It was my intention to pursue the matter of an audience immediately after eating, but when I had done, a great wave of tiredness overcame me. However long it had been that we had fled the storm, we had none of us slept much for days on end, save for brief naps snatched here and there, between buffets. I will close my eyes only for a moment, I told myself, stretching out on the bed; only for a moment, and then I will seek out this Kore, whomever she may be.

I was still thinking it as I fell down the deep, dark well of sleep.

Lengthening shadows woke me, creeping across the frescoed walls; I awoke disheveled and confused, uncertain where I was. I had slept the better part of the day. Remembering, I rose and stretched my sleep-stiffened limbs, smoothing out my wrinkled garments. Scarce had I done when the door to my chamber opened to admit the Hiero-phant, accompanied by two initiates.

"The Kore will see you."

Trying not to yawn, I went with him down another set of corridors, bright colors mellowed by the slanting light that came in at the windows. The Hierophant's expression was unchanging, but the initiates stole glances at me out of the corners of their eyes; I do not think they had ever seen a D'Angeline before.

We entered a large chamber, painted all around with a processional of youths and maidens alike bearing libational vessels-and at the far end stood a throne, in which a woman sat awaiting us. With a small shock, I came to full alertness.

It is no easy thing, to describe the Kore of the Temenos, nor my reaction to her. A woman, yes, with fair skin and hair the hue of bronze, though her eyes were as dark as the Hierophant's, heavy-lidded and lustrous. She wore a blue gown wrought with gold stars, and a great collar of ivory plaques set in gold, and over it all, a saffron mantle. Although her skin was smooth and her breasts firm, I guessed her age at some forty years. A woman, and yet-a shudder ran through me as I gazed upon her, and I felt such a jumble of thoughts and emotions I could scarce name them all. Awe and fear-and desire, sudden and unbidden. I thought of the great statue of Asherat in her temple of La Serenissima, and the blind priestess Bianca, reaching her crabbed hand to touch me. I thought of the Great Temple of Naamah and saw her face before me, transcendent and generous.

I thought of Melisande, too.

And I thought of something I had not remembered in years; my mother's face the last time I saw her, in the courtyard of Cereus House, the day she sold me into servitude.

All of these and more flickered through my mind too swiftly to number before the Kore spoke, her clear voice stilling the whirlwind inside me. "Phèdre nó Delaunay," she said, giving my name the proper D'Angeline inflection. "Be welcome."

I sank down to kneel abeyante, the marble floor cool beneath my knees. "My lady."

"Come, that will never do. Let me see you, Elua's child." Leaning forward, she lifted my chin with two fingers and gazed at my face. I saw her take in my scarlet-moted eye, and mayhap somewhat more, for her brows raised. "Oh, Oeneus! This one, you should have brought sooner. There is a bright shadow about you, child. Know you that a god has set his hand upon you?"

"Yes, my lady." I was content to look at her. "It is Kushiel's Dart that marks me; Kushiel, who was once the Punisher of the One God, the Yeshuite's Adonai. But I am dedicated also to the Service of Naamah, who is the Mistress of Pleasures. And as I am D'Angeline, I owe homage to Blessed Elua, who is the Protector of us all."

"Thrice-marked, and more," she mused, releasing me, "for there is somewhat else besides."

"Yes, my lady Kore." I settled back to sit on my heels, liking the mild discomfort of the hard marble. It had been a long time since I had been able to make obeisance to anyone with unadulterated pleasure; I led a strange life, for an anguissette. "I have made a promise to Asherat-of-the-Sea, as well."

"So." She Smiled, faint lines crinkling at the corners of her eyes. "And yet you have come to the Temenos asking only political aid, Oeneus tells me. How is this, then?"

Drawing a deep breath, I spun out the story for her, telling it in its entirety, from my reasons for going to La Serenissima to Kazan's struggle with the kríavbhog and our fearful, storm-lashed flight to Kriti. She listened without comment, while shadows darkened the corners of the throne room and white-clad initiates moved softly around lighting the wall sconces. Oeneus Asterius the Hierophant stood beside her, watching and listening too. It did not occur to me to lie or withhold the truth, for I understood at last that this was a holy place I had come to and they were priest and priestess alike, although she outshone him as the sun does the moon.

There was a little silence when I had finished, and they exchanged glances. I saw then that they shared common blood, for all that their coloring differed. Well, and they are Hellene all, but there is mainland Achaian blood in the House of Minos, and has been since the time of my namesake. I shuddered again, and made myself address her.

"Will you aid me, daughter of Minos?"

Her gaze returned to me, deep with compassion. "My power lies elsewhere, Phèdre nó Delaunay; such aid is not mine to give. Since the redemption of the great betrayal, the House of Minos has accepted such a gift from Zagreus as renders the isle of Kriti in the world, but not wholly of it, as you understand politics. It is my thought that Mother Dia has guided you here for the healing of your companion, for he is the one who is appointed to aid you in this matter, and his country in need of the friendship of Terre d'Ange. If he survives the thetalos, this I think he will do. But..." she raised one finger, seeing me open my mouth to protest, "... this much, I may do. We will give you aid, for the repair of his ship. We will tend to your wounded. And I will see you granted audience with the Archon of Phaistos, that lies on the plains beyond the Temenos. Kriti will not sail to war on your behalf, no, but I think perhaps he will grant you one ship to serve as courier."

I bowed my head. It would be enough; it had to. "You are kind, my lady Kore."

"You may call me Pasiphae," she said, and smiled once more.

FITY-NINE

It seemed that my audience with the Archon of Phaistos would not be granted until Kazan had undergone the cleansing ceremony of the thetalos. In truth, I was not sorry for it, for I was in two minds about what I should request of him.

A great deal rode on Kazan's survival, and I could get no clear answers concerning the nature of this ritual. I had not known, until then, how fond I had grown of him, and it fretted me deeply.

"He was your captor," Pasiphae said curiously; although she would not divulge the details of their mysteries to me, she had taken me much into her confidence, for she regarded my presence in the Temenos as a mystery unto itself. "He betrayed you to your enemies. How is it, then, that you care for him?"

I frowned, not sure how to frame my reply. "My lady, what you say is true. But the blood-curse that made him a pirate was a tragedy not of his making, as are the politics that made him resent my country. He treated me fairly, within his own constraints, and did not mean to betray me. When it came to it, he risked his life to save mine." I shrugged helplessly. "Yes, my lady, if you are asking it; I care for him. And I am D'Angeline, and bound to the precept of Blessed Elua. I do not forgive him, for what he did. But to deny my own feeling.. .'twould be a violation of Elua's sacred trust."

"Elua." She examined a painted kylix, shaking her head. An initiate moved quickly to lift the wine-jug, refilling her cup. We sat on the gracious terrace of the Palace, overlooking the sea. "Many gods have there been, for Mother Dia has many sons; they wear as many guises as she wears faces. But never has there been one such as Elua, who got himself a whole people and slipped the chains of rebirth.

What shall Earth's eldest children make of her youngest, Phèdre? I cannot say whither you are bound."

I made her no answer, for I had none, but looked instead at the horns of consecration atop the Palace, rearing upward to gore the sky. The folk of the Cullach Gorrym, the Black Boar, had claimed too to be Earth's eldest children. Who was to say? Mayhap they were one and the same, when one came to it. There are truths and truths. "My lady, I have always been told I bore an ill-luck name, but Oeneus Asterius the Hierophant suggested to me that I did not know the truth of that tale, and you yourself bear an equally ill-starred name, for Pasiphae was mother to the Minotaur, do I not mistake my history. Is it not so?"

"It is so, and it is not so." Pasiphae reflected, and answered me at length. "Always, there has been a conflict between earth and sky, old and new. Mother Dia endures, but her sons, ah! Ever do they seek to cut the cord that binds them to Her, and yet ever do they fear begetting their own successors. It was Ariadne the Most Holy who betrayed her Mother's son, giving him unto the blade of Theseus the Achaian. And as my namesake Pasiphae prayed for the means to redeem this tragedy and the loss of her child, Zagreus did answer, who is called lacchos by the Achaians, and bears the gifts of insight and madness. Himself, he claimed Ariadne, whose fate you know-and 'twas your namesake, Phaedra, who took revenge on the supplanter, Theseus the Achaian, offering herself as sacrifice that the supplanter's son might be slain by his own father's curse, bringing the circle to close in Mother Dia's lap. Thus do we honor her memory, and thus did Zagreus grant us this gift, that we might be cleansed of the evil we had done. The Achaians tell the tale otherwise, and their poets are the ones the world has heeded, but here at the heart of the world, we hold to the ancient truths." She tilted her head at me. "Do you understand, now?"

"No," I said softly. "A little better, mayhap. I don't understand this business of jealous gods slaying one another

and fearing their own offspring. It is not so, with Blessed Elua and his Companions."

"No?" Pasiphae smiled gently. "And yet, from what you tell me, I think your Kushiel the Punisher has gotten a scion he fears."

I remembered Melisande's words, and shuddered. Kushiel has chosen you, Phèdre, and marked you as his own. To toy with you is to play a god's game. "Mayhap," I murmured. "But I am only mortal, my lady, and I am trying to save the throne of my Queen, to whom I have sworn loyalty, and I would like also to save the life of my friend, whose men died in the effort of rescuing me. Let the gods claim what they will; my allegiance lies with those I have known and loved. And do you speak against it, I will say, Blessed Elua preached the same."

"That," said Pasiphae, "is what makes him so interesting." Rising, she walked to the edge of the terrace, where the fisherfolk below could see her and stretch out their hands, beseeching her blessing. She gave it freely, opening her arms to them, and the lowering sun limned her in light. I had gotten over the shock of our first meeting, but still her presence filled me with awe. It is a different world, Kriti. The setting sun laid a burning path on the water, and I saw in the caverns that riddled the harbor walls a flicker of white robes, betokening the presence of initiates. It was they who had sounded the gongs upon our arrival.

So I had learned, although I may say too that those caverns are ancient, beyond even the remembering of the House of Minos. They have been used as dwelling places since first man struck two flints together, crying out in awe at the blue spark that resulted. But it is a sacred business, this, and best not spoken.

The lower rim of the sun's disk sank below the horizon and Pasiphae lowered her arms, turning back to me. "Your Elua does as he wills," she said gently. "But this is my place, and this is my gift. Tomorrow Kazan Atrabiades will undergo the thetalos, and if Mother Dia wills it, he will survive. I grant you leave to attend the ceremony, if you will it. Do you so choose?"

I shivered in my skin, and knew her words for truth. "Yes, Pasiphae. I will attend."

On the following day, I did not see her at all, nor Kazan, whom I had not seen since he had been secluded. I went instead to the harbor of the Temenos, and spoke with Tor-mos and Glaukos, who were overseeing the repairs to our damaged vessel. That, at least, was well done; the Kritians are great sailors, after all, and the island is rich in oak and cypress. I was happy to see that they were well-rested and of reasonably good cheer; and, too, they had seen to the security of our coffer of gold. And I confess, I was glad too of the Illyrians' company and their simple jests, taking comfort in what had become familiar to me.

They believed to a man that Kazan would overcome the challenge of the thetalos and return to them as he had been before, a fierce and cunning leader who would inflict great damage on their enemies and escape unscathed. Indeed, they had begun to spin their own mythos out of the events that had befallen us, endlessly enumerating the ways in which Kazan would take his vengeance on the treacherous Serenissimans.

I smiled and jested with them, and prayed that they had the right of it, for Kazan's sake and my own. For vengeance I cared naught, but somewhere in Caerdicca Unitas, Ysandre's progressus continued on its steady, unwitting course toward a deadly trap, while in Terre d'Ange, Percy de Somerville awaited word to seize the City of Elua. This long waiting was a torment.

When the sun began to set, I returned to the Palace, where preparations were beginning for the ritual. Make no mistake of it; I had no place in these rituals, save as an onlooker, and that by the grace of the Kore, my lady Pasiphae. Still, they suffered my presence, and as my lips were not sealed by oath, I may relate what I saw of the ceremony-and what I saw afterward, although that is another matter. It began outside the Palace, at the base of the mountain, with three tiers of initiates providing the music, chorus and dance. Torches lit the procession and the dancers wheeled in circles, this way and that, their mingled voices providing the harmonies. They had put off their robes for this and wore only kilts of white linen, cinched at the waist with rolled leather belts, and their dark skin gleamed in the torchlight, freshly oiled. At the center of it all stood Kazan Atrabiades, swaying on his feet, and his face was like a stranger's to me. Neither food nor drink had he taken since we had made landfall; two full days. He looked gaunt and parched, and his eyes burned in their sockets.