I let out a shaking breath.

"I should have warned you." Ysandre gave me a compassionate glance. "He's been a great help, actually; we uncovered several of Melisande's allies thanks to Marmion. I'd forgotten about your ... long history with his House."

"Allies." I wrestled my thoughts into order. "But not Melisande?"

"No." Ysandre shook her head. "She's gone well and truly to earth, Phèdre, like a fox; and I suspect she's far beyond the borders of Terre d'Ange. Wherever she is, her power here is broken. What allies she had, have been executed, and no one, I think, would be fool enough to trust her with a bounty on her head. I promise you, you've naught to fear from Melisande Shahrizai."

Once upon a time, I was young and naive enough to have thought a Queen's reassurance beyond question. Now, I merely smiled and thanked Ysandre for her concern, holding my fear in check and gazing about the Hall of Games, wondering where the traitors lay.

Of their presence, I had no doubt.

FOUR

I he key to finding the traitor in the Queen's inner circle was hidden in that night at Troyes-le-Mont. Of that much, I was certain. Melisande Shahrizai had vanished from a well-guarded chamber in a fortress on high alert, and someone had helped her do it. If I could figure out how it was done, I would have the beginning of a trail to follow.

It was Fortun, the steadiest of my chevaliers, who hit upon the notion of mapping out the route of Melisande's escape. "Do you know where she was held, my lady?" he asked thoughtfully. "The ground floor, or the second?"

Joscelin gave me a long look.

"It was the second floor," I said.

Melisande had sent for me that night and, like a fool, I had gone, meeting with her in her royal prison-cell. What had passed between us was of no account, save that it left me shaken. Afterward, I retired to the high walls, wishing to be alone with my tangled emotions, awaiting her execution at dawn. For all that she deserved it-there was no doubt, in the end, that Melisande Shahrizai had conspired with the Skaldi warlord Waldemar Selig to overthrow the throne of Terre d'Ange-I couldn't bear to watch. She had been my patron, once.

It had never come. Instead, daybreak found two guards dead outside her chamber, and a third at the postern gate.

"So if the corridor was here ..." Kneeling beside the low table in my sitting room, Fortun plucked a long-stemmed iris from a vase and laid it lengthways atop the table. "How far from the stairs?"

I counted on my fingers, remembering. "Three doors. No, four. Her chamber was the first door past the corner."

"Here, then." He broke the flower's stem, bending it at an angle, then setting an empty cordial glass at one end. "And the stairs, here.”

"Yes." Leaning over the table, I studied it. "Near enough."

Across the room, Joscelin shoved himself to his feet. "Phèdre."

"Yes?" I glanced up from the table.

"Leave them out of it." His expression was unreadable. "If you insist on playing dangerous games, so be it. Don't drag these poor, besotted boys into your intrigues. I can't protect the lot of you."

"Did I ask you to?" I felt my ire rise. "If it disturbs you so greatly, then leave. Throw yourself at the feet of the Prefect and beg forgiveness. Or go tell Ysandre I release you from my service, and beg leave to attend her. She's used to having Cassilines around."

Joscelin gave a short laugh. "And let you go hurtling into peril with three half-trained sailors to ward you? At least allow me to keep from dishonoring the last vow I've kept, Phèdre."

I opened my mouth to reply, but Fortun cleared his throat, intervening. "Quintilius Rousse does not pick half-trained soldiers for his flagship, brother."

"It's not the same." Steel glinted from Joscelin's vambraces as he shifted in frustration. "You're trained to battle, not to protect and serve. It's not the same at all."

"I am learning." Fortun's voice held steady.

Their gazes locked, and I held my tongue. What would it profit, to come between them? Joscelin had to choose freely, or not at all. After a moment, he threw up his hands with a sound of disgust.

"I wish you me joy of them," he said harshly to me, and left the room.

I hadn't thought he would go. I stared after him.

"He'll be back," Fortun said calmly. "He cares too much to leave you, my lady."

"I'm not sure," I whispered. "I didn't think he'd go at all."

"Here." Without looking at me, Fortun bent back to the table, his broad hands moving objects. "If this is the lower level and the postern gate is here..." he placed a vase at one corner, "... and this the passage ..." he moved a lacquered coffer, "... there would have been guards here and here." He marked the spots with his finger. "Whoever led Melisande to the postern gate had to pass these points. So did others, no doubt, but still..."

I rubbed my aching temples, trying to concentrate, trying not to think about Joscelin. "They were questioned. We were all questioned, Fortun. If there were anything there, believe me, Ysandre would have seized on it."

"What if they weren't the right questions?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" I frowned at the table, remembering. As one of the last people to see Melisande alive, I'd been questioned at length. In the end, I was exonerated, if only because it was my testimony that had condemned her. Ysandre was looking for treachery, or evidence of treachery. No one questioned admitted to seeing anything of the kind. But what had they seen? "You're right. There was a guard at the foot of the stair, too. And someone had to pass them all, to get to her chamber. Melisande couldn't have killed those guards herself. One, mayhap. Surely not two." I began rearranging the pieces on the table. "If we had a list of who passed them, that night, to compare to the other..."

"We would have a shortlist of suspects." Fortun's eyes glowed. "My lady, this is somewhat that we can do for you. For you to question the Queen's Guard, it would seem amiss. Even my lord Joscelin is not on ... easy terms, if I may say it, with the rank and file. But three ex-sailors, former soldiers of Admiral Rousse ... we could ask. Drinking, dicing; these are things we know, things that loosen men's tongues. He is trained to protect and serve, and not to battle. It is not the same thing, not at all."

He looked smug enough with it that I laughed, then sobered. "Truly, Fortun, this is a dangerous business. If anyone suspected what you were about, you would be in grave danger."

"My lady, if you think any of us sought security in your service, you are mistaken." His brows knitted in a dark scowl. "We are sailors, after all, and bound to adventure. If we have deemed you a star worth setting a course by, do not belittle our decision."

"Why did you do it?" I asked him. "Why me?"

"I saw you on the battlefield of Bryn Gorrydum, carrying water to the wounded and dying. And after, when you made us chevaliers. I know the Admiral asked it of you. His sword was nearly as long as you're tall." One corner of his mouth crooked at the memory. "Queen's emissary. You looked like someone had hit you over the head. How could I choose otherwise?"

I sighed and rumpled my hair. "All right, then. Learn what you may. But never..." I poked his chest for emphasis, "... never let them suspect you are aught but simple chevaliers, eager to relive your moments of glory and pore over the mysteries of nobility."

"Don't worry. I have a good-luck name, my lady." Fortun smiled. "My mother swore it on my name-day."

FIVE

I oscelin did return, late that evening; I did not question him, and he did not offer an explanation. We greeted each other in the morning, courteous as two strangers. He performed his exercises in the secluded rear garden, flowing gracefully through the Cassiline forms, steel blades weaving, breath frosting in the crisp air. I watched him, and felt my heart ache within my breast.

How strange, how compelling a pain; to cause injury to a loved one.

One thing else I did, when driven to it: I ran away.

Properly speaking, I rebelled. I used to do it at Cereus House, and I did it at Delaunay's. Although I will say, if I may, that there was more in it than simple rebellion. It was a game, with my lord Delaunay; if I succeeded at it, there would be no repercussions.

I was no child, now, to run to Night's Doorstep and the comfort of Hyacinthe's antics. Still, it was a comfort to slip unnoticed from under the eyes of my well-meaning guards, go to the stable and convince the simple lad, Benoit, to saddle a horse for me. I led the gelding cautiously into the street, where Benoit considerately latched the gate behind me.

Once astride, I was free.

I rode away from the Palace, exhilaration singing in my veins, hard put to remember the last time I was well and truly on my own. It is an oddity, how having retainers binds one. Without their concerns to think of, I had only my own. I made my way to the river, and followed it to the market square, where criers hawked their wares.

It was the doves that put it in my head, dozens upon dozens of them, caged offerings huddled against the cold. Choosing the smallest out of pity, I paid for a gilt cage.

"My lady has an eye," the vendor said obsequiously, transferring the bird. "This one, he is small, but he has a will to survive."

"Elua hear you, and grant it is so." I smiled, leaning down from my mount to take the cage in hand. The gelding snorted and tossed his head. "This one is for Naamah."

The vendor performed an elaborate bow, smiling at me sidelong. My dove rattled his wings against the gilded bars and the gelding shied, shod hooves ringing on the cobblestones; people cheered as I kept my seat. I was a dreadful rider, once. That was before I fled Waldemar Selig's steading on pony-back, through the direst winter. I have spent a good bit of time astride, since then. Strange, to look back and see how skill was acquired; at the time, I only thought to stay alive.

With my head up despite the snapping cold, I rode through the streets to the Temple of Naamah. If people called out and saluted me along the way, it was not because I was the Comtesse de Montrève or Phèdre no Delaunay- they could not see, from the street, my tell-tale gaze-but only because I was young, and beautiful, and I rode without care, bearing a dove for Naamah.

The Great Temple of Naamah in the City is a small structure,-but lovely with gardens; even now, with winter's breath in the air, it held warmth and bloomed. I gave my mount over to a stable-lass who met me with lowered eyes, and walked alone to the temple, carrying the birdcage. An acolyte met me at the door.

"Be welcome," he said, bending in his scarlet surplice to give me the kiss of greeting. His lips were soft, and I knew, in a way, I was home. He looked at me out of eyes the color of rain-washed lupine, eyes that studied my own. "Be welcome, anguissette, and give honor to Naamah."

I took his arm in one hand, carrying the gilded cage within my other, and entered the Temple of Naamah. Up the long corridor we walked, to the vast statue that awaited us at the end: Naamah, her arms spread wide in greeting and embrace. There, beneath the oculus, we awaited the priest.

Priestess, it was; I knew her when she emerged, attended by acolytes. Long hair the color of apricots, and green eyes tilted like a cat's; she had been an acolyte herself, when I was dedicated. The priest who had dedicated me had died of the fever during the Bitterest Winter, as so many had done. "Well met, sister," she said in a murmurous voice that nonetheless carried to every corner of the temple, and kissed me in greeting. I gripped her elbow with my free hand, steadying myself; it had been a long time, and the presence of Naamah's Servants was a heady thing. "You wish to re-dedicate yourself?"

"Yes," I whispered, holding aloft the gilded cage. "Can you tell me if it is Naamah's wish that I do so?"

"Ah." The priestess fingered the collar of her scarlet robe and turned to gaze up at Naamah's face, welcoming and benign above us. "In the City alone, there are many hundreds of Naamah's Servants," she said softly. "Three hundred at least in the Thirteen Houses of the Night Court, and for every one who serves at that level, there are others who aspire to lesser heights. In Namarre, they number in the thousands. No village throughout the land, I daresay, but has one or two called to the Service of Naamah. You would be surprised at how many ask that question. Is it the will of Naamah that I serve her? To each one, I give the same answer: It is your will that matters. No less than any other, the Servants of Naamah keep the covenant of Blessed Elua. Love as thou wilt. Naamah's path is sacred to us, for she chose of her own will to win the freedom and sustenance of Blessed Elua with the gifts of her body. It was her choice, and she does not compel her Servants to follow." With that said, she turned back to give me a long, considering gaze. "To you, I answer differently."

Her acolytes murmured, drawing near to listen. I set down the birdcage and waited. The priestess smiled and reached out to touch my face, tracing a line along the outer curve of my left eye.

" 'Mighty Kushiel, of rod and weal/Late of the brazen portals/With blood-tipp'd dart a wound unhealed/Pricks the eyen of chosen mortals,' " she quoted, citing the very verse with which Delaunay had identified my nature. "I cannot chart your course, anguissette; your calling lies beyond Naamah's purview alone. You are Kushiel's chosen, and he will cast you where he will. Only Elua, whom even the Companions follow, knows the whole of it. But you are Naamah's Servant as well, and under her protection, and to that I may speak. You ask, is it the will of Naamah that you serve her? I say: Yes." Wrapping her robe about her, the priestess gazed into the distance. "Tens of thousands of Servants of Naamah," she mused aloud, "all following a sacred calling. And yet our stature diminishes across the land. Whores, catamites, trulls ... I have heard these words, spoken with harsh tongues. Not by all, but enough. Too many."