Eamonn laughed. "Oh, I daresay you've kept busy without me." He winked at Dorelei. "At least I hope so."

She smiled politely, not understanding. This time, I didn't translate.

Eamonn noticed that, too.

Several days passed before I had the chance to speak with Eamonn in complete privacy. They had truly arrived in the City of Elua with little more than the clothing on their backs, and while they were anxious to continue on to Alba, there was a good deal to be done if they weren't to travel as beggars. Ysandre was gracious in the matter of hospitality and insisted that they allow the Palace couturiers to provide new attire. I made him a gift of monies from my own accounts, which Eamonn accepted reluctantly after I convinced him it was a belated token of congratulations on his nuptials.

For the most part, he and Brigitta were inseparable. I knew she was uneasy in Terre d'Ange, and in truth, I didn't blame her for it. There were a good many people at Court who made it clear they didn't relish hearing a Skaldic accent in the Palace halls.

Eamonn, who had never particularly cared for the D'Angeline Court, did his best to insulate Brigitta with his constant presence, offsetting her scowls with his sunny good nature, much to the perplexity of everyone who encountered them.

"What a peculiar pair they are!" Dorelei mused when we were alone together. "And yet they seem to dote on one another."

"Prince Barbarus and his shield-maiden," I said. "That's what Lucius used to call them."

"His mother was a doughty warrior in her youth," she said. "You know, I wish I could talk to her."

"The Lady Grainne?"

Dorelei shook her head. "Brigitta. It must be a frightening thing to be almost alone in the world so far from home. I understand a little bit. Although at least..." She didn't finish her thought. "Alais is right. It is very romantic."

"Alais wanted to marry Eamonn when she was thirteen," I informed her.

"She did?" Dorelei smiled. "What a picture! I can see why, though."

I'd met few women able to resist Eamonn's charm. Well, except mayhap Sidonie. She's a right bitch, Eamonn had said of her after their first meeting. I'd asked her, once, why she didn't like him. She'd given me a perplexed look. I do like him, Imriel. He's just so infernally loud! It was unkind and true, and it had made me laugh.

Elua, but I missed her.

"You know," I said to my wife. "When you told me about your dream, the next morning I thought of Eamonn. I thought mayhap that's what it was about."

"The snowstorm?"

"Mm-hmm."

"No." Dorelei was silent a moment. "No, I don't think so."

"I suppose not, since he's here now." I ran a few strands of her hair through my fingers, fine and straight and black, wishing it were otherwise. "What if you offered to teach Brigitta to speak Cruithne and Eiran, you and Alais? Eamonn's been trying, but he's a dreadful teacher. He gets ahead of himself and she gets muddled."

She looked at me. "I don't speak Caerdicci."

"Alais does," I said. "And you might learn some. Anyway, I suspect Brigitta would welcome the kindness. She'd as soon leave on the morrow, but they're staying another week in the hope of hearing from Eamonn's father. 'Tis enough time to make a beginning."

"Tis a generous thought." Dorelei considered it. "I'll talk to Alais."

I smiled at her. "Oh, good."

Truth be told, it was a good idea. Alais took to it with immediate enthusiasm and Brigitta received it with something that very nearly resembled gratitude, well aware that once she reached Alba, she'd be nearly devoid of the ability to communicate. Alais was clever and patient, and I'd no doubt she'd make an excellent teacher. It proved to be true, and Dorelei's gentle guidance an asset in the process.

I was glad, since my motives were selfish.

It gave me a chance to talk with Eamonn.

Once I had it, though, I found myself strangely reluctant. I couldn't help but wonder if that was how my mother had managed to enlist so many allies in her schemes; advancing her own motives by means that pleased them, at least up until the moment she betrayed them or no longer had a use for them. I suspected it was. At least in this, my motive was simple and none too dire. I wanted only a chance to ease my troubled heart by talking to my dearest friend.

And yet...

It would burden him. And then there was the memory of his glad exclamation at the sight of Dorelei, the fond embrace. It was all very much at odds with his opinion of Sidonie, and I wondered if it would be better to keep silent. I didn't mind Mavros speaking ill of her; I was used to it and he'd proved himself a friend to us both in other ways. I didn't know if I could bear it from Eamonn.

We went to Night's Doorstep to revisit our old haunts. In the spring before Eamonn had left for Tiberium, we were wont to spend hours there, drinking and talking. Naamah's Servants plied their trade there, too, serving those who couldn't afford the Night Court. A few familiar faces called out merry greetings and invitations to Eamonn, who merely shook his head and grinned.

There were new faces, too. I wondered how many of them were priests or priestesses in training, planning to take their vows in a year's time. I tried to picture Amarante among them, and found the image at once disturbing and arousing. It made me glad she was in no hurry to leave Sidonie's side. Safe harbor, indeed.

At the Cockerel, there were greetings all around. It was a long time before Eamonn eased himself into a chair opposite me, stretching out his long legs. He took a long pull on a foaming tankard of ale and smacked his lips. "Oh, that's good!" He sighed. "It's good to be here, Imri. I feel like I'm being smothered at the Palace."

"I know the feeling," I murmured.

"Oh, aye?" Eamonn drank again and eyed me. "Care to tell me why?"

I shrugged. "There's naught to be done about it."

"Imri, Imri!" He set his tankard down. "We've played this game before in Tiberium. I didn't care for it then, and I don't care for it now. I know you and your brooding and secrecy. So tell me, what new Claudia Fulvia is casting a shadow over your marriage?"

"You know, it's funny." I toyed with the change lying on the table, left over from the purchase of our ale. "I had a similar conversation with Joscelin at this very same table." I smiled. "He said he and Phedre drew lots, and he lost."

"Very funny," Eamonn said. "So who is she?"

One of the coins was a silver centime, old and worn. It must have dated back to the early years of Ysandre's reign. I studied her youthful profile. Softened and blurred by time, it still held a resemblance to her eldest daughter. "Eamonn, if I tell you, will you do me the courtesy of trying not to laugh?"

"Of course."

I balanced the coin on edge and set it spinning with the flick of a finger. "Sidonie."

Eamonn's jaw dropped. He stared at me, eyes wide. The coin spun, slowed, clattered onto its side. Eamonn closed and opened his mouth a few times, licked his lips and cleared his throat. "You know," he said carefully. "Somehow, that's not nearly as funny as I would have imagined it would be."

I smiled wryly. "My thanks."

"How?" he asked. "And why?"

I told him how it had come to pass; the boar hunt last summer, the Longest Night, and the affair that had ensued with all its attendant dangers. Eamonn listened without comment until I was finished. "Does Dorelei know?"

"Yes, and no." I took a gulp of ale. "She knows there's someone. She didn't want to know who."

"How in the world do you manage to do this?" Eamonn shook his head in disbelief. "I swear, Imriel, you stumble into the most difficult things!"

"Oh, thus speaks the man who spent a Skaldic winter slaving to win the hand of his ill-tempered bride!" I observed sharply.

Eamonn grinned and beckoned for more ale. "She's not ill-tempered with me. Well, not anymore. Not usually." He fished on the table for coins to pay for the ale, waiting for the barkeep to leave. "So tell me, Imri. Which is she? A Claudia or a Helena?" I looked at him, uncomprehending. "A wanton you long to debauch or an innocent you want to protect?" he clarified. "Oh, come! You tumbled into Claudia's marriage-bed without a second thought, and you lopped off Valpetra's hand to save Helena without even having met her. Surely you've noticed you're drawn to one or the other."

"I hadn't, actually." I thought about it and smiled. "Both."

"You are in trouble." Eamonn raised his brows. "What do you mean to do?"

"Hope it passes." I shrugged. "We're both hoping."

"That's why Sidonie went to Naamah's shrine?" he asked. "To get away?"

I nodded. "It was too hard being under the same roof together."

Eamonn gave me a dubious look. "I'm not laughing, Imri, but it is hard to fathom. What will you do when she returns?"

"I don't know." I shook my head. "I was thinking of taking Dorelei to tour my holdings to the north...I don't know. I hadn't decided, and then you showed up, and I've not made any plans since."

"I've an idea," Eamonn said slowly. "Come with me."

"To Alba?" I stared at him. "Now?"

"Why not?" He grinned. "I'd be pleased to no end to have you, and Brigitta wouldn't mind. She quite likes Dorelei. You could pay your respects to my lady mother before your Alban nuptials. Surely, the Lady of the Dalriada deserves no less from a D'Angeline prince. After all, I was named for her brother my uncle, who died defending Terre d'Ange."

"Yes, I know," I said absently. "She carried his head home in a bag."

"True," Eamonn agreed. "It's buried atop the mound in Innisclan. Pity she didn't get the head of the man who killed him to bury at the foot, he would have rested easier for it. But you could make an offering there. It would be fitting."

"Ysandre would never-" I reflected. "Well, she might."

"There's a debt of honor owed," he said pragmatically. "She's never deigned to visit. What better opportunity than to send you, your bride, and a large armed company to escort the Lady's wayward son home?"

It seemed like a mad adventure when he first proposed it, but the longer I thought about it, the more sense it made. Eamonn was right, Terre d'Ange did owe a debt to the Dalriada, and his arrival forged the perfect opportunity to acknowledge it. Dorelei and I were bound for Alba anyway. Our wedding had been witnessed by the peers of the realm here, who could now assure themselves that the line of succession in Alba wouldn't revert wholly to the Cruithne, shutting out Terre d'Ange's influence. Nothing more was needful.

It made sense; it made a great deal of sense. My heart protested at it-ah, Elua! I didn't want to leave D'Angeline soil any sooner than I had to. And yet something had to be done. Mayhap with the Straits between us, Sidonie and I would find our ardor cooling and our infatuation passing. And if we didn't...well.

I hoped we would at the same time I prayed we didn't.

"All right, then." I hoisted my tankard. "To the Dalriada!"

Chapter Sixteen.

Phedre turned pale when I told her the idea."You don't think it's wise?" I asked.

"No, it's not that." She laughed, but there was sorrow in it. "The opposite, in fact. I think it's an excellent plan. I'm being selfish, that's all. I didn't expect to lose you again quite this soon."

"I know," I said. "I hate it, too. But-"

"No, no." She shook her head. "You're right, it's for the best."

Joscelin, who was sharpening one of Eugenie's kitchen cleavers as he listened, tested it on his thumb and swore mildly when it cut him. "Elua! These things hold an edge. What does she use them for, anyway?"

"Much the same thing you do, my love, only it results in dinner." Phedre passed him a silk kerchief. "Here."

He wrapped his bleeding thumb. "Why don't we go with them?"

"To Alba?" Her color began to return. "You and I?"

Joscelin gave his half-smile. "We were bound to go for the Alban rites, anyway. It's only a couple months early, and Ysandre might like the plan better with the Queen's Champion riding in attendance. Besides, you could pay your respects to the Lady Grainne."

"And Hyacinthe?" Phedre's eyes sparkled.

"Yes, and that damned Tsingano." Joscelin caught her about the waist and kissed her. "Exactly how respectful do you plan on being?"

She laughed and kissed him back without answering.

It made me smile. There is no one else in the world, I think, who would refer to the Master of the Straits as "that damned Tsingano." But Joscelin had the right, if anyone did. They had all known each other long ago, and Phedre had loved Hyacinthe, too. I daresay in a part of her heart, she still did. To his credit, it didn't seem to bother Joscelin, not really. I hadn't understood before why her feelings for some of her former patrons and lovers bothered him, and others didn't. I understood it better now.

All in all, Eamonn's plan was well received. Dorelei had been delighted by it, so much so that it made me feel guilty to see the happiness that transformed her face and realize I'd never seen her truly happy before. All of us together begged a formal audience of the Queen and Cruarch and presented our proposal.

I could tell by the look of approval in Drustan's eyes that he liked the idea. Ysandre rested her chin in one hand and gazed at us for a long time, considering it. Her gaze rested the longest on Phedre and Joscelin.

"You know," she mused. " 'Tis a strange day indeed when the two of you are to be entrusted as my sensible elder statesmen."

Joscelin smiled. "You've taken far greater risks on us, your majesty."

"True." Ysandre looked at Eamonn, Brigitta, Dorelei, and me. She shook her head in amazement. "Elua! When I think that the four of us were only a few years older than this lot when the Skal-" She caught herself, mindful of Brigitta's presence. "So be it. However, if it is to be done, let it be done properly. A suitable gift of tribute must be found, and my lord Drustan will need to speak with Ghislain no Trevalion regarding an escort of Alban and D'Angeline guards. Tarry another week."

Eamonn bowed. "Your majesty, we'd thought to leave in two days-"

Ysandre raised one hand. "Ah, no! You've made it clear I've been remiss, and I'll not be rushed in this. Why hurry? You may receive word from your father." She smiled. "Besides, Sidonie will be home by then. It would be nice to have all the members of House Courcel under one roof one last time ere you disperse."

"I agree on all counts," Drustan said in a tone that brooked no argument. "Let it be done properly, or not at all."

So it was decided.

In the days that followed, an armed escort of fifty men was assembled; thirty D'Angeline and twenty Cruithne. Although Drustan could spare no more than a score of his personal guard, it was agreed that the company would be placed under the command of Urist, one of the most seasoned veterans among the Albans. Supplies were commissioned, messengers sent to the coast of Azzalle to arrange for transport across the Straits.

The inventory lists from the Royal Treasury were procured, and Ysandre and Phedre spent hours poring over them to select appropriate gifts, assisted by Eamonn, who took a surprising interest in the process.

Brigitta applied herself fervently to the study of Cruithne and Eiran, assisted by Dorelei and Alais, who was the only person deeply unhappy about our plan. Alais begged to be allowed to accompany us. Both her mother and her father refused.

A swift courier arrived from the Lady of Marsilikos, bearing a much-battered oilskin pouch containing a missive from the Royal Admiral Quintilius Rousse promising to meet his son and his bride in Alba, pending the Queen's permission. Ysandre penned a hasty reply granting as much, and the courier dashed back on his errand, racing to catch an outgoing vessel to bear the Queen's letter to Rousse.

And Sidonie returned.

Of all the damnable luck, I was there when her party arrived. I'd meant to be gone; they'd been spotted from the walls and I'd known they were coming. I was planning to meet Mavros and a few of my Shahrizai kin at a manor house a half league outside the city, where they meant to ride to hawks. But I'd gotten delayed leaving the Palace and the ostlers were slow in bringing around the Bastard, who could be fractious.