NINETY-FOUR.

ON THAT day, Ysandre staged a meeting in Elua's Square in the center of the City, where four fountains play beneath an ancient oak said to have been planted by Blessed Elua himself. It was there we had been bidden to assemble, waiting for the Cruarch's procession to pass. We heard them long before they arrived, handbells ringing, voices raised in cheers.

It was all very splendid, with Drustan in his crimson cloak with the Cruarch's gold torque at his throat, Ysandre at his side in a gown of spring-green silk, heavy with gold embroidery. Her shoulders were bare and she wore the necklace of Queen Zanadakhete, the massive emerald glinting on her breast. Elua's banner, the Courcel swan and the Black Boar of the Cullach Gorrym fluttered overhead. Alais rode perched on the pommel of her father's saddle, beaming; the Dauphine Sidonie was grave at her mother's side on a matching pony. Twin lines of the Queen's Guard in the livery of House Courcel flanked them, and throngs of people pressed close, throwing flowers.

Petals fell like fragrant rain.

In the shadow of the great oak, we met them, Quintilius Rousse in his finest regalia, standing stalwart to receive the Queen's commendation. I wore a riding-gown of forest-green velvet, the color of House Montreve. Hugues was carrying our banner, looking solemn in his new livery. Imriel had wanted garments in Montreve's color, but I'd thought better of it, and he was outfitted instead in a deep-blue doublet and breeches, giving the nod to his Courcel heritage.

Joscelin, of course, had contrived to secure himself attire in an unremarkable shade of grey, only his Cassiline arms identifying him. I was resigned to it by now.

"My lords and ladies, mesdames and messires!" Ysandre waited until their entourage had halted and raised her clear voice, addressing the crowds. "On this day, we not only welcome our husband and the august ruler of Alba, Drustan mab Necthana, into the City of Elua, but we bid farewell and godspeed to our Royal Admiral Quintilius Rousse, who leads this expedition to the Three Sisters, in the hopes of breaking forevermore the curse of the Master of the Straits. Know that our best hopes go with them."

Her mare shifted sideways, and Ysandre settled her, glancing at me. "Phedre no Delaunay de Montreve,"

she said, her tone softening. "On this day, your sentence is ended, and you are free to pursue that which you have sought for ten years and more. Know that we wish you well, and pray for your success."

Standing beside my mount, I curtsied deeply, and my household followed suit.

Drustan mab Necthana dismounted, giving his reins to his daughter Alais' keeping. Heedless of propriety, he came over to greet us all, clasping arms with Quintilius Rousse, embracing Joscelin like a brother. He shook hands gravely with Imriel, who was greatly impressed with the intricate patterns of blue woad that decorated the Cruarch's face.

"Phedre." Drustan set his hands on my shoulders. We had always understood one another, he and I."You truly believe you have the means to free him?"

I nodded, unable to reply. The Name of God crowded my tongue. All I could do was gaze at Drustan, seeing in his dark eyes the knowledge of Hyacinthe's sacrifice, the guilt that had plagued him for so long.

Like me, he would have taken it upon himself if he could have. He had been there. He knew. I heard in my mind the dry chirruping sound of a grasshopper, and remembered anew what was at stake.

Immortality without youth; an eternity of aging.

That was what Hyacinthe endured, while the rest of us loved and fought and reproduced, carrying on our stories without him.

"May it be so." Drustan bent his head to kiss my brow. "The honor of the Cullach Gorrym goes with you to fight for our brother Hyacinthe. Sibeal awaits you in Pointes des Soeurs, Phedre. She carries my hope in her heart."

So it was done, and Drustan remounted his horse, securing Alais in the crook of his arm. And the crowds cheered and pelted them with flowers, urging them on their way. In the City of Elua, the revelry would begin in earnest that day, and by evenfall, the salons of reception would be overflowing in the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, as D'Angelines sought to celebrate in their own fashion the reunion of their Queen and her husband.

I watched Ysandre ride away, her back straight in the saddle, and sighed.

"Come on, then!" Quintilius Rousse, already mounted, chivvied his troops. "The sooner we're underway, the sooner we're on water, lads! My lady, are you ready? Yes? Then let us be off. The Lord of the Deep is waiting, and I say he's waited long enough!"

Our journey began.

The first thing we noted was the Tsingani. It did not seem strange, at first; there are always Tsingani on the road in the spring, travelling to the horse-fairs. It was Imriel who noted that they were following us.

With an entire squadron of Rousse's men accompanying us-most of them drawn from the dedicated corps that still bore the name Phedre's Boys and held to marching-chants that made me wish to cover Imriel's ears-we were not exactly unobtrusive. In the villages and cities along the way, the Tsingani presence seemed unremarkable. It was when we camped upon the open road that it became obvious.

The Tsingani were following us.

And they weren't the only ones.

The Yeshuite presence was more subtle than the Tsingani, whose brightly painted wagons were unmistakable. But gradually, as we travelled, it became evident that there were Yeshuites among our followers, some on foot, others in wagons, plain and unmarked alongside the gaily painted Tsingani kumpanias.

"Elua's Balls!" Quintilius Rousse exclaimed when the truth of it grew apparent. "What do they want?"

"They want to know what happens," I said. "They want to hear the Name of God."

What would happen when I spoke it? I did not know. It was a question too vast for me to comprehend.That which I knew and understood was trial enough. And so we rode across the green-growing land of Terre d'Ange, making for the Pointe des Soeurs, accompanied by our unlikely entourage. And I thought about the Name of God as we rode, and everything I saw was precious in my eyes, from the smallest leaf unfurling on the vine to my own companions. Brusque Rousse, loyal Ti-Philippe, eager Hugues, and ah, Elua! Joscelin, with his drab Cassiline attire covering his many scars, all gotten on my behalf, his hair worn loose to cover his arrow-gouged ear, his one concession to vanity.

And Imriel. Imrel.

My heart ached at the sight of him, happy and proud to be embarking once more upon a heroic quest.

He rode with his head erect, watchful and sharp, his hands steady on the reins.

A matter of honor.

He believed it.

Oh, Melisande, I thought. You do not know this son of yours; of ours. Brother Selbert was right, he may surprise us all, in the end. Our goat-herd prince, our barbarian's slave. Am I wrong, to risk him thusly? Yet if I did not, if I forbid it... Ysandre is right, too. What resentments would it breed? He has your pride, Melisande, and he must be allowed it. Anger would fester too easily in this one. I can only try to offset it, to teach him compassion.

Blessed Elua grant I live to do it.

And so I watched them all, and kept my plan a secret as we made our way across Terre d'Ange, our silent entourage growing.

We arrived to find a Pointe des Soeurs much changed from the lonely garrison it had been, an isolated fortress ten miles from the meanest village. An encampment the size of a small city had grown up around it since I had been there two years past, with lively trade going on to support it. Evrilac Dure, who served the duchy of Trevalion, greeted us and guided us to the fortress. It was he who had brought the news, two years gone, of the passing of the old Master of the Straits, though he had not known it as such.

"It began this winter," he said shortly, in answer to my question regarding the encampment. "Tsingani, mostly. Watching and waiting. I don't know what for, but I have a score of suits pending, begging a place on the Admiral's ship. 'Tis for Lord Rousse to decide, I've told them."

"He's their Tsingan kralis," I murmured. "Hyacinthe, that is. They speak his name at the crossroads.

They are waiting for him to return."

"Well." Evrilac Dure eyed me. "He may not be what they expect, when he does. I heard the stories, my lady. I saw what I saw. And one who's served as the Master of the Straits has more on his mind than a lot of motley Tsingani. I can tell you, the Cruarch's sister waits here, too."

"The Lady Sibeal," I said.

"The same." He gestured to his guard to raise the portcullis, admitting us into the fortress proper. "And I don't mind telling you, we give a good deal of thought to it, here in Azzalle."

He said no more; he didn't need to. That much I had garnered during my Bitterest Winter in the City of Elua. The question of Drustan's successor remained unsettled. According to the old laws of mat-rilinealheritage, no child of Drustan mab Necthana's loins could inherit the rulership of Alba. It must be one of his sisters' offspring.

Breidaia, the eldest, had children.

Sibeal did not.

They had given her the best quarters available and housed her honor guard of Cruithne warriors.

Ghislain no Trevalion had sent his own chef and his second chamberlain to ensure her comfort-and ours. This, too, had been arranged over the course of the winter months. Ysandre had not been idle while I brooded.

"Phedre no Delaunay." Sibeal's accent had improved. She held my hands in hers. "You have come, as I dreamed you would. Was the journey long?"

"Yes," I said. "It was, my lady."

She nodded gravely and turned to greet Joscelin. "It is good to see you, my brother."

"Lady Sibeal." Joscelin bowed, his vambraces flashing in the lamp-lit dining hall. "You honor me."

"No." She shook her head. "I speak the truth. So my brother the Cruarch has named you, and so you are. And I ... I have no place here, who have only watched and waited while others trod the dark path.

But here my dream has led me, and I am grateful for your indulgence."

It would have been easier if I could have disliked Sibeal and found it in my heart to resent her. In truth, I could not. She was too like her brother Drustan, with the same grave, dark eyes, the same calm dignity.

And she loved Hyacinthe. Could I fault her for that? I loved him too. If I had trodden a dire path on his behalf, still, I had not done it alone.

So we dined together in the wind-battered halls of Pointe des Soeurs, and Quintilius Rousse conferred with his men, plotting our course. Evrilac Dure brought him the petitions to read, pleading for a spot aboard the flagship. Rousse scanned them with half an eye and scowled, passing them off to me.

"Tsingani and Yeshuites, clamoring for a berth! What do they think this is, a pleasure-barge? I've no room for landsmen underfoot. If the Lord of the Deep takes against us, we'll need expert hands on deck, and no mistake."

I glanced at the petitions. "They've a stake in the matter, my lord Admiral."

"Let them get their own ships, if they're so eager." He glowered at me, looking particularly fearsome.

"Two. I'll grant you two places, Phedre no Delaunay. No more. And you shall have the choosing of it.

You let them know at daybreak, for we'll hoist sail soon after."

"My lord." I inclined my head, acknowledging his decision.

NINETY-FIVE.

I REMAINED awake long into the small hours of the night. It was not so much the petitions, for thosewere easy, in the end. The hardest part was deciphering the scribblings of the guards who had accepted them, jotting notes on foolscap. Most of the Tsingani were illiterate, lacking the schooling that is inherent in D'Angeline society. Even the humblest of D'Angeline families see to the education of their children; it is a gift that Elua and his Companions have given us.

We have not shared it well.

Kristof, son of Oszkar. I remembered the name. He had risked his kumpania to bring us word of the Carthaginian slavers.

And for the Yeshuites . . .

Eleazar had come. It grieved me that he had not sought me out to ask the boon. We studied together for many years, he and I. After the death of Rebbe Nahum ben Isaac, he was my closest comrade in the Yeshuite community. But I, in favor or not, was the Comtesse de Montreve. I fear he dared not ask.

Well, he would have his chance to hear the Name of God at last. He had earned it, having sought it for so long. I hoped it was a kindness I gave him, and not a death-sentence.

I would know upon the morrow.

Joscelin remained awake with me, long after Imriel had lost the battle and fallen into sound slumber on an adjacent pallet, worn out by travel and the sea winds. I talked over my decisions with him, the wick on the oil lamp trimmed low. And then, at last, there was only one thing left to discuss.

"What happens to us?" Joscelin asked softly, lying beside me. "Phedre ... if... when . . . you succeed in freeing Hyacinthe, what happens to you and I?"

"I don't know," I whispered. A lock of his fair hair lay over his shoulder; I ran it between my fingers. It was easier than meeting his eyes. "Joscelin. You know I love you like my own life. Nothing that ever happens could change that. We are a family, you and I ... and Imri. I would never break that bond."

"But you love him, too."

I did look at him, then; I had to. "Could you ask me not to?"

"No." He shuddered and put his arms around me. "It scares me, that's all."

I felt his strength surrounding me, the steady beat of his heart close to mine, the Name of God sounding in every pulse. "My Perfect Companion," I said, and smiled at him. "Joscelin. We spoke bold words about fear, do you remember? There is no one else like you. No one. We set ourselves in Elua's hand when we entered Drujan. We are there still, and always."

"I pray you're right." He kissed me then, and made no other reply.

There was no other to make.

After a time, Joscelin too slept, and I alone was left awake to watch over them. I listened to Imriel murmur in his sleep, too quiet for a fullblown nightmare. I gazed at Joscelin's arm outflung in a patch of moonlight. His hand lay open, the fingers slightly curled. How many times had that strong arm protected me? I could not even count any more. The moon travelled across the night sky, and waves broke on theshore below the fortress.

I wondered what would happen on the morrow.

In time I too slept, and sleeping, dreamed I woke still, watching and waiting. Not until I opened my eyes to the dim grey light of dawn and the sound of seagulls did I realize I had slept. Rousse's men were stirring, making ready for departure. In the fortress, the kitchens were already bustling. Leaving Joscelin to attend Imriel, I rode out to the encampment with Evrilac Dure and a company of his men. There too, life was stirring, cookfires lit, Tsingani and Yeshuites awaiting. They had seen our party enter. They knew it would be today.

"There is room," I called, raising my voice, "for two people, and two people only on the Royal Admiral's flagship. You who have petitioned for this place, know that the journey is dangerous; the end, uncertain. Does anyone wish to withdraw?"

There was a pause as my words were relayed across the encampment. Afterward, silence. In the quiet, a Tsingano babe wailed, hushed by its mother. No other sound answered.

"So be it," I said. "For the Tsingani, to whom he who is Master of the Straits was born, I grant passage to Kristof, Oszkar's son, who gave aid when it was most needed. For the Yeshuites, I summon Eleazar ben Enokh, who has spent his life seeking the Name of God."

And they came, the both of them; the Tsingano tseroman bidding his kumpania farewell, clad in a shirt of bright yellow, his face guarded as he approached us. Eleazar rode a little donkey, his feet peddling on the ground, a smile of delight splitting his tangled beard.

"You should have asked," I told him.

"It was not yours to grant, before." His smile broadened. "Now, it is."

I sighed, and addressed them both. "You understand we may not return from this?"

Eleazar only beamed, and bobbed his head. I felt a moment's grief for Adara, who had let her husband go to pursue his dream. Kristof gave a brusque nod. "You have walked the Lungo Drom for him, lady,"

he said. "It is fitting one of us should be there to see its end, no matter what it be."

Thus did we make our way back to the fortress of Pointe des Soeurs, and the hungry eyes of those left behind watched us go. Quintilius Rousse had not spoken idly. His flagship, that was named Elua's Promise, sat at harbor, ready for departure. A half-dozen pennants fluttered from its mast-the golden lily-and-stars of Elua and his Companions, the silver swan of House Courcel, the Black Boar of the Cullach Gorrym, the crag-and-moon of Montreve, the Navigator's Star of Trevalion, and there ... a sable banner with a ragged circle of scarlet, crossed by a barbed golden dart.

Kushiel's Dart.