"It's not a tale fit for poetry," I said. "Not Daranga." "No." Her gaze rested on Imri, filled with compassion. "But it is a story that must be told, that we might remember and never let such a thing come to pass again. I will think on how best it might be done. I may not live to see it finished, but I daresay I will see it begun."

"You shouldn't say such things," I said, not wanting to hear them.

Her smile was tinged with sorrow. "Ah, Phedre! You've never shied away from truth. I've lived through such times as poets dream of, and I have no regrets. But don't fear, my dear, I'll not leave yet. To miss the end of the story-ah, now that would grieve me." Her tone changed. "It must be hard for you to wait."

I took a deep breath, and made no reply.

"Ysandre will forgive you, you know." Thelesis read my expression. "You gave her no choice, Phedre.

And I daresay she took it harder, coming from you. But I remember your young Tsingano friend very well indeed, and I suspect he has reserves of fortitude he's yet to tap. Nearly two years ago, you gave him the gift of hope. He'll wait thirty years, if he must; three months is naught to one facing immortality."

My heart rose. "Sibeal delivered my message?"

"No one told you?" She shook her head. "Of course not. Who would dare? Yes, my dear, she did. He permitted the Cruarch's ship to enter the harbor, and she told him. And don't forget, Hyacinthe has the gift of the dromonde, does he not? As many unforeseeable turns as the path of your life has taken before, I suspect it lies clear at this point."

"To Rahab." I shivered.

"To the angel known as Pride," Thelesis said, "and Insolence." Her voice was gentle. "Do you know what you will do when you arrive?"

"No," I said. "Not really."

"She'll have a plan by the time we get there," Joscelin said to Imriel. "It will probably involve me swimming three times around the island carrying you on my back, wearing Ras Lijasu's lion's mane on your head and screaming at the top of your lungs and waving a sword. That should get Rahab's attention, don't you think?"

Imriel grinned. "Can you swim when you're seasick?"

"Shhh." Joscelin tweaked a lock of his hair. "You're not supposed to reveal that, especially in front of the Queen's Poet,"

I caught Thelesis watching their exchange. She smiled, seeing me take notice. "What was it you said to Ysandre? Not all families are born of blood and seed?"

"She told you that?" I was surprised.

"Even a Queen may recognize Elua's hand at work, Phedre no Delaunay. Give her time." Thelesis turned her head away to cough, covering her mouth with a kerchief worked with the Courcel insignia. In the background, the apprentice girl set down her pestle and slipped from the stool, bringing the bowl of fine-ground gall for inspection. "Well done," Thelesis said, regaining her voice. "Thank you, Alais." Alais? I startled, only now recognizing the dark-haired girl in the drab smock as Ysandre's youngest daughter. So much, I thought, for my vaunted powers of observation. "Princess Alais," I said with alacrity, rising to curtsy.

She peered at me with the violet eyes of House L'Envers and wrinkled her nose. "I'm only Alais, here.

Thelesis lets me help, sometimes."

"Now?" I raised my eyebrows at Thelesis.

"She wanted to hear her cousin's story," she said. "Ysandre did not object. Her grandfather Ganelon sought to protect her from unpleasant truths when she was a child. She will not do the same with her daughters. Better they should know the worst, from the beginning, and live their lives accordingly."

"Sidonie didn't want to hear it," Alais said complacently. "She doesn't like to get dirty, either. I do. Will you tell me about seeing lions, cousin?" The latter was directed to Imriel. "I will show you how we make ink."

Imriel glanced at me, uncertain. I shrugged. "Go ahead, if you like."

"Alais, you're not to touch the vitriol," Thelesis called. "Remember last time."

"I won't."

Joscelin, who had risen to bow to the young Princess, laughed aloud as she led Imri away to her worktable. "That one's a handful! I remember, it was Alais who wanted to play with my daggers. How old is she, now? Seven? Eight?"

"Eight," Thelesis said. "She has dreams, sometimes, that hold truths; small things, but accurate. Drustan thinks she may have inherited the gift of his mother, Necthana."

We watched them without speaking, the two heads bent intently over the worktable as Alais explained to Imriel how the powdered galls were mixed with vitriol and gum arabic to make an enduring ink that would not run or smear, even in dampness. At a distance, they might have been brother and sister. She has dreams, I thought, and he has nightmares. I have both, but Blessed Elua willing, that will soon be over. For these two, life is composed wholly of beginnings.

"We speak of stories ending," Thelesis de Mornay said softly, "when in truth it is we who end. The stories go on and on."

I prayed silently that they would not go on without me.

Not yet.

Hyacinthe.

NINETY-THREE.

THE FITFUL winds of early spring came and went. All across Terre d'Ange, the fields began greening. Shoots emerged from the rich soil, straining toward the sun. Crocuses blossomed in purple, white and yellow, and trees were hazed with leaf-buds. In the mountains, shepherds prepared for lambing. In the countryside, farmers watched the weather and planted seed. On the coasts, sailors gauged the winds and made ready to voyage.

And in the City of Elua, they wagered on the date of the Cruarch's arrival.

I daresay I had never awaited it with such anxiety myself, fond though I am of Drustan mab Necthana.

For that was the letter of Ysandre's sentence upon me: When the Cruarch entered the gates of the City, I was free to leave it.

It was Guillen Baphinol who brought us the news, ostensibly in the form of an official visit. But his horse was lathered when he pulled up in the courtyard and his shouting brought Joscelin at a run, his sword at the ready. Cassilines may only draw their swords to kill, but when it came to Imriel's safety, he didn't bother with his daggers.

"Peace," Guillen said breathlessly, putting up his hands. "Peace, Messire Verreuil. I've news! The Cruarch's flagship has been sighted!"

Joscelin stared at him, then let out a whoop of joy and embraced the Eisandine lordling.

Guillen Baphinol grinned, thumping his back. "I thought you'd be pleased, my lord!"

We threw a fete that evening, and the entire household celebrated. Once the preparations were done, I gave everyone, from Eugenie to the stable-keeper Benoit, the night off. The waiting had weighed hard on all of us, and cast a three-month pall over what should have been a

joyous homecoming. We celebrated it that night. I do not doubt that among the Great Houses of Terre d'Ange, they would be appalled to know that at House Montreve, the serving-maid was seated with the chevalier, and the stable-keeper dined at the table with straw still in his hair, but it was my household, and these were the people who had kept it together in duress. I have been a peer of the realm and a barbarian's slave alike, and I am not too proud to dine with someone with the muck fresh-cleaned from beneath his nails.

Elua grant I never will be.

Although he did smell faintly of the stables.

In the morning, I daresay all of us were a trifle thick-headed. The revelry had gone late into the night and the wine-keg we had tapped was dry. I'd allowed Imriel two glasses, and his eyes had shone with it, color rising beneath his fair skin. He sang a shepherd's love song in his clear, true voice, while Hugues played his flute. How long, I wondered, until his boy's voice broke? It would be soon. His growth had slowed in Daranga, but he was making up for lost time. "He'll break hearts, that one," Eugenie predicted.

I sent a bleary-eyed Hugues on errands that day, bearing word of the Cruarch's impending return to Emile in Night's Doorstep and to Eleazar in the Yeshuite quarter. It was a courtesy, since both would doubtless have heard the news already, but I had promised to notify both parties when we made ready tojourney. When a knock came at the door, I thought it must be Hugues returning.

Instead it was a royal courier, with a summons from the Queen.

"What does she want now?" Joscelin asked, frowning at the missive. "Surely she hasn't changed her mind."

"Did her majesty give any indication?" I asked the courier.

He shook his head. "Only that your presence is requested, my lady. Yours, your consort's and the boy."

Once again, we travelled to the Palace, this time in our own carriage. All throughout the City, people were celebrating the news. The wineshops and taverns were open, markets were doing a brisk business.

Wagers were settled, new wagers laid. Students given a day's leave from the Academy thronged the streets, toasting the Cruarch's health, looking forward to three days and nights of revelry when he reached the City. Drustan's return had become a veritable rite of spring. I wished I shared their high spirits, but Ysandre's summons had struck fear into my heart and my joyous mood had faded.

I kept a good face on it as a majordomo escorted us into the Palace, along with a pair of guards. I wondered if we were bound for the throne-room or a private audience. If it was state business, I thought, it will be the throne-room or the Hall of Audience. I feared what Ysan-dre might declare before an audience of state. What she might say in private, I could not guess, and feared even more.

As it happens, it was neither.

The majordomo brought us to the Salon of Eisheth's Harp, a spacious chamber with elegant frescoes depicting the ill-fated romance of Eisheth and an Eisandine tauriere. It is a place where D'Angeline nobles gather to enjoy pleasant conversation and musical concerts. There was a small crowd assembled, and it seemed a flautist and a lute-player had recently concluded. Ysandre was seated on a couch in the central arrangement, surrounded by courtiers and attendants . . . and someone else I recognized.

"Prince Imriel no Montreve de la Courcel, the Comtesse Phedre no Delaunay de Montreve, Messire Joscelin Verreuil," the majordomo announced.

There was a half-second of silence in the Salon of Eisheth's Harp.

"Elua's Balls, lass, get over here and let me see you!" roared the unmistakable voice of the Royal Admiral Quintilius Rousse as he rose from the couch, opening his arms. "What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?"

I crossed the distance in a daze to find myself engulfed in a bone-cracking embrace. "My lord Admiral,"

I stammered when he let me go. "What brings you here?"

Rousse grinned at me. If there was grey in his ruddy hair, he was as hale and hearty as ever, blue eyes bright in his scarred, weathered face. "Oh, I hear we're to fetch that sight-ridden Tsingano lad of yours as soon as Lord Drustan arrives. Sound all right to you?"

I blinked at him, then stared at Ysandre, belatedly curtsying. "Your majesty."

Ysandre raised her fair brows. "Surely you didn't think I'd let you set off unaided on this quest, Phedre.

We have a vested interest in the well-being of Hyacinthe, Anasztaizia's son. It has been arranged over thecourse of the winter. Lord Rousse has a flagship awaiting at Pointe des Soeurs in Azzalle. Whatsoever you require for this journey, you may arrange with Lord Rousse, who has an open writ with the Secretary of the Privy Purse. I trust you will be ready to depart by the time Drustan arrives?"

"Yes." I swallowed against the tears that threatened to close my throat. It had meant a good deal more than I reckoned, losing Ysandre's friendship, and I would give a great deal to have it back. "Yes, your majesty. We will be ready."

"Good." Ysandre's gaze rested on Imriel. "I suppose you will insist upon going, young cousin?"

"Your majesty." Imriel bowed, expressionless. "If you forbid it, I will stay."

"And what resentments will that breed?" Ysandre smiled wryly, watching Quintilius Rousse gather Joscelin in a pounding embrace. "No, young cousin, I will not forbid it, much as I would like to do so. I have learned somewhat of when to stand in the way, and when to stand aside. Messire Verreuil," she called to Joscelin, who freed himself to approach her, bowing. "In the future, I would appreciate it if you did not accompany Prince Imriel in public unarmed. I was promised, I believe, a Cassiline Brother to attend him? The Queen's Champion?"

"Your majesty." Joscelin bowed again and straightened, grinning. "I will not appear before you unarmed again."

"Good." Ysandre glanced around at the gape-mouthed courtiers. "Is there anyone here who has somewhat to say? No? Well and good. My lord Rousse, I grant you leave to make your arrangements. I expect a full accounting of your plans."

And with that, we were dismissed.

We spent the better part of the day in discussion with Quintilius Rousse, who returned with us to the house. Eugenie nearly tied herself into a knot attempting to stage a fit reception for the Royal Admiral- her kitchens were in complete disarray from last night's revelry. I daresay Rousse never noticed, quaffing wine and eating the savories set in front of him with a good will.

"So you've got the Name of God locked in your pretty head, eh lass?" he asked shrewdly. "Well, it may be and it may not, but either way, I'll take you wherever you want to go. I promised that a long time ago.

The question is, what happens when we get there?"

I shrugged. "We try to summon Rahab."

"And if he comes?"

"I speak the Name of God and banish him." I gripped my hands together; they were cold. "My lord Rousse, in ten years, I've learned no more. I cannot tell you what will happen if he comes, nor if the banishment succeeds. Of a surety, it will be dangerous. How much so, I do not know."

"The Lord of the Deep," Quintilius Rousse mused. "I thought it was something, to see the Master of the Straits and live. This will be something, Phedre no Delaunay, such as no sailor ever dreamed, whether we survive it or no." He reached over and set a brawny hand on Ti-Philippe's knee, giving it a shake. "You're game, aren't you, my lad? You haven't forgotten how to haul a lanyard, I hope?"

"No, sir!" Ti-Philippe grinned at him. "I'll not be left behind this time!" "And how about you, you half-mad Cassiline?" Rousse eyed Joscelin. "Still puking over the rails?"

"All the way." Joscelin smiled. "It hasn't stopped me yet."

"And Melisande's whelp." He looked at Imriel and shook his head. "Elua's Balls, boy, but you've a look of your mother! Still, Phedre says you know your way around a ship, and won't get underfoot. You're bound to do this, eh?"

"Yes, my lord Admiral." Imriel was too fascinated to take offense. Between his blunt speech, his size and the old trawler scar that dragged at half his face, Quintilius Rousse was an imposing figure indeed. He was also one of my lord Delaunay's oldest friends, and one of the few people in the world I trusted implicitly. "The Tsingani helped Phedre and Joscelin to find me because of Hyacinthe. It's a matter of honor," he added with a touch of defiance.

"Honor, eh?" Rousse squinted at him. "Doesn't sound much like your mother."

Imriel's jaw set and his nostrils flared. "I'm not my mother, Lord Rousse."

Quintilius Rousse roared with laughter. "Ah, boy, I should hope not! One's trial enough; the world's not fit to withstand two of the like. Well, for all that she's got a knack for finding trouble like I've never seen, Phedre no Delaunay has a gift for choosing friends. And if she's chosen to make you her son, I reckon you'll do."

With Rousse's aid, our plans were made. This would be a larger excursion than the last one. After our meeting in the Salon of Eisheth's Harp, word spread like wildfire through the City. Letters of invitation began to trickle into my home, swelling to a flood. I declined them all with courtesy. It would be different, afterward ... if there was an afterward. Much as I mislike the hypocrisy of court politics, it is a part of life among D'Angeline peers. For Imriel's sake, it would be a necessity.

Now, I needed to concentrate on Rahab.

By means I did not question, Eleazar ben Enokh found a banned treatise on the summoning of angels, which he gave to me for a promise of discretion. I studied the incantations, committing the formula to memory. As I had never heard of such a thing proving effectual in living memory, I doubted its merit. Still, it was worth trying.

Joscelin was right, though.

A plan was taking shape in my mind.

This plan, I kept silent and told no one. If I had, I think, they might have tried to stop me, to dissuade me. I hoped it would not come to it. If it did . . . well. Until we reached the shores of Third Sister, there was no way of knowing. I had only the Name of God to guide me, syllables beating inside my mind as surely and steadily as my own pulse.

The days passed at a snail's pace. Every day, a courier raced eastward from Azzalle, last in a chain, reporting on the progress of the Cruarch's party. A corps of Rousse's sailors, trained to fight at sea and on land, would accompany us. I was glad it was Rousse's men and not the Royal Army, misliking the idea of travelling with Imriel amid soldiers who owed their allegiance to Duc Barquiel L'Envers. Our caravan was chosen and outfitted, stores at the ready, horses shod, baggage-train made ready.

We waited.

Drustan mab Necthana entered the City of Elua.