician's snores, and a stir in the water below the ship as a gondola poled away.

Against the huge moon she saw his silhouette, moving over the cabin and rigging like a cat over rooftops. He landed silently on the deck before her. Elayne exhaled deeply, feeling as if she had been holding her breath for hours.

"The third Riata will not trouble us," he murmured.

"You have killed him, too?" she said. "What a comfort."

She could not see his face, only feel the warmth of his body near her in the night air. The Egyptian's snoringfilled the silence."Drowned," he said after a moment.Elayne folded her fingers tightly in her lap. She could feel his bridal ring press into her bone."Did they accept your deposition?" she asked at length."In large part. They could not believe I had no weapon on me. The Quarentia voted to banish me from Venice for a month, as a precaution. But I have a day's grace to absent myself.""Fortunate," she said. "Just enough time to drown someone."He leaned against the rail beside her, a blacker shape against the black night. "Elena. You did well.""Grant mercy. Of course I am glad to satisfy you with my conduct.""Even if you didn't scream.""I never scream. I merely swoon when I am strangled."He paused. "I regret that," he said. "I ask your pardon.""Why should you? I am at your service to poison or throttle as you please, am I not?""I will not do it again," he said. "I swear.""Ah, now I will sleep easy.""You're angry," he said. He touched her cheek with his knuckles. His hand seemed warm against the damp breeze off the water. "My hellcat.""Don't call me that.""She-wolf," he said."Demon!" she hissed."Aye. Ex-communicate and unshriven, too," he added. "Unless two hundred ducats can buy me relief."She shivered in the night air. Margaret's babe began to cry, a muffled sound inside the cabin. It wept and then quieted at the maid's soft hushing.

"We must leave now," he said. "This galley will sail east at dawn, with Zafer and the others. You and I gowest, under darkness, as fast as we can travel. Can you ride?""Yes," she said.She did not move. He stood beside her. She thought of his hand at her back, the heat of his body so close to her in the Rialto. She hated the desire that rose in her yet, at his very presence. Silence fell again betweenthem.A great silence, a dark silence."Are you afraid of me?" he whispered.Elayne rose. She pulled her cloak closer about her shoulders and turned away, leaving him in the dark.

Chapter Thirteen.

She must find a priest, she thought. There was but one answer now. She could not go home; she could not live in such a manner; she could not go to Melanthe or Lancaster or Raymond. She had never been a devoted admirer of the clergy, the reproving deans and plump-fingered rectors who had come to dine on eels and venison at Savernake, but she could not turn now to anyone but the church.

They left Venice behind far across the lagoon, its domes and walls a black mass like a lion crouched upon the waters in the moonlight. The clouds towered up overhead, tumbled radiance, glowing at the edges with the silvery light. Morosini's man poled along a muddy bank, where there seemed to be naught but reeds and waterfowl making sleepy hoots in the darkness. Elayne said nothing. She let the pirate direct her. He meant them to travel by land; surely they would sojourn at some monastery-but then she was not certain if a man ex-communicate from the church would be suffered to remain in a house of God. But somewhere, soon enough, she would find someone ordained, and tell him she was abducted, and throw herself on the mercy of the church.

She could not live with him. The lies and ravishment, the study of poison and murder, the children left behind without mercy-all of that, she had borne, carried along on the tide of his will, drawn by his mystery, entranced by the way he moved and the thoughts he dared to entertain. Her other choices had seemed vague and distant, only leading to worse fates.

But she saw clearly now. She must get away from him. He killed so easily, so naturally, without mercy or regret. He lied as if angels commanded his tongue. It was his nature, as the leopard would stalk the nightmare forest and strike when it pleased. And a part of Elayne-a deep, hidden, wild and dreadful part of her-reached toward him. A part of her wanted to take that power to herself.

In truth, it was terrifying, the desire she felt for him. She was as blinded and besotted as Margaret and the rest. She had to get away.

The boatman bent to his pole, holding them against a low bank where reeds bowed and whispered in the night breeze. The Raven jumped onto the bank. Elayne stepped out as the boat tilted precariously. Her leather boots sank a little, water pooling around them.

A silent ostler brought two horses forward, their hooves making sucking noises in the soft mire. Elayne could only discern their size and outline-a stallion, she guessed, and a palfrey with a white blaze. The familiar smell and warmth of their big bodies permeated the damp air.

The pirate looked at her. He had changed into finer clothing, a dark houppelande and white shoulder cape with long indigo dags. He wore a hat like a hunter's, the folded point pulled down over his face, but she could see the line of his cheekbone; the shadowed curve of his mouth. Behind him, luminous clouds and sky glowed with midnight blue and silver brilliance. The light gave him form and substance, the graceful shape of her murderous angel of the dark. She hugged her arms around herself and turned, trying to give nothing of her thoughts away.

She had but a simple plan. Find a church, find a cleric. It seemed that it must be painted upon her forehead in burning letters. He stayed near her while the ostler threw saddlebags over the horses. She could feel his attention on her.

He had asked if she could ride. She could ride near anything, and had done it at Savernake, from the feral colts to the half-tamed breeding studs.

The ostler stood holding the smaller palfrey. The pirate reached for the stallion's saddle and put his foot into the stirrup without hesitation, without even testing the animal's girth. The big horse stood tense, head lifted, its eyes rolling white in the dimness.

Elayne paused, listening to the stallion's uncertain huffs, a sound that proclaimed it was ready to stand but happy to bolt given the smallest pretext. In the moonlight it began to turn, spinning in a circle, the hoofbeats growing more rapid and uneven. Il Corvo, the terror of the Middle Sea, hopped on one foot as the horse circled faster. He dragged on the reins. The stallion stepped aside, throwing its head in the air, its hindquarters coiled for an explosion.

Too late, the ostler lunged for the animal's bridle. Moonlight gleamed on the stallion's haunches and shoulders as it reared. Only the pirate's quick balance kept him from falling as he kicked free of the stirrup and landed on one leg, his dagged shoulder cape fanning out wildly. He bumped up against Elayne as he caught himself.

"Hang Morosini," he muttered. "One of his whores would be easier to mount."

Elayne chewed her lip. She moved back a little, reached down in the darkness, and pulled her back hem between her legs, knotting the silk shift up to her waist with a quick loop that she had made a thousand times. "I know a little of horses," she said. "I think you alarm him."

"Is it so?" the pirate asked dryly. "We are of one mind, then. He alarms me."

"Perchance ..." She took a step forward, then back, not wanting to appear overconfident. "I could try. If the man will hold him while I mount."

"And break your neck, my lady? Why would I allow that?"

"You are anxious of him," she said, rather than declare the truth outright-that he was evidently nothing of a horseman. "He senses it. I don't think he will be unruly with me."

He stood silent, looking at the horse. "You brought no other mount?" he asked the ostler.

"Nay, signor," the man said uneasily. "I was not told to bring another. Two good horses, steady and fast, for a gentleman and a lady, I was told."

"Steady!" Il Corvo said. "Bah."

"He is not often disobedient, signor," the ostler muttered.

Il Corvo snorted. "How long to bring another?"

"In haste-I might be back by Matins, signor."

The Raven made a sound of disgust.

Elayne gave a little shrug. "Let us wait for a gentler mount, then, if it wounds your pride that I might do it better."

He blew air through his teeth. "Oh, I am certain that you can ride him the better. Anyone could. God curse Morosini. We cannot stay till dawn. If this evil creature harms you, I'll see the man in Hell."

She could have mounted from the ground, but she let the ostler help her. The horse stiffened under her, waiting for a reason to object. She gave him none, and after a moment the animal heaved a sigh and lowered its head.

In the dark the palfrey stood patiently as the pirate swung himself into the saddle. She could see the black stretches of the marsh and his silhouette clearly in the light of the great moon as it hung near to setting. The palfrey's white blaze nodded as the horse champed its bit. Elayne suspected the pirate was beleaguering the animal's reins for no good reason, but it bore his interference tolerantly. It appeared to be a good mount for a green rider. She hoped it was just such a sturdy slug, even though the ostler claimed it had some speed.

"This track will lead you to the canal-side, signor," the ostler said. "There is a road along the bank."

The palfrey's bit jingled as Il Corvo clucked to the animal, shaking the reins. It broke into a sedate trot down the only path visible in the night. Her stallion followed willingly, a steady thump of hooves in the sandy muck.

Elayne had no notion of where they were or where they were going. She could see smooth, silvery expanses of water out across the flats, and the lumps and shapeless contours of vegetation beside the track. The moonlit clouds shed such radiance that the horizon was a sharp black boundary between sky and land. In some places she thought she discerned the mass of a hut or a weir, or even the towers of a distant town, but she could not be certain what they were. It seemed an empty place, given only to the night breeze and the water.

It was so bright under the full moon that she could see a tuft of downy white caught on the thumb of her glove. Nimue had barked and cried, scrabbling to climb over the railing as their boat had pulled away from the ship. Elayne had not even been able to say a real goodbye to the pup. Or to Margaret and her baby, or Matteo, or any of them. She had not dared.

She rolled the white puff of hair in her fingers, and then pushed it inside her glove. The sudden moisture in her eyes magnified the horizon for an instant. She caught a clear glimpse of a tower in the distance before she blinked and it became a blur again.

The path widened to a cart track, pale marks between the windswept reeds. A meandering canal gleamed between low banks. Just ahead, the palfrey paced kindly along, following the road. The horse was a true ambler; a fine smooth-gaited mount that even the pirate ought to bestride with small discomfort, the sort of horse that Sir Guy would have been proud to offer to Lady Melanthe for traveling.

Elayne did not intend to keep to an amble. Her heart beat harder as she realized she was gathering herself; the stallion responded immediately with a lifting of his back, coiling under her.

She gave a little false shriek, digging her heels into the animal's barrel at the same time that she dragged back on the reins. He danced in protest. She begged silent pardon of the confused beast, driving him again, and again, still holding him back on taut reins until he twisted and reared in frustration.

Elayne made an effort to scream. It came out as a yelp, but she hauled the horse around, prodding him cruelly again as his forefeet hit the ground. He squealed in anger. She sat back as she felt him duck his head. His body rose under her, a buck and hard kick. She rode the jerking motion twice, then saw the track and the palfrey standing before her. She released the tight reins.

The stallion sprang forward. She managed a resemblance of a frightened shriek. It bucked again, aimed a kick at the palfrey as the other horse shied hard away, and began to run.

She leaned forward, letting the reins slip through her fingers. The horse moved powerfully under her. She could not see more than the faint double track between silhouettes of weeds, the black lumps of hedges that vanished from the corners of her eyes. The wind tugged at her hood as the stallion's stride lengthened, his hooves pounding on solid ground now, his great body coursing forward in familiar rhythm.

Night air rushed past. She let the horse have full rein as it stretched into a true gallop. She put her hands against its muscled neck and let its cadence and power bear her blindly into the night. She felt suddenly freed, as if she might ride forever, as if the stallion were a magic beast that could fly across mountain and water to carry her home.

At the moment of that willful thought, the horse surged ahead. The gallop that had been free and wild suddenly transformed. The stallion began to drive in earnest, flinging its forelegs out into an enormous stride, ears pinned back, body flattened into the hammering stroke of a horse in full charge. She could hear the drum of hooves behind them- the palfrey bolting, too, and fast. Startlingly fast, for an ambler with a poor rider. In an instant of guilty exhilaration, she knew that the pirate must have fallen off as the stallion plunged past them, and freed his horse to sprint at speed.

The palfrey came on with incredible swiftness even as the stallion's gallop hurled her through the night. She spared a glance over her shoulder, wind and mane beating at her cheek, thinking to see the horse riderless against the bright horizon. With a heart-deep spurt of alarm, she realized it was not.

In the other cart track the palfrey pursued them like a horse out of Hell itself, the moonlight gleaming on its blaze as it drew even with the stallion's hindquarters. Wind tore her hood from her head, sending her hair lashing around her face. The stallion increased its effort as the palfrey challenged it, pulling forward while the track curved and the bushes hurtled past, their branches whipping her leg. She could discern that someone rode it, but she could not believe it was a man who did not even know how to mount.

He was a wizard. The idea seized her. Sorcery it seemed, as the palfrey's breath blew hot on her knee, as the lighter horse overtook them in spite of the stallion's exertion. With sudden terror she urged the stallion to greater speed in its wild race into blackness, but the palfrey gave no ground. It drew even with her shoulders as she bent over the stallion's neck.

Through blurry eyes she chanced a look aside and saw the pirate nearly abreast of her. In the darkness the palfrey's reins flew free; its rider was a black shape, one hand gripped in the horse's mane, half-standing and half-suspended from the saddle at a blood-chilling angle that seemed impossible to maintain as he reached toward her.

"Do not do it!" she screamed, realizing that he meant to grab her rein. "Do not!" In an instant all thought of sorcery vanished. He had no concept of what would happen if he succeeded. He was riding on will and dexterity, barely holding to his seat.

The horses hurtled together down the uneven road. There was no stopping the palfrey-it was one of those beasts that lived to race, to stay ahead, and the stallion flung itself into the contest. Both horses were beyond control now; a tiny stumble would send them down in a bone-breaking tangle. She hid her face in the stinging mane, praying that they could see their way at such speed. When the pirate reached again for her rein, she struck out at his arm.

"Lunatic!" she cried. He grabbed her elbow, as if that could stop her. She felt him drag her down as he lost his balance. "Let go!" she screamed, jerking free by throwing her weight to the other side. The move sent the stallion into a wild collision with the palfrey; as she nearly lost her seat she felt the heavy jolt and rebound. The palfrey swerved out of the track and made a leap, clearing black reeds.

For an instant he held on. In the moonlight she saw the arch of the horse's neck, saw the pirate grab mane with both hands, and then the animal hit the ground, throwing him free. In a flash of half-seen motion in the dark, he went down between them.

He was gone, left behind before she could even realize it. With no unwieldy weight on its back, the palfrey plunged full ahead, but in the universal manner of horses, it quickly seemed to realize that it only wanted to stay by the stallion instead of bolting past.

She could feel her mount flag. Elayne let it slow at its own will, paced exactly by the palfrey. The horses dropped to a trot. All of them, including Elayne, were breathing with explosive huffs. The stallion's ribs expanded and contracted between her legs as it fell into a walk.She took the palfrey's reins. It halted willingly, a plain, gentle horse that reached over to nibble at a weedbetween pants, its mad race forgotten already. No trace of magic clung to it, no hint of the extraordinary speed that had overtaken the stallion's lead. She could feel her mount's exhaustion, but the palfrey seemedmerely a little sweaty in the cool night air.Elayne turned the animals, looking back down the cart track. She could see nothing but the black marshland under the moonlight. A deep shivering possessed her. For a moment she could not seem to find her breath atall. She pressed her hands down on the saddle-bow and bent her head, trying to overcome the tardy wave offaintness.

It was certain he would be injured, if not killed. He was a great fool, a murderer, and agile beyond measure, tohave held on as long as he had. She had no sympathy for him. She wanted to escape him. Over her shoulderthe steeple was clear now in the distance. She was free, with sanctuary within her grasp.

She moaned, twisting the stallion's mane around her fingers. She closed her eyes, willing herself to turn andleave him there.She opened them. "Damn you!" she whispered. "God curse you. What have you done to me?"

She drew a trembling breath and began to walk the horses slowly back along the track.She found him at a clump of reeds, the sand around him gleaming with pale, deep scars from the horses'hooves. He lay halfway on the cart track, his shoulder lifted as he supported himself on one elbow.

Elayne dismounted. He rolled onto his hands and knees, then stood. He swayed, not seeming to see that

she was there, and went down to his knees.She watched him as he lowered his head over the ground. She knew that sensation from many a hard fall-the wind knocked from her chest and a wave of sickness in her throat.

"Don't try to rise," she said.

He lifted his head abruptly, saw her, and then leaned again over his hands splayed in the sand. His nose wasbleeding. He gulped air. "You are not-hurt," he said, between gasps."Not I. Are you?"He did not reply. She waited. After a few moments he sat back on his heels, putting his hand to his temple.

He was panting softly. "Not-skilled-with horses.""Verily!" she snapped. "You near slayed us both."He looked up at her then, his face a little angled, squinting, as if it were an effort to focus upon her. He tried to stand again, and failed. "Che cazzo," he said coarsely, and collapsed to one knee."Lie down," she said. "I believe your head was struck.""Aye," he said, and tried to stand again.Elayne dropped the horses' reins to the ground and went to him. "Lie down, you great fool." She pulled off her mantle and made a pillow of it, kneeling in the damp sand.He resisted her, taking a reeling step. He reached for the palfrey's reins and leaned against the horse's shoulder, his face in its mane. His hand groped for the stirrup. As Elayne watched, he sank slowly to theground beside the palfrey's leg.She made a sound of vexation and went to him, leading the horse a few steps aside, where it was happy to graze on the marsh grass. The pirate was dead to awareness as she pulled off her cloak, but he came awake

again, wincing, while she arranged it beneath his head.Elayne pulled the laces of his cape open at the throat. "What did you think you were about?" she said angrily."Did you think you could stop me?"

He closed his eyes and opened them. A lock of his loosened hair lay across his forehead, trailing over hisbloodied nose and down his cheek. "Save you," he murmured."Save me!" she cried. "Depardeu. Save me!""Bolt," he said between his white teeth. "Vile... beast."

"He wasn't bolting with me."

"He wasn't?" he mumbled, in the meekest tone she had ever heard from him.

"No," she said fiercely.

"Flaming hell," he said, and closed his eyes.

The pirate insisted upon traveling onward. Against her strong counsel, he had managed to mount, hauling himself onto the long-suffering palfrey by the power of will alone, for his body seemed to prefer the ground. She did not think another man would have been able to stand at all. In the early light there was blood smeared all across his perfect nose and lips. His cape was full of dirt and his eyes were turning blackened. He had lost his headgear, and his dark hair tumbled loose and tangled down his back. He looked like an escaped prisoner from the Abyss.

As dawn came up behind them, a silvery haze obscured the horizon and the steeple tower. She led the palfrey at a slow pace along the bank of the canal, watching the light spread gray and green color to the reeds. He was too unsteady to do more than hold on, but the sluggish progress greatly displeased him, as he made known in the most crude language, muttering low words in French and Italian and tongues she had never heard before. Often enough he put his head down on the palfrey's neck and lifted it again, looking about as if he did not fathom where he was. He asked her once why they were riding, and seemed to have forgotten that he had arranged for the horses himself.

She knew he had money and bread and papers in the stallion's saddlebags; she had searched them. She could have trotted away and left him now, with ease. The steeple had begun to resolve itself from the morning mist; she saw that it was not a church at all, but a small tower with a broken windmill at the peak. Salt ponds gleamed flat and white under the rising sun.

She halted the horses, brushing back her loosened hair. Strain and lack of sleep dulled her mind. She had hoped for a religious house, or at least a village large enough to have a priest. Though when she envisioned her plea-that she had been abducted by a man who could hardly lift his head and speak sensibly-it now seemed a feeble claim.

She ought to leave him. The saltworks appeared long deserted, the thatched roofs of a cluster of huts falling to ruin at the base of the windmill.

"Let us rest here," she said, turning in the saddle.

"No," the Raven said, his hand in the palfrey's mane. "No. We press on."

She looked at him. "You are in no case to ride."

"I can ride," he said grimly.

With a flick, she threw the palfrey's reins over its head and dismounted. "Ride, then. I must rest."

She led the stallion toward the windmill, guiding him between overgrown bushes. Little white castles of salt grew in the flats, like tiny fortresses scattered over the pale mud. The sluice carried only a trickle of water, its wooden gate crusted closed by glittering crystals of brine. She prodded with her toe at a lead salt pan lying overturned beside the sluice gate.

"We cannot tarry," the pirate said. "We must make our rendezvous."