"Did anyone else know your son's whereabouts?" Joscelin asked Melisande.

"No." It was unnerving to hear her voice without its honeyed menace. What I had taken for restraint was an unfamiliar undertone of grief-and even stranger, fear. I don't think anyone else would haverecognized it as such. I did. "Some of the priests and priestesses may have guessed; I cannot say for sure."

"So someone could have known," Joscelin said, watching me pace.

"Yes." Melisande followed his gaze. "It is always possible. There is always danger. Phedre, what are you thinking?"

My name from her lips. It still raised the fine hairs at the back of my neck. I paused before a pot of flowering almond, brushing the petals with my fingers. "That there are very few people capable of playing as devious and ruthless a game as you, my lady," I said. "How many, do you think, in Terre d'Ange itself?"

"A few, mayhap."

It was a generous estimate. "Your kin?" I asked.

"No." Melisande hesitated. "No one in House Shahrizai would have harmed the boy, whether they reviled me or no. He holds too much possibility for us. If any of my kin had found him, I would know.

One way or another."

Now that, I did believe. I sighed, turning to face her. "There is one person who comes to mind."

"Barquiel L'Envers." Melisande's eyes met mine, and I knew we thought alike.

We are wary allies, Ysandre's maternal uncle and I. Once, he was my lord Delaunay's greatest enemy, and I was slow to trust him because of it. I did, in the end; I placed the fate of Ysandre's throne in his hands, and he acquitted himself heroically, holding the City of Elua against Percy de Somerville's rebellion until Ysandre came to reclaim it. Still, I cannot forget those other acts he committed to secure his niece's throne, that were neither noble nor lawful.

"He wouldn't," Joscelin protested.

"He had Dominic Stregazza assassinated," I reminded him. "He's as much as admitted it."

"Dominic killed his sister." Joscelin flushed. "I'm not saying it was justified, Phedre, but he had cause to seek vengeance."

"Barquiel L'Envers is ambitious and clever," Melisande said, "and he does not scruple to do what the Queen will not. If word of ImriePs existence reached his ears, I do not think he would lay it in Ysandre's lap. I think he would take whatever measures he deemed necessary to secure her throne for House L'Envers' lineage."

Although her voice remained even, her face was unwontedly pale. "I don't think he would," I said. "Not that. But he is one of the only people I can think of who would be capable. I will learn what I can." I looked at her a moment without speaking. "You know there is a good chance the boy is dead."

For all that I hated her, I made the words as gentle as I could. Melisande's expression never changed.

Given the same knowledge, there was no possibility I could conceive that she had not already thought of.

"I know." The words fell flat into the air between us. "If that is so, then whoever is responsible will be remanded unto Kushiel's mercy. I will honor our agreement nonetheless." Barbed words, double-edged. As I was Kushiel's chosen, she was his scion. If it was murder, one way or another, it would not go unavenged. I sighed again, feeling the weight of this task like a millstone around my neck. "My lady, I will need to speak to your . . . spies. The other likely possibility is that one of them has betrayed you."

"No." Melisande's chin rose a fraction, eyes narrowing. "That much, I have determined on my own, Phedre no Delaunay. It was no one loyal to me. Those who are suffered enough when my cousin Marmion betrayed me. I will condemn no more to the Queen's untender justice."

"You will hobble my search," I said.

"I will spare you wasted time." Her voice was implacable. "Do you really think I would maintain allies I could not trust implicitly at this point? This was planned from outside, Phedre, of that I am sure. I have named the price I will pay for your aid. Do not seek to bargain for more."

"We could walk away." Joscelin leaned back against the couch, unperturbed.

"You could." Melisande eyed him, then looked back at me. "I do not think you will."

"No." There was no point in dissembling. I didn't bother trying. "But you have your bargain yet to fulfill, my lady. How shall it be done?"

"Ah." Melisande rose gracefully and crossed the room to open a low coffer. She withdrew a scroll-case of oiled wood and presented it to me. "Here."

I opened it and removed the scroll within, unwinding it on its spindles to find a document on finely cured hide, written in unfamiliar letters. An alphabet of broad vertical lines inscribed the hide, black and decisive, the text illuminated here and there with brightly painted scenes in miniature. Here a king sat enthroned, receiving a gorgeously dressed woman in audience; here, he gave her a ring. Here was fire and swords and devastation; here, two men raised their hands before an altar. Here, a temple in ruins; here, a river voyage. I stared at it and frowned, uncomprehending. "What is this?"

"The document is written in Jeb'ez. The Kefra Neghast, they call it; the Glory of Kings." Melisande stooped as I sat to study it, marking a point on the hide. "See, here; this depicts the meeting of Shalomon and Makeda, the Queen of Saba. And this is the ring he gave her, a token of remembrance."

"Shalomon's Ring," I murmured. Her fragrance was distracting.

"Mayhap." Melisande gave me a quick glance. "It is Shalomon, and it is a ring. Here, you see? This man is Melek al'Hakim, Prince of Saba, Shalomon's son, come to the temple to retrieve his father's treasure in time of war. He bears his father's ring. And this man . . ." She tapped the hide. "This is Khiram, son of Khiram, architect of the Temple of Shalomon." Melisande sat back on her heels, neatly as any adept of the Night Court, her dark blue eyes thoughtful. "Who was born of the Tribe of Dan."

"No." I spread both hands unthinking over the hide. "The Tribe of Naftali. So it is written, in the Book of Kings."

"The Book of Kings, yes. Not in the Paraleipomenon." Melisande used the Hellene word and a rare impatient gesture. "How do you say it in D'Angeline?" "Chronicles," I said. "The Dibhere Hayyamin, the Acts of Days." I tried to remember, and couldn't. It might be so, that the Book of Chronicles ascribed a different lineage to Shalomon's architect. "My lady, what are you saying?"

"What I was told. No more and no less." Melisande regarded me. "That it is legend, in distant Jebe-Barkal, that Melek al'Hakim the son of Shalomon and Khiram the architect fled the fall of the Habiru empire over a thousand years ago. First to Menekhet under Pharaoh's aegis, then southeast to Saba. And the Tribe of Dan went with them."

"You read Jeb'ez," I said, incredulous.

"No." Melisande smiled. "I had the scroll translated. What I was told, I committed to memory." She straightened, standing. "Take it. You are welcome to do the same. And when you have come back to report to me what you have learned of my son's disappearance, I will give you the name of a man in the city of Iskandria, in Menekhet, who says he can lead you south into Jebe-Barkal, to the very place where Shalomon's son founded his dynasty."

I rolled the scroll carefully, mindful of crackling the glaze on the painted characters. "What makes you think I cannot find such a guide on my own, my lady?"

"You might," Melisande admitted. "Although onesuch is not so easy to find, for the empire of Shalomon's son is long fallen and its history forgotten. But you have given your word. And you are Anafiel Delaunay's pupil. I do not think you will go back on it."

"No." I placed the scroll back in its container. "Did you teach me to use people better than you taught my lord Delaunay, my lady, I would take this and be gone. But when all is said and done, I am not like you." I placed the lid on the wooden cylinder, sealing it with a twist. "You spoke the truth, when you said your son is innocent. For that, if naught else, I will seek to learn what has become of him."

"Thank you." Melisande said it graciously, standing tall and straight. It gave me a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, hearing those words from her. With nothing to resist, I didn't know what to do with my emotions. Joscelin swung himself off the couch in one seamless motion, assisting me to my feet.

"We'll come back when we've something to report," he said. "My lady."

TEN.

SINCE WE had no reason to stay, we left La Serenissima in the same day.

For a long time, neither of us discussed it, speaking only of those pragmatic matters necessary for travel.

I daresay I couldn't have borne anything more. My mind reeled, trying to make sense of what had transpired. I couldn't do it. It was too much.

"You did well." It was Joscelin who broke the silence somewhere outside of Pavento.

I turned to look at his profile, his gaze fixed on the road before him, hands competent on the reins.

"Joscelin. I agreed to help her."

"I know." He glanced sideways at me. "And Elua help me, I don't know what else you could have done.You think she's telling the truth about this Jebean legend?"

"I don't know." I touched the scroll-case, lashed securely across my pommel. "She might be. It would be like her to have had this coin and withheld it for years."

"For what?" Joscelin's voice was curious. "I understand she was shadowing Delaunay, in the beginning, but what interest could the Master of the Straits hold for Melisande now?"

"What do you think Drustan mab Necthana would do if Melisande tried to put her son on Ysandre's throne?" I asked.

"Bring an army across the Straits and stop her."

"Yes." I stroked the oiled wood. "Unless the Master of the Straits barred the crossing. And for the price of freedom, he might consider it."

"Hyacinthe?" It was odd to hear him spoken of thusly. "Never."

"Never." I tasted the word. "Ten days ago, I would have said I would never have given my aid to Melisande Shahrizai of my own will.

And my never is a good deal shorter than Hyacinthe's, Joscelin." I remembered the despairing eyes of the Tsingano boy I'd loved looking out from the face of the Master of the Straits, immortal power trapped in a mortal body. In the back of my mind, a grasshopper chirruped a dry warning. "Now, no. In ten years . . . mayhap."

Our horses' hooves beat a rhythmic tattoo on the road while Joscelin considered my words. Travelling has its own pace, its own meter. "You're probably right," he said at length, and glanced at me again. "Still.

It matters not, not any more. And I think you handled her well."

"I tried."

It was true, I think; I had done well. Once, only once, in my career as an anguissette in Naamah's Service have I given my signale, that password commanding a patron to cease, overriding all false protests and demurrals. It was to Melisande Shahrizai. I have had patrons more brutal, gleeful in their abuse, who left marks on my body that took many weeks to heal. I have never had any patron who played me with such consummate skill. But I had conducted myself well in her presence, yes. Apart from my initial shock at her request-and who would not react thusly?-I had remained in control, showing no sign of the weakness inflicted upon me by fate.

And now I ached with desire in every part.

KushiePs Dart was pricking hard.

Joscelin realized it, in time. We had been together too long for it to be otherwise. Once, long before we were lovers, he had despised it in me. It was Joscelin who had been there the morning after that Longest Night, when I gave Melisande my signale and she strung her diamond about my throat. And it was Joscelin who had been there when I had awakened, sick and betrayed, after Melisande sold us into captivity in Skaldia. Even then, even in the depths of betrayal and self-loathing, I'd had no defenses against the craving she roused in me. She was a scion of Kushiel such as the world has never seen, and I was Kushiel's Chosen, the only anguissette born in living memory. We were connected in a mannernothing born of rational thought and the mind's volition could touch.

I could no more cease wanting her than I could stem the tide.

After that terrible second morning, I think Joscelin understood, at least a bit. And Skaldia . . . Skaldia changed everything between us. When did I discover that I loved him? I cannot even say. When I realized it, it came as something I had known for a long, long, time.

Somewhere, somehow, life without him had become unthinkable.

It didn't alter my desires.

To his infinite credit, Joscelin spoke no word of reproach but gave to me what solace he could that night where we took our lodgings. On the roughspun blankets of our rented bed, he laid aside his self-discipline and made love to me with all the savagery of his heart.

It helped, some. I clutched at his back, feeling his muscles work violently beneath his skin as he drove himself into me, burying my face in the crook of his neck as his hair fell in shining ribbons about us both and salt tears dampened my cheeks. It wasn't enough. Peerless warrior though he was, there was no cruelty in Joscelin. I ought to know; I loved him for it. Yet even as he stiffened above me on rigid arms, spending himself, and my ardent body responded, it wasn't enough. My skin craved the kiss of the lash, the bite of a keen blade. I longed to kneel in abject surrender, whispering obscene pleas.

I could not have been more miserable if I had.

Somewhere beyond us, Kushiel smiled pitilessly.

It would have been different, if anyone but Melisande had been the cause. This was a yearning that came upon me from time to time; when it did, we both of us knew it was time for me to take a patron. I can pick and choose, now, as I do thrice a year. Delaunay's anguissette no longer, I take assignations with only such patrons as I deem worthy. It galled my heart and filled me with self-hatred to know that now, even now, the mere sight of Melisande was enough to stir my darkest desires.

If I had not been what I am, if I had not known her as I do, I could never have thwarted Melisande's designs on the throne of Terre d'Ange. I know this. But why now? It served no need, no purpose I could discern.

Well, and who can discern the purposes of the gods? With an effort, I bent my mind from contemplating my inner woes and thought about our present dilemma instead. Imriel de la Courcel, a Prince's son raised a goat-herd, like something out of an old legend. The audacity of it dazzled me still. I was reluctant to confront the Duc L'Envers, though I could not help but hold him my chiefest suspect. He had saved my life, once, on the battlefield of Troyes-le-Mont-and he had saved Ysandre's throne. Still, Melisande was right. If Barquiel L'Envers learned of the boy's whereabouts, I do not think he would use the knowledge to enable Ysandre to fulfill her dream of ending the blood-feud that haunted House Courcel's lineage, bringing the boy into the fold. Barquiel L'Envers thought it was a weak and foolish dream. If he found the child, he might not kill him out of hand-Elua grant it were so-but he might well make him disappear.

And in my heart of hearts, I was not entirely certain he was wrong in his beliefs. Ysandre's sentiments were noble, but I was there when Melisande threatened the Queen with enmity should she take her son. I do not think Ysandre, who had long regarded Melisande Shahrizai her enemy, appreciated thedifference.

I did. If Melisande threw away the stakes of her long game for vengeance, everyone would lose.

Mayhap Ysandre believed her safely contained. I had thought so too, once, when Melisande was brought to justice at Troyes-le-Monte. She had escaped from there, and a good many people were dead because of it, some of them dear to me. I knew better.

So did Barquiel L'Envers.

Thus passed our return journey, pensive and unhappy. And I spent long hours too in contemplation of the Jebean scroll and the revelations contained therein, wondering if what Melisande speculated might be true. After so long, it almost frightened me to hope . . . and I am not ashamed to admit that the enormity of the tasks confronting me frightened me, too. I was not a child any more, rash and careless with youth's immortality. I was thirty-two years old, and I had attained a stature to which I had never dreamed of aspiring in my younger days. Foremost courtesan of the City of Elua, yes; but not a respected peer of the realm, bearer of the Companion's Star, the Queen's confidante, Kushiel's Chosen, to whom the soldiers of the Unforgiven had knelt. All those things, I was.

And it scared me to think of risking it all.

Jebe-Barkal. It was a place on a map, a parrot-merchant in the Campo Grande. I knew little more. Our critics claim Terre d'Ange is insular, and it is true. We ally ourselves with the Caerdicci city-states, with Aragonia, because they share our borders; now with Alba, because Ysandre de la Courcel wed the Cruarch and broke the Straits' curse. We guard our boundaries against the Skaldi, because they have sought to take what is ours; we make war and alliance with Khebbel-im-Akkad, because it is too great a power to ignore. So much, and no more.

It is changing, a little. Ysandre looks outward more than any other D'Angeline monarch in memory, forging ties, fostering exchange. It is in a small part due to me, I think, that we have formal relations now with Illyria, with Kriti in Hellas. And Ysandre does not fear to send delegates to Ephesium, to Menekhet, to Carthage, even to the Umaiyyat.

But still-Jebe-Barkal! It was, I reflected glumly as Joscelin and I crossed the border into Terre d'Ange, very, very far away.

Our return was met with ebullience on the part of not only Ti-Philippe, but my household staff as well.

Eugenie, my Mistress of Household, has been with me for over ten years now, and I have grown to value her eternal concern as much as her efficiency. I remember the grace and loyalty with which my lord Delaunay's staff ran his affairs, and have done my best to achieve the same. If I have succeeded, much of it has to do with paying a good wage and treating everyone in my employ with fairness and respect, but much is also due to Eugenie's excellent supervision. One thing neither of us will tolerate is careless gossip.

The only time I have ever fired anyone in my service was for indiscretion. It pained me to do it, though it was necessary.

After we had bathed and changed our travel-worn attire, Joscelin and I met with Ti-Philippe in the garden courtyard to tell him what had transpired. His eyes grew round to hear it.

"Surely you're jesting."

"No." I shook my head. "I am sworn to aid her." "Well." He reached out and popped a candied almond into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "What will you do, my lady? And more importantly," he swallowed and grinned, "what can I do?"

"I will ask questions," I said. "Judiciously, of course. You ..." I smiled. "You can find me a Jebean scholar, Philippe. I've a document I need translated."

He pulled a face. "Poking about in academics' dusty corners? Sounds dull."

"Mayhap." I shrugged. "It will likely take you to Marsilikos, though. I doubt anyone in the City Academy reads Jeb'ez."

"Marsilikos." It cheered him to think on it. Marsilikos is a port city, beloved of sailors, a meeting-ground of the larger world. If there was any scholar who studied Jebe-Barkal, it would be at the Academy there.

"Can I take Hugues, my lady? He wants to see the sea again."

"Why not? If it comes to it. And Philippe, I want you to call on Emile, in Night's Doorstep."

"The Tsingano?" Ti-Philippe looked perplexed, and Joscelin shot me a curious glance.