Melisande lifted her gaze. "Do I want to know why?"

"No." I shook my head. "You don't."

She looked away. "And I am in your debt, twice-over. Do I want to know what you endured to find him, Phedre?"

"No." I couldn't rid myself of a terrible compassion. "No, my lady, you do not."

"The kingdom that died and lives." Melisande laughed without mirth. "Drujan. Jahanadar, the land of fires. Ptolemy Dikaios feared it, I know that much, and he is a learned man. It lies under the rule of Khebbel-im-Akkad now, had you heard?"

"No."

"It seems they surrendered peaceably." She eyed me. "Passing strange, when even the Khalif s formidable army feared to cross its borders. So, I understand, did Lord Amaury's men."

I said nothing.

Melisande sighed. "What of the men who harmed my son?"

"They are dead."

Her face hardened. "You swear to it?"

"Yes." I thought of Imriel, checking time and again to make certain that the Kereyit Tatar warlord Jagun was dead; and I thought of Mahrk-agir's heart beating beneath my hand, his brilliant, trusting eyes as I positioned the hairpin against his breast. "I swear to it."

"You took my son to Jebe-Barkal."

"Yes." I crossed over to the low table where a tray of refreshments sat ignored, pouring myself a glass of wine. My mouth was dry with fear. "I did." "Why?"

Her gaze was sharper than Kaneka's hairpins. I kept my face neutral as I sat on the couch opposite her and sipped my wine. "Do you know, he followed us? He pulled one of your own tricks, my lady, trading cloaks with a Tyrean serving-lad. Elua knows what Lord Amaury made of it when he discovered it."

"You could have sent him back."

"Shall we play a game?" I asked softly, curling into a corner of the couch. "Yes, my lady, we could have. But it would have cost me a season's wait, while my friend Hyacinthe, my one true friend, descends slowly into madness. That's why I went, remember? That's why I accepted your bargain. And in the end, Imriel too had a part to play."

"You found what you sought."

I gazed at Melisande, feeling the Name of God present on the tip of my tongue, sounding in the throb of my blood. It was there, written in the immaculate geometry of her features, in the framework of bone and the flesh that sheathed it, a fearful beauty. "Yes," I said. "I did."

Never, never show your hand. It is the first law of barter, of games of skill. And it is not my strength, which lies in yielding. It was hard, so hard to wait, to hold her gaze. But I did, and it was Melisande who looked away first. "And now you will give my son to Ysandre," she murmured.

I took another sip of wine. "That, my lady, depends upon you."

Her eyes blazed, and the color rose in her cheeks. "What do you mean?"

"I will tell you," I said, "what I offer. And I will tell you what I require in return. I am willing, my lady, to adopt Imriel into mine own household. And as such . . ." My voice caught in my throat. "Ah, Melisande! I can't make him love you. You poisoned that well yourself, long before he was born. But I can promise that he will be left free to make his own choices, and I will not turn him against you, not wittingly. If you wish to correspond with him, I will see your missives delivered. Whether or not he reads them is up to him. One day, he may be willing to hear your story. If it is so, I will let him. I would allow him choice.

That is what I offer."

"Ysandre would never permit it."

"She would," I said, "if I claimed it as the boon she owes me. I hold the Companion's Star, my lady. It was seen and witnessed by the flower of D'Angeline nobility. It is the one thing Ysandre cannot refuse."

Melisande studied me. "Why?"

I touched the hollow of my bare throat, where once her diamond had lain. "Why did you pay the price of my marque, so long ago? Why did you set me free?"

A distant smile flickered over her features. "To see what you would do."

"Even so." I nodded. "I would see what Imriel would do, what he would become, were he free to choose. After what he has endured, it is the least he deserves. But I have my own safety to consider, and that of those who are beholden to me." "The Cassiline," Melisande said dryly.

"Among others," I said. "Yes, Joscelin first of all, but there are others. Ti-Philippe, my chevalier . . . you remember him, my lady? His comrades were slain on Prince Benedicte's orders. And there is Eugenie, my Mistress of the Household, and others, in Montreve . . . my seneschal, Purnell Friote and his wife Richeline, and others, too many to count. I am fond of your son, Melisande; passing fond. But while you plot against the throne, we are all in danger of being accused of conspiracy. I will not jeopardize them on his behalf. I require safeguards."

That was the lie, the bluff. I delivered it unblinking, and Melisande's gaze searched my face. "You said there was a price," she said at length.

It was all I could do to keep from sighing with relief.

"Two things," I said, holding up two fingers. "One: You will swear to me, in Kushiel's name, that you will do naught to jeopardize the lives of Ysandre de la Courcel and her daughters. Two: You will make no attempt to leave this place, but will live out your days in sanctuary, seeking only penitence and not worship."

Melisande laughed.

I waited.

"Ah, Phedre!" Leaning forward, she brushed my cheek with her fingertips. Her touch stung like a lash, and I closed my eyes against it. "One," Melisande said tenderly, her voice redolent of smoke and honey.

"Two conditions have you set me, Phedre. Do you take my son, and raise him without teaching him to hate me more than he does now, I will grant you one. Only one. And the choosing of it is yours."

It was hard not to lean into her touch. It stirred me, stirred things in me I had not felt since Daranga. I had thought, after that, I might never yearn for such tender cruelty again. I was wrong. Melisande's scent surrounded me, clouding my faculties. Even the Sacred Name itself blurred under her fingers, turning to incomprehensible syllables, my tongue grown thick with desire. I wanted to touch her, to taste her, to kneel at her feet.

"The first," I said, feeling the pulse beating betwixt my thighs. "On Kushiel's name. Swear you will not raise your hand, nor any other's, against Ysandre and her daughters."

"I swear it." Melisande withdrew her hand. "In Kushiel's name, I swear it."

I stood, feeling giddy. "Then I will raise your son as my own, my lady."

"So be it."

I got halfway to the door before her voice stopped me.

"Why did you do it?" Melisande asked, holding me with her wondering gaze. "Surely, you had done all that was in your power, and more. My oath didn't bind you unto near-certain death. You had your quest, and the key to the Name of God. Why did you abandon it to walk alone, with only that mad Cassiline to protect you, into a land even the most hardened Akkadian warrior feared? Was it only to free my son?"

I paused, and shook my head. "No, my lady. My oath took me to Khebbel-im-Akkad, no further. Forthe rest, I can say only that it was Elua's will, and part of a pattern more vast than I could have guessed.

All of it. There was . . . there was somewhat in Drujan that Ptolemy Dikaios was right to fear, a shadow that might have fallen over us all, had it lived. But it is gone, now. A great ill has been averted. This would not have happened if I had not gone."

Melisande's face was very still. "Then Imriel did not suffer in vain."

"No," I said, and shook my head again, pitying her against my will. "Not wholly, my lady, and not only in retribution for your crimes. There was a purpose to it greater than Kushiel's justice alone."

Her eyes closed, and her lips moved in a prayer of thanksgiving. It was not a thing meant for me to see, and I turned once more to go.

"Phedre."

After all these years and all that I knew of her, my name on her lips still brought me up short. Melisande might as well have had me on a lead. I stood despairing and watched as she rose from the couch, crossing to approach me. Squares of winter sunlight lay upon the marble floor, and sunlight gleamed on the Veil of Asherat, drawn back to lie in a glittering net on her blue-black hair. Her hands, pale as ivory, with long tapering fingers, rose to cup my face with infinite tenderness and the promise of immaculate cruelty. Caught between the desire to flee and to stay, I caught my breath, my heart beating too fast, erratic.

"Phedre." Melisande smiled, her eyes as deep blue and fathomless as the evening sky. "You're a dreadful liar."

I drew in a shaking breath, trembling under her touch. "I've never lied to you."

"No?" The corners of her lovely mouth curled with amusement. "Let us say then that there are certain things you failed to mention, such as the attempts upon ImriePs life made in Khebbel-im-Akkad. As for the rest, I will say only this. One day-not soon, but one day- tell my son that this bargain I have made with you today is my gift to him, the only one he would accept from me. And I, I will rest easier in the knowledge that he will be safer with you and your Cassiline than anywhere in the City of Elua, for you will permit no dangerous intrigues under your roof, and the two of you will protect him to the death." She looked at my expression and laughed. "Oh, Phedre! Did you think I would not see that he loves you, and is loved in turn? Even Joscelin sought to protect him from me. And you . . . my dear, you could no sooner turn away love than you could erase the prick of Kushiel's Dart from your eye."

Feverish with desire and fear, I struggled to frame a reply.

Melisande ignored my efforts and kissed me.

The Name of God ignited in my skull, blazing under the touch of her lips, her tongue. I saw our paths crossing and recrossing, the myriad paths of might-have-been. All the scenarios that might have happened, had events not fallen out as they did. And in each and every one, our fates were intertwined.

In one, she joined forces with Anafiel Delaunay and stood in loco parentis to me, a relationship as fraught with difficult tensions as the worst possibilities I feared for Imriel. In another, she wed Baudoin de Trevalion, and I served as plaything to both. In another, I stood beside her, gazing at the poisoned corpse of Waldemar Selig, knowing myself the agent of his death.

All of these, and more. All that might have been.

Melisande raised her head and released me. "Take care of my son."

"I will." How I got out the words, through a throat choked tight with longing and vision and the Name of God, I will never know- but I did. Melisande only nodded.

She had always, always known me better than anyone else.

"Good-bye, Phedre."

EIGHTY-EIGHT.

I ENTERED the Temple of Asherat to find Joscelin engaged in describing to Imriel events that had transpired therein some twelve years past, standing in the corner and whispering as he pointed to the balcony opposite the mighty effigy. The priestesses of Asherat frowned visibly behind their veils and muttered, displeased.

Asherat-of-the-Sea, immortal and less easily discomfited, maintained her solemn gaze across the emptiness of domed space, crowned with stars. Like the One God's Sacred Name, her mystery had endured longer than mortal memory, and it would endure too when we had gone, passing to the true Terre d'Ange-that-lies-beyond.

Because I knew it was so, I laughed.

Joscelin lifted his head in answer and smiled at me. And there was no covert message in his smile, no dire knowledge, only simple gladness at my presence. "Did she agree to it?"

I nodded and held out one hand to Imriel.

He came warily, the old fear riding him. "She promised?"

"Yes," I said. "Not all of it. Only the important part."

"Will she keep her promise?" His shadowed eyes searched my face.

"She will," I said. "And we will go home."

From the Temple, we went to the Banco Tribuno where I still had notes of promise on record from my factor in the City of Elua, Messire Brenin. His Serenissiman contact there remembered me well, and forbore to comment on the strangeness of our Jebean attire. I signed a scrip for funds sufficient to our purpose, and we went thence to the tailors' quarter and commissioned travelling garb in the Serenissiman style, bright-hued velvets and heavy capes trimmed with ermine. It was overly ornate for my tastes, but far more suitable for the cold Caerdicci winters.

"You didn't have to get the ermine trim," Joscelin observed.

I regarded him over the fur collar of my new cloak. "I am the Comtesse de Montreve, after all. Don'tyou think I ought to look the part?"

As always, there were other arrangements to be made. Had it merely been Joscelin and I, we would have travelled as before, just the two of us-but there was Imriel to consider, and I had not forgotten the bandits that had attacked us last time we travelled between Terre d'Ange and Caerdicca Unitas. To that end, Ricciardo Stregazza found us an escort, mercenaries he was willing to vouch for personally, sailors out of work until the spring trade resumed. And there were all the usual questions to consider, supplies and routes, water and fodder and the rest.

There was one other matter, too.

I debated it, but in the end, I chose to send a letter to Severio Stregazza, who is the lord of the Little Court, now-the Palazzo Immortali, he renamed it. He inherited it some time after the death of his grandfather, who was Prince Benedicte de la Courcel.

I had known Severio well, once; he had been a patron of mine. He is still the only man who has ever asked to wed me, and I even considered it... for a moment. It is as well for both of us that I said no. But he is also the only one of Imriel's Serenissiman kin surviving who has not committed some manner of murder or treason.

Severio's aunt, Therese, took part in the assassination of Isabel L'Envers de la Courcel, Ysandre's mother. I will never forget that, for it is the knowledge for which my foster-brother, Alcuin, risked his life- and it was the knowledge Delaunay used to buy a dubious alliance with Duc Barquiel L'Envers.

Barquiel had Severio's uncle Dominic killed for it. I don't forget that, either.

And Severio's mother Marie-Celeste, who was Prince Benedicte's eldest daughter-Marie-Celeste masterminded the plot to have old Cesare removed as Doge, and her husband Marco installed in his stead. Or so they say, in La Serenissima. It was Marie-Celeste who suborned the Temple of Asherat, of that I was certain. Melisande had always been careful to avoid blasphemy.

It is why I knew she would keep her oath.

Even now, if a cult grew around her exile, I did not doubt that she chose her words with care, making no claims that might offend the gods, knowing all the while what effect they might have on Asherat's mortal adherents. And I did not doubt that her genius lay behind Marie-Celeste's treason.

Be as that may; Severio, like his uncle Ricciardo, was one of the good ones, afflicted with the scruples so many of his family lacked. I wrote to him from Villa Gaudio, stressing the need for discretion.

Ricciardo's courier was returned posthaste, in an elegant bissone that bore the Stregazza arms of the carrack-and-tower framed by a pair of the arch-necked swans of House Courcel. A half-dozen noblemen from the Immortali, Severio's beloved club, accompanied it. I recognized their leader, clad in a sweeping cloak of blue velvet, lined with saffron-yellow.

"Contessa," he cried as their helmsman maneuvered the gilded craft alongside Villa Gaudio's dock.

"Contessa, come back, and break my heart again!"

"Benito Dandi," I said, smiling.

He grinned, and swept a bow. "You remembered!" I did remember. The Immortali had saved my life in the Temple of Asherat. And Severio Stregazza had led them to it, intervening even as I held the point of a dagger to my own throat, obedient to Melisande's will, desperate to stop her at all costs.

"Of course," I said, while Joscelin raised his brows. "My lord Benito . . . Severio did tell you I begged his discretion?"

"Oh, yes." Benito's grin widened, and he indicated the silk-draped canopy of the bissone. "Under there, no one will see you, but we trusted Immortali will know the pleasure of your visage, which is all the reward we ask. Sir Cassiline, you, of course, are welcome to keep your weapons," he said with a certain deference - Joscelin's duel with the Cassiline traitor David de Rocaille remained legend among those who had witnessed it. "And you ..." He bowed again, this time to Imriel, his face openly curious. "You must be the kinsman. Welcome, young lord."

We made our way to the former Little Court, entering through the gates off the Grand Canal, where Benito Dandi leapt to the quai to usher us ashore, and the guards waved us through. It was strange, after so long. The air was bright and crisp, reflecting off the water of the canals to cast wavering reflections on the cool marble. Imriel gazed at it in wonderment.

"You were born here," I told him.

He swallowed. "I don't ... I don't feel a part of it."