"There was," I said, searching for words, "no conspiracy."

Her eyes opened. "What, then?"

I told her.

What I had expected, I cannot say. She bore it; she bore it well. I do not think anyone who knew her less than I-and who that may be, I do not know-would have seen her flinch, would have seen the awful comprehension that filled the deep-blue wells of her eyes. It struck her hard. Any mortal enemy she could have outwitted, outplotted. Not this. Not random chance, and the shadow of Kushiel's hand overhanging it.

"He is alive?" It was the first thing she said, the first she was able to say, forced between clenched teeth.

"I believe him to be so." The marble floor was hard beneath my knees, the discomfort of it lending me focus. "The Menekhetan saw his value. He paid in hard coin. By that token, I believe Imriel lives." Melisande took a step, two steps. One hand reached out, entangled in my hair, wrenching my head upright. My neck straining, I stared upward, meeting her blazing eyes. I felt my breath shallow in my lungs, my heart beating fast and hard. I should have withdrawn from her, pulled away. To save my life, I couldn't do it. She had been my patron, once; the only one to whom I ever wholly surrendered. In a way I shuddered to acknowledge, Melisande's very touch was imprinted on my soul, and I felt her pain as my own. "You are sure?" she asked softly, searching my face. "You are very, very sure of this tale, Phedre no Delaunay?"

"The Carthaginians were put to torture," I whispered. "My lady, I watched it. I asked the questions myself. I'm sorry. But I am very, very sure."

She let me go and turned away. Bereft of her grip, I wavered on my knees. I gazed at her back, heard her murmur a single word. "Kushiel."

"Yes." My voice was hoarse, my throat thick with desire and compassion.

Melisande's head bowed. Whatever else one may say of her, she never lacked for courage. I knelt in silence, knowing what she knew. I have lived through the thetalos in the cavern of the Temenos. I know what it is to confront blood-guilt.

Never for a child of my birth. That I will never know.

"They will pay." Her voice was flat, her hands fisted at her sides. "The Carthaginians, the ones who began it... they are dead men."

"My lady." I cleared my throat, found my voice. "It is done. Their heads were adorning spikes in the Plaza del Rey ere we left Amilcar."

"So." Her shoulders slumped; only a fraction. It was enough. I saw. Straightening, she crossed the room and opened the coffer, the same one that had held the Jebean scroll. "I promised you the name of a guide."

I rose to accept it, unfolding in the single, elegant motion I was taught in the Night Court. Our fingers brushed as she handed me a scrap of vellum. I glanced down to see an unfamiliar name, an address.

"He hires out to guide caravans from Menekhet to Jebe-Barkal," Melisande said without inflection. "I am assured that he knows where to find the descendents of Saba. I cannot swear it is true, but my information is good. There is only so much I can do, here."

"Thank you." The words sounded stupid. I felt stupid. She gave a bitter smile.

"You have done what I asked, Phedre no Delaunay. I was not wrong to choose you." Her eyes searched my face again. "Tell me about the Queen's delegation to Iskandria."

I told her, and watched her pace, watched life return, her mind working as the first shock diminished, calculations moving behind her features. And Elua help me, but I loved her for it, a little bit. Even so ...

"Melisande."

It stopped her. She turned to look at me. I shook my head. "You cannot do it. I know how loosely this prison holds you; believe me, I know. It gives me nightmares. If you go to Iskandria, if you leave this place ..." I paused. "I will know it. I am here against my Queen's wishes, against everyone's wishes. There's a death-sentence on your head, Melisande, should you abandon Asherat's protection. And if you do, I will be honor-bound to do what I may to see you thwarted."

"He is my son!" she spat, features contorting.

"I know." Although my voice shook, I stood my ground. "And I am Kushiel's Chosen, and in liege to Ysandre de la Courcel. I will go to Lord Amaury Trente, in Iskandria; I will go to Pharaoh, if I need.

What can you do, now, that they cannot? Your resources are spread thin, and they will be spread thinner if you must needs evade capture. We have played this game before, my lady. Do you wish to set yourself against me?"

Melisande flung back her head, her bright, restless gaze raking the walls of her salon. Blessed Elua, even in despair she was splendid! I had not seen, until then, that it was a prison. I saw it, then, the subtle, gilded bars that confined her. She shuddered and grew still, contained. "You break my heart, Phedre."

"Yes." A strange, dispassionate sense of calm overtook me. For once, at last, we stood upon even ground. I gazed at her, thinking on it. "You broke mine a long time ago, my lady."

"Kushiel's Dart." She came near and laid her hand against my face. "Naamah's Servant." Her touch was cool, her expression unreadable. "In the beginning, I thought you were a toy, no more; a dangerous plaything. I daresay even Anafiel knew no different, though he taught you well enough. Later. . . later, I knew better. A challenge, mayhap; a gauntlet cast down by the gods."

"And now?" I asked.

"Now?" Something stirred in the depths of Melisande's eyes, behind her face, beauty honed by grief, a vengeful cruelty. Our history was written there in all its betrayal and hatred and violent ecstasy.

Dispassion shattered, a momentary thing, transitory and fragile. Her voice lowered, honey-sweet; how had I forgotten its power? "Now." My blood leapt in answer and my cheek blossomed with heat where she touched me. A familiar ache squeezed my heart, beat like a pulse between my thighs. I felt my lids grow heavy, my lips part. To feel it again, the heat of her, the press of her body, her breasts against mine, that cruel, expert touch; ah, Elua! I fought to keep from swaying forward. Melisande took her hand away. "Now, I don't know, Phedre."

This time, her withdrawal hit me like a void; I nearly staggered against it, yearning toward her, the ache in my heart keening like a winter wind. I had done her a kindness, leaving Joscelin behind. She did me a kindness now and turned away, speaking over her shoulder.

"I never wanted a conscience. And yet it seems our lord Kushiel has seen fit to give me what I lacked at birth. If I have such a thing, it is embodied in you, Phedre." Melisande turned back, her features composed, hands folded in her sleeves. "I have heard tell of Lord Amaury Trente. A capable man, it is said, and loyal to the Queen, but not, I think, a clever one."

"Clever enough," I replied unthinking.

One corner of her mouth curled. "He would have gone to the Duke of Milazza to raise an army if Ysandre had let him. It was you who suggested the Unforgiven, was it not? I heard they knelt to you." It was true enough that I could not deny it. If Amaury Trente had had his way ten years ago, we would have led a foreign army onto D'Angeline soil. The Unforgiven . . . yes. It had been my idea. And they had knelt. I shrugged with a stoicism I did not feel. "They gave fealty in Kushiel's name. They have much for which to atone."

"Enough that the Royal Army let them pass unchallenged." Melisande's face was still and calm, a cameo carved of ivory. "You threw coins," she said. Her brows quirked, a distant note of bemusement in her voice. "Coins."

We had; silver coins, bearing the profile of Ysandre de la Courcel, clean and fresh-minted. They'd arched in showers from the slings of Amaury Trente's men, fallen like silver rain. I remembered the soldiers' perplexed faces, staring, glancing from the unprecedented bounty grasped in sword-calloused hand to the woman who parted their ranks, her face in calm profile, riding inexorably toward the walls of the City of Elua. "Yes," I said softly. "We threw coins."

Melisande nodded, as though I'd said somewhat more. "And that was you, too."

No one else had drawn that line, made that connection. It was not a part of the stories, to credit me with the idea. I gazed at her. "In Illyria," I said, "it is unlawful for a coin to be cast bearing the Ban's image. I remembered. I have you to thank for my time as a hostage there, my lady."

"I thought as much. Kushiel uses his conscience hard." Melisande's regard was unchanged. "You are bound for Iskandria. The Menekhetans are subtle, and Lord Amaury Trente is not. You have a gift for knowledge, and are skilled in the arts of discretion. Whether or not you bear me hatred, my son is innocent of it. If you are bound to see me rot in this gilded cage, then I charge you with his welfare."

To impart suffering without compassion . . .

"You cannot." My voice was shaking. "I have done all I might. The debt between us is cleared."

"No." Melisande shook her head with terrible gentleness. "It will never be cleared, Phedre no Delaunay.

We are bound together. Have you not realized as much?"

I looked away, remembering my dream, the boy who cried out with Hyacinthe's voice, Imriel's face, remembering the children in Amilcar, feral and half-blinded by torchlight. "What I may do for your son, I will, my lady. I would do as much for any child. Beyond that, I make no promises. The matter is out of my hands."

"And in the Queen's," Melisande murmured. She laughed. It was an awful sound, like glass breaking.

"Who shall claim him in the end, my Imriel, and teach him to blame the mother who doomed him to such a fate. It is a bitter piece of irony that it is no fault of my own."

"I know," I said, holding her gaze. What else could I say? I did.

"Let him live to hate me, then; only let him live." The fear was back, naked and vulnerable. "I gave you a patron-gift to secure your marque. Will you not swear that much?"

"You are Kushiel's Chosen," she said abruptly. "This is his doing. Am I mistaken, Phedre? You did not think so. Kushiel chooses to punish his scion. So it may be. But whatever I have done, my son is innocent. I ask only your aid in seeing him restored. You have a gift for such matters, as require the arts of covertcy. Is it so much to ask that you find it in your heart to ensure he does not suffer further for my sins?"

"No," I whispered.

Melisande's voice was quiet. "It is a small thing to ask."

And because I could summon no argument against her, because the pain of her loss was heavy within me, because I had seen the children we rescued in Amilcar, I swore it, like a fool, my heart filled with a swelling agony; though I still believed, then, that it was only a matter of overseeing the plans of Lord Amaury Trente, of ensuring that the boy Imriel was restored with Pharaoh's compliance to his proper place in the annals of House Courcel. I gazed into Melisande's deep-blue eyes and swore it. "So be it. In Blessed Elua's name, I promise. I will do what I can."

"Thank you," she said simply. "I will rest easier for it." She paused; her voice changed. "I wish you luck, Phedre, in your own quest. The Tsingano lad . . ." Melisande shook her head. "He stumbled into an ancient curse. Even I could not have foreseen it."

"He did," I said, the words raw with emotion. It did not sit easy with me that she had exacted my promise when Hyacinthe's fate hung in the balance. "Hyacinthe saw his end. And he went to it unflinching; for me, for all of us. You set us on that path, Melisande, whether you knew it or no, whether you intended it or no. And you would have used him, if you could. The scroll, the guide ..." I raised my hand, clutching the scrap of vellum. "You've had it all along."

"Not always." There was a curious frankness to her words. "I have few weapons left to me, Phedre; what would you have me do? I did not make the curse."

I looked away, shaking my head. I would never, so long as I lived, understand her. "Nor did you make the slave-traders, my lady. And yet they have taken your son."

"Yes." The word dropped like a stone from her lips. I looked back at her, seeing her pale and steady.

"Do not mistake me. I played a game and lost, and Kushiel has called the reckoning. Would you have me say it?" The awful knowledge was still emblazoned in her. "I will. I was a fool. I never believed Kushiel would exact his payment in innocent blood."

"No?" There were tears in my eyes; I blinked them away, laughing mirthlessly. "Oh, my lady, your games have always ended in the blood of innocents!"

Melisande stood very still, watching me, and what she thought, I could not have said to save my life.

With terrifying gentleness, she took my shoulders, lowered her head and kissed me; softly, fleeting. A brush of lips, no more. It was enough. "You have always offered yours willingly, Phedre. And that, my dear, is the difference."

When all was said and done, she knew me far, far too well.

I swayed on my feet, stung to the heart by the piercing sweetness of her kiss, understanding, at last, why Benedicte de la Courcel had been willing to commit high treason for her, why so many others had done the same. Melisande smiled, faint and rueful, her eyes filled with infinite regret. "I have only done what I was born to do. If the gods did not want it, they should not have made me. It seems they repent of their error, since they have made you instead. You have your myth and your guide, Phedre no Delaunay. Go to Iskandria, and see my son loosed from the snare of Kushiel's vengeance. You have served your warning. I will heed it, and abide in this place. The stakes have grown too high. I am afraid of losing."

"My lady." I bowed my head, carrying the weight of her sorrow, her kiss lingering on my lips. I wanted to cry, still, and knew not why. "My lady, I swear to you, he will be found."

As she had at the beginning, Melisande Shahrizai closed her beautiful eyes. "Blessed Elua grant it may be so," she whispered, and it was the truest prayer I ever heard her utter. And then her eyes opened, and she spoke a single word. "Go."

I went.

TWENTY-NINE.

JOSCELIN WAS waiting in the Temple.

He raised his head as I entered, and the sight of him was like a star in a dark place. I walked straight into his arms and felt them enfold me, walling out the world. Priestesses and their attendants paused, staring, as I leaned my brow against his chest. He held me close, resting his cheek against my hair.

"It is done, then?" I heard him murmur.

I freed myself reluctantly, taking his hands. "It is done. Thank you." I took a breath. "I have the name of a guide, and an address in Iskandria. We should see Master Brenin's man at the Banco Tribune regarding the notes of promise, and book our passage. It would be ... it would be wise to see Ricciardo Stregazza, too. I trust him to see the guard doubled on Melisande's confinement."

Joscelin raised his eyebrows. "You think she may flee?"

"I don't know." I shook my head. "It is in her heart to take matters into her own hands. I think I have convinced her otherwise, but I am not fool enough to trust her word in it."

"Then we will see it done," Joscelin said calmly.

We did.

It is a long sea-journey, from La Serenissima to Iskandria; the longest I have ever taken. Moreover, we were unable to book passage on short notice for a vessel with capacity for our horses, and must needs leave them in Ricciardo's care. This he offered graciously, and while I was sorry to leave them behind, I knew they would be well tended at his estate of Villa Gaudio on the Serenissiman mainland. It was pleasant to visit with Ricciardo's wife Allegra, with whom I had enjoyed a regular correspondence these ten years' past.

Most astonishing were their offspring, Sabrina and Lucio, whom I remembered as mere children. The former was a serious young woman of seventeen years, the latter a tall, ebullient lad of fifteen whochattered incessantly about which noblemen's club he would join when he came of age, reckoning the merits of each on his fingers.

"You've none of your own, then?" Allegra watched my amazement with gentle amusement. "They do grow up, you know."

"So I see," I replied. "It's only that it happens so fast."

She laughed, at that, and turned the conversation, telling me the latest developments in her sponsorship of the Courtesans' Scholae. It had been Ricciardo's project, in the beginning, but Allegra had been the true force behind much of it. In Terre d'Ange, Naamah's Service is a sacred calling. It will never be so in La Serenissima, where folk do not worship Elua and his Companions, but at least their status in society had risen since the Scholae was formed. There is strength in numbers and knowledge alike. Nothing will ever rival the elegant splendor of the D'Angeline Night Court, but the well-educated courtesans of La Serenissima were gaining renown throughout Caerdicca Unitas.

I was glad to hear it, since it was my idea.

We spoke of it aboard the ship, Joscelin and I, during the long, idle hours, after the worst bouts of his customary seasickness had passed. The duration was shorter this time. He was growing, I thought, more accustomed to sea-travel. Late summer was giving way to fall, but it was hot during the days. Our favorite time was evening, when the sun lowered beneath the distant horizon and twilight cooled the air.

"It was well-thought of you," he said. "Naamah must be pleased."

"Mayhap," I said, looking curiously at him. "You used to despise what I did, do you remember? Do you still think it wrong?"

"Wrong?" Joscelin shrugged. "I was taught as much, among the Cassilines; not only Naamah's service, but all of the ways of Elua and his Companions were folly. Cassiel alone stood steadfast to the truth, and one day he would guide Blessed Elua himself to redemption, whereupon all of Terre d'Ange would follow, both the earthly one and the true Terre d'Ange-that-lies-beyond." He smiled wryly, gazing out at the horizon where the first star of evening was emerging. "I did believe it, when I first knew you."

That much, I knew. "And now?"

"Now?" He turned his head to look at me. "No. Not when it is a contract entered freely in homage to Naamah, at least. That much, I have seen to be true. There are mysteries I may not understand, but I acknowledge them nonetheless. And my beliefs . . . my beliefs too have changed. Now I believe the greatest of heresies among the Brotherhood: That in the end Cassiel chose to follow Elua out of love. Not a love born of divine compassion, but simply ..." he reached out and twined a lock of my hair about his fingers, ". . . love."

I sighed, and leaned against him. "I have always believed as much."

"You would," Joscelin said companionably.

"True," I agreed. A moment passed before I asked another question. "Joscelin, are you sorry we never had children?"

I felt his body stiffen slightly, then relax as I peered up into his face. "Honestly? Sometimes, yes." Hestroked my hair. "I would like it, I think ... I don't know. And yet..." He shook his head and looked away. "I have never lied to you. Whatever the truth of Cassiel's nature, I swore my vows in earnest."

"What you broke," I said softly, "you broke out of love."

"I know." He gazed at the fading glow of the horizon. "And I do believe it was in Cassiel's service still.

But I spoke true when I said I would strain his grace no further. If a child of ours ... if a child of mine was touched by Kushiel's Dart. . ." He shuddered. "Truly, some things are beyond enduring."

"I know," I said. "Love, believe me, I do know it."

"You alone are enough to nearly kill me." A hint of humor returned to his voice. "Ah, Phedre . . . am I sorry for it? Yes, sometimes. I am sorry for many things, sometimes, and mostly they are things I cannot change, or would not if I could. Aren't you?"