Joscelin sighed.

In the matter of Severio Stregazza, I did not have long to wait. A reply came even before my chevaliers had made their way back to the house, scrawled in Severio's impatient hand. I smiled to read it, remembering how terse his initial proposal to me had been; by contrast, this was a jumbled missive expressing his undying affection, his enormous joy at learning of my presence and, as an afterthought, a pleading invitation that I attend a celebration that night in honor of his friend Benito Dandi's natality.

"Will you go?" Joscelin asked coolly.

"No." I shook my head, and sent once more for writing materials while Severio's manservant waited. "I asked him to present me to his grandfather the Doge and to Prince Benedicte. I'll wait on that answer before I plunge into Serenissiman society-'tis the Doge's Palace I need to access. Anyway, it does no harm to keep him anxious."

To that, he made no reply.

Ere nightfall, my chevaliers had returned, full of high spirits and useful information, which they related to me over dinner. Careful to take no chances, I had the household servants dismissed while we dined; knowing no better, they put it down to some D'Angeline oddity.

"The chiefest rumor," Ti-Philippe announced eagerly, "is that the Doge himself, Cesare Stregazza, has plans to step down come year's end." He looked at me to continue, and I nodded. " 'Tis well known he has the shaking-sickness, and rumor says the Oracle of Asherat has proclaimed he will die of it, if he does not cede the throne."

"Rumor says too," Fortun murmured, "that there is pressure from the Consiglio Maggiore, who fear his illness weakens their position in negotiation."

"It has not been formally announced?" I inquired.

"No." Ti-Philippe shook his head vigorously. "But everyone says it, and we went over half the city, pretending to be drunk, after Fortun found out how much profit you made on that lead shipment, my lady!" He grinned. "I always liked Drustan mab Necthana, but I like him better now that I know how cheap he's selling Alban goods for D'Angeline trade!"

Fortun cleared his throat. "I arranged to put it on account at the Banco Tribune," he said apologetically. "Messire Brenin said it was the best."

"Fine," I said. "And what does La Serenissima say about the Doge's imminent retirement?"

Remy laughed, then sobered at my quizzical look. "Pardon, my lady, but it's a dogfight, or near enough. There are six Sestieri to the city, and each one's the right to put forward a candidate, though it must be one whose family name is inscribed in the Golden Book-and that's by popular election. When the Doge is elected, 'tis the Consiglio Maggiore who does the choosing among 'em. Right now, it's all rumor and chaos, with the districts fighting among themselves and with each other over who they favor. I mean really fighting," he added. "Mobs of young gallants in striped hose, beating each other over the head."

"We saw a splendid fight," Ti-Philippe said cheerfully. "On the bridge, with staves. I wanted to join it, but Fortun threatened to throw me in the canal."

"Thank you," I said to Fortun, who nodded gravely. To Ti-Philippe, I said, "La Serenissima lacks a proper sewage system, you know. They use the canals." I knew, I'd seen Leonora empty the chamber pot.

"Well, that's why I didn't, isn't it?" he asked logically. "Anyway, two of old Cesare's lads are in the mix, it seems. Marco's the elder of the Stregazza; your Severio's father, that's wed to Prince Benedicte's daughter. He's got the Sestíeri Dogal's vote, all the clubs are behind him, and they love him well, only he's fallen out with Prince Benedicte, they say, since the old boy remarried, so his people are nervous that the Consiglio's going to turn against him. And the other's Ricciardo, his younger brother, who's going for the Sestieri Scholae, where all the craft-guilds are quartered, and getting them all up in arms over some tax."

Severio had told me as much, I remembered; it hadn't meant anything to me at the time. Now, I struggled to encompass it. "Six Sestíeri," I said. "Six districts. There are four other candidates, then?"

"Not yet," Fortun told me. "We heard Orso Latrigan has a lock on the Sestíeri d'Oro, and what he can't win, he'll buy. But there are three others where candidates are still vying." He shrugged and gave a quiet smile. "I like Lorenzo Pescaro for Sestieri Navis, myself. They say the ink's still wet in the Golden Book where his family name was entered, but I've heard of him; he made a reputation chasing Illyrian pirates. He's a good commander."

"I'll be sure to note that." Having heard more than I hoped I'd ever need to know about Serenissiman electoral candidates, I asked the one question that really mattered. "And Melisande?"

One by one, my chevaliers shook their heads.

"My lady," Fortun said reluctantly, "we asked. We played at being drunken D'Angeline sailors up and down the length of the Grand Canal, and too many byways to count, and some of us-" he scowled at Ti-Philippe "-were not exactly playing. Remy sang that song, you know the one? 'Eyes of twilight, hair of midnight.' " I knew it; it had been written for Melisande, though they sing it now with a different name. "At any rate," Fortun continued, "he sang it over half the city, beseeching everyone in sight for news of his beloved, who abandoned him for his lack of station." He looked gravely at me. "What we learned, you heard. But no one-no one, my lady-had word of a D'Angeline noblewoman answering to Melisande Shahrizai's description. And I do not mean that they were reluctant to betray her to a drunken sailor, my lady. I mean that they have not heard of her, ever. You taught me to recognize the signs of evasion and dissemblage. We talked to oarsmen, porters and nobles alike. Not a one knew of her, and not a one lied."

A little silence fell over our table.

"Phèdre," Joscelin said, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "You think Melisande is in La Serenissima because she wanted you to think it. It stands to reason, therefore, that she is not."

Ysandre had said as much, and as rightly. I could not explain to Joscelin any more than I could to the Queen my unreasoning certainty, because, ultimately, whether I liked to admit it or not, it was rooted in the belief that I knew Melisande Shahrizai's deepest nature better than anyone else alive or dead, even Delaunay.

As she knew mine.

I took a deep breath. "Gonzago de Escabares' friend was contacted after he paid a visit to the Doge's Palace. If the answer is here, surely it lies within those walls, and if Melisande took shelter within them, it may well be that no one outside them knows of her existence. Think on it," I added, gazing round at them. "We know the Stregazza capable of treachery, and, even now, they fight among themselves for a throne not even vacated. At least let me gain entrance within the Palace, before we conclude that this journey has been for naught."

"Well," Ti-Philippe said optimistically. "It's not for naught if we profit by it."

With that, no one of us could disagree. Money, after all, is a valuable thing to have.

Indeed, I was to find that it was a great greaser of locked doors, before the sun set on the following day. In the morning, Leonora shook me awake to murmur anxiously that another courier awaited, once again clad in Stregazza livery.

I kept him waiting while I washed and dressed, and then read his missive to learn that Severio had secured for me an audience with the Doge that afternoon, which he was most impatient that I should attend, that he might speak with me afterward.

As to Prince Benedicte, Severio wrote, he had written his maternal grandfather with no response to date, but that was to be expected, with the strain betwixt their houses.

Ah well, I thought; I tied my own hands, when I insisted on the appearance of a falling-out with the Queen. If I'd wanted entree into the Little Court, Ysandre would have been happy to provide it. But it was the Stregazza with whom I needed to deal, and no royal writ from House Courcel would obtain their trust. If I needed aught from Prince Benedicte, there were other names I could invoke-such as Quintilius Rousse, or even Anafiel Delaunay, if need be. I had made my promise to Rousse and I meant to keep it, but not until I knew somewhat worth the telling. And surely not while it posed the risk of jeopardizing my semblance.

I wrote out a reply for Severio's courier, promising to arrive on the appointed hour.

To my surprise, Severio sent his own bissone, a splendid affair with a canopy of midnight-blue, the Stregazza arms worked in relief on the sides, depicting a carrack and the tower I now recognized from the Arsenal. In the prow stood a gilded wooden statue of Asherat, extending her arms in blessing over the waters of the canal.

By their attire, I saw that the oarsmen were noble-born; parti-color hose striped in blue and saffron, affixed by points to overtunics of velvet slashed to show the white damask of their shirts. One wore a short mantle of green fastened with a gold brooch, and it was he who stood and gave a sweeping bow as I descended the stairs to the quai, calling out, "Contessa Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève, the Immortali welcome you to La Serenissima!"

"That's one of the noblemen's clubs," Ti-Philippe murmured behind me. "Your Severio's, I'll warrant.”

I had chosen him and Joscelin both to accompany me that day; the latter for his sober presence, and the former for his quick wit and knowledge of the city. I nodded briefly, and made the rest of my descent smiling.

"Thank you, my lord," I greeted the Serenissiman, inclining my head and giving him my hand to aid me onto the bissone. "You know my name, but I confess, I am at a disadvantage."

"Benito Dandi." He grinned and swept another bow. "You would not come to my birthday party, my lady, but I confess, the mere sight of you is a gift nonetheless precious for its tardiness! I thought Severio was boasting, but it seems he spoke the truth."

"For once," one of his fellows added impishly, pretending to stagger when I glanced at him. "Ah! It's true! She wounds me with her blood-pricked gaze!"

I could not help it; I laughed. Serenissimans do not worship Elua and his Companions, but they know our religion well by virtue of a long-standing D'Angeline presence in the city. Obviously, Severio's boasting had added to the lore. Another of the Immortali dropped his oar and fell to the bottom of the boat. "Bells and chimes!" he groaned, rolling and clapping his hands over his ears. "The D'Angelines seek to invade us with beauty and destroy us from within; Baal-Jupiter, forgive me, I worship the sound of my enemy's voice!"

It was enough of a spectacle to gather an audience, figures appearing on the balconies of neighboring houses, gazing down with amusement.

"My lady," Joscelin said in a flat tone. "You have an audience with the Doge."

"Ah." Benito Dandi eyed him warily. "The chaperone. You'll have to leave those arms with the guards ere you enter the Palace, fair Sir Gloom. Well, never mind us, Contessa; we're an unruly lot, but the fastest rowers on the water, and only the Immortali are fit to carry you! Summon your pretty squawking grey-crow aboard, and yon maidenfaced boy, and we'll be at Old Shaky's doorstep before you can blink!"

I raised my eyebrows at Joscelin and Ti-Philippe, waiting to see if they would balk at the insults, but both gave way- Joscelin with stiff dignity, and Ti-Philippe with a glint in his eye that told me he would take full advantage of their erroneous perceptions. Yon maiden-faced boy, I thought, would fill his pockets at the Immortali's expense once their play turned to dicing.

We were off to see the Doge, whom the scions of the Hundred Worthy Families, I had just learned, called Old Shaky. It didn't augur well for the level of respect he commanded.

Along the way, folk in passing craft and on the bridges and quais cried out greetings to the Immortali, who shouted in response. Admiration, aspiration, adversity; I heard it all, in the ringing shouts. There was no small curiosity about me, and I took care to keep my features serene, even when Benito Dandi shouted my name to a group of his fellow Immortali atop the Rive Alto bridge.

Not until we passed the bustling center of the Campo Grande did my unsolicited escort sober, under the unamused gaze of the Dogal Guard. Benito Dandi handed me ashore, and I brushed off my gown, a rich blue satin inset with velvet panels; Serenissiman blue, the color is called. It had a fretted silver girdle with jet beads and a caul to match; somber, nearly. Except for the elegance of the fit.

I looked away as the Guard confiscated Joscelin's arms.

The Immortali trailed behind, laughing and jesting as a pair of guardsmen escorted us along the serried colonnade, through alternating patterns of light and shadow, and thence through the old triumphal arch into the inner courtyard, where statues of ancient Tiberian statesmen and heroes stood in niches along the facade of the building and a marble well stood in the center of the courtyard. We mounted the broad stairway, flanked by tall statues of Asherat-of-the-Sea and Baal-Jupiter, and were met at the top by Severio Stregazza.

"Phèdre!" His voice caught echoes in the courtyard. Smiling, he bowed and greeted me in my own tongue. "My lady Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève, welcome to La Serenissima."

I curtsied, and answered in Caerdicci. "Well met, Prince Severio."

The Immortali elbowed each other and made jests, while the guardsmen remained stoic; for his part, Severio glowed with pleasure. I had not forgotten that his own attendants acknowledged him as noble-born, not royal-but I was D'Angeline, and by our reckoning, he was of the lineage of House Courcel and a Prince of the Blood.