Gilles Lamiz' poem ended in the Temple of Asherat, with my proclamation from the Oracle's balcony and Joscelin's heart-stopping duel with the Cassiline traitor David de Ro-caille. I daresay the latter read well enough without embellishment, and even Joscelin did not argue with it. Although all the realm knows his name because of it, it is not a deed in which he takes pride. No longer do two Cassiline Brothers attend the ruler of Terre d'Ange at all times. Ysandre broke with seven centuries' tradition after La Serenissima and Brys nó Rinforte's defection on the battlefield, dismissing them from her service.

It is an irony that the Cassiline Brotherhood swelled in popularity after Gilles Lamiz' poem became famous, peers demanding Cassiline guards, families who had abandoned the tradition for generations sending their middle sons to foster with the Brethren. Joscelin only smiles wryly when people speak to him of it, and changes the subject.

There was applause when Gilles Lamiz finished; a great, resounding deal of it, and much of it aimed my way. I felt myself flush hotly. The young poet bowed repeatedly, and Thelesis de Mornay beamed with pride. Ysandre raised her hand for silence, swiftly obeyed.

"As you have heard their deeds," she said clearly, "so do we gather to honor them."

Rising to stand as Queen, flanked on one side by Drustan mab Necthana and the other by Barquiel L'Envers, she called first Philippe, my chevalier Ti-Philippe, presenting to him the Medal of Valor, a heavy gold medallion embossed with Camael's sword and the lily of Elua, strung on a thick, green ribbon. Tears sprang to my eyes as I watched the last of Phèdre's Boys kneel before Ysandre, unwontedly sober, fingering the dense medal as she bid him rise.

Afterward, she summoned Joscelin, and whether he welcomed it or no, my heart ached with pride to see his grave beauty as he gave his Cassiline bow, so much a part of him no one dared question it, and knelt to the Queen. To him too she gave the Medal of Valor, receiving it from the hand of Barquiel L'Envers, who served still as Royal Commander; and somewhat else beside. "It is an ancient tradition for a ruling Queen to appoint a Champion to do battle in her name," Ysandre declared, lifting a finely wrought wreath of vines from a pillow proffered by a waiting servant. "I have not done so, Joscelin Verreuil, but I give thanks to Blessed Elua for choosing you to fulfill that role when it was needful. I could not have chosen better."

With that, she placed the wreath on his fair, bowed head.

It would have been enough, for me, to see those I loved thus honored; it was not enough for Ysandre de la Courcel, who summoned me to stand before her. This I did, and when I would have curtsied and sunk to kneel, she shook her head and caught my wrist, keeping me upright.

"Comtesse Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève." Ysandre gave my name and title with a gleam in her eye; I daresay she'd had as much wine as the rest of us. "Like your patrons, who prize you above gold, I shall take pleasure in challenging your uniquely indomitable will. For those deeds which we heard lauded this night in verse, for your unfathomable courage, and for the memory of your lord Anafiel Delaunay, who taught us all what it truly means to keep an oath sworn in love, I present you with the Companion's Star."

I stared uncomprehending as Drustan mab Necthana, smiling, held forth an object-a brooch, a many-rayed gold star, set in the center with a single faceted diamond, Elua's sigil etched on the face of it in delicate lines, the work of a master jeweler. Ysandre took the brooch from him and fastened it onto my gown with deft fingers.

"This grants you the right," she said softly, "to address me in public or private as an equal, and bend your knee to no Scion of Elua throughout the realm; indeed, to fail to do so is to belittle the honor I bestow upon you this night. Do you show this to the least of my guards, they will admit you unto an audience without question. And I swear to you, whatever you may say, I will hear it." Taking a step back, Ysandre surveyed her handiwork. "It carries also," she added, "aboon. Aught that you might request of me that is in my power and right to grant, I will do. Do you wish it, ask now."

"There is nothing, my la-" Catching her warning glance, I swallowed. "Ysandre.”

"Well, then." The Queen of Terre d'Ange smiled. "Accept it with my thanks, near-cousin, and save the boon for the day you require it. Until then, let us drink your health, and give thanks to Blessed Elua we are all alive to do so."

That, at least, I could do and did, returning to my seat and waiting until the glasses were refilled, the toast given and drunk, before tossing back a measure of cordial, feeling the fiery burn of it scald my insides to match my flushed skin. And with that, mercifully, Ysandre's tribute was done, and she was content to order the musicians to strike up a dancing tune and declare the fête open to celebration.

It was with a full heart that I watched Ysandre and Drustan begin the first dance, shortly joined by many other couples. Their duties done, they had eyes only for each other, locking glances and smiling deeply; two realms, two rulers, united in love and a shared dream. It is my thought that this is the deeper meaning of the Precept of Blessed Elua; in love, howsoever it is manifest, we are greater than the sum of our parts.

Little enough time I had to think on it, for Barquiel L'Envers claimed a dance of me, and I joined him with good will, glad of a chance to lay our quarrels to rest before the eyes of the realm. I looked for Joscelin afterward, but he was partnering Thelesis de Mornay; Gilles Lamiz approached me, an unexpected nervous stammer threading his poet's voice. In the dance, he held me so lightly one might have thought I was made of porcelain. It made me smile, to think I would break so easily, after all I had endured. I drank a toast to his poem when we had done, for the mischievous pleasure of seeing him redden and stammer all the harder. The cordial tasted heady, and it seemed to me that the lamps burned brighter for it.

There is a wild and piercing sweetness in celebrating life after a long sorrow; all of us felt it that night. Spring is ever a time of renewal, and it seemed fit, after so long, to rediscover pure, unalloyed happiness.

"Phèdre nó Delaunay." I turned at the voice, recognizing it; Nicola L'Envers y Aragon regarded me with amusement.

"It is no easy task to gain your ear this evening," she said, giving me the kiss of greeting.

"Nicola." I took her hand, having too much to say, and no words to say it. "You were right, in what you tried to tell me. I owe you a greater debt than I can repay."

"Mmm." She shrugged and gave her lazy smile, setting my heart to speed its pace, remembering our dalliances. "You could try, of course. I have heard that you've not returned to the Service of Naamah, but there's naught to prevent you from taking a lover." Her violet gaze drifted over my shoulder, and she inclined her head in greeting. "Well met, my lord Cassiline."

"My lady Nicola."

I fair jumped at the sound of Joscelin's voice, craning my head around to see his expression. Nicola laughed, reaching out to stroke my burning cheek.

"Think on it," she said lightly, moving away.

I opened my mouth to speak, and Joscelin cut me off. "Phèdre, if you're going to think of taking lovers-"

"I'm not-"

"-I think it would be a good idea if you declared me your official consort, first."

"Joscelin, I'm not..." I stopped, staring at him. He wore a crooked smile and his green-leaved wreath sat askew on his head, making him look rather like a young, drunken god. "Do you mean it?"

"I told you in La Serenissima, I don't care if you take a thousand patrons-"

"Not that," I interrupted him. "About declaring you my consort."

"Oh, that" Joscelin laughed. "Phèdre nó Delaunay, we are mismatched in more ways than I can count, and like as not, we'll find ways to hurt each other neither of us have even dreamt yet. The only thing I can imagine worsethan spending my life with you is being without you-I've done it, and I never want to experience the like again. If you can find your way back to my side through besotted pirates, murderous Serenissimans and deadly storms, I'm not going to waste time worrying about a few ambitious patrons. Besides ..." he grinned, "... I reckon I ought to claim the role before you find a way to get that damned Tsingano off his forsaken island, and-"

He didn't get any further, for at that moment I threw both arms around his neck and kissed him hard enough to make both our heads reel.

Somewhere in the Temple of Asherat, Melisande Shahrizai was likely spinning a new and deadly plot; somewhere, Elua only knew where, a babe was being raised, with her blood in his veins and a claim to the throne of Terre d'Ange. Somewhere in Illyria, in La Serenissima, in Terre d'Ange, in Alba, the kindred of those slain by events I had set in motion continued to mourn their dead, and somewhere in the Strait, the Prince of Travellers pursued his lonely destiny. None of these things did I forget, for somewhere in a cavern in the Temenos, the knowledge was ever awaiting me. But there is a limit to how much pain we mortals can bear, even I, and in that moment, my world was bounded by joy, encompassed in Joscelin's beautiful face that I held between my hands, his summer-blue eyes smiling down at me.

"Did I mention," I whispered to him, "that I love you?"

"Yes," he whispered back, kissing me. "But it bears repeating."

Hand in hand, we threaded our way through the revelers to find Ysandre de la Courcel, seated once more at the long table next to Drustan, while one of her courtiers related an amusing tale. She glanced up at our approach, and the courtier broke off his story, mindful of the preeminence the Companion's Star granted me.

"Yes?" Ysandre asked mildly.

"Your maj-" I broke off the words and cleared my throat. "Ysandre. Before Blessed Elua and all here assembled, I wish to present Joscelin Verreuil as my consort."

Drustan mab Necthana laughed, and the Queen of Terre d'Ange raised her eyebrows.

"It's about time."