Colette looked sidelong at him. They were cut of a piece, the children of Lord Amaury Trente, who was one of Queen Ysandre's most trusted nobles: eager, friendly faces, topped by curling brown hair. "He knows who he's wedding. He's half-D'Angeline himself, you know."

"Now, now, my loves." Mavros wagged a lazy finger. "Tonight's for honoring Naamah's pleasures."

"So it is." I set Colette from me, gently but firmly. "You're wedding Raul?"

"I am." She looked defiant. "But he's in Aragonia now. And anyway, it needn't mean-"

I raised my hands. "I know," I said. "Believe me, I do."

Mavros chuckled.

Outside the confines of the carriage, the horses' hooves clopped steadily along the frosted flagstones. I drew back the curtains and peered out. One of the outriders saluted me. We crossed the Aviline River, the hoofbeats sounding hollow over the bridge, and passed soon through the district of Night's Doorstep. All the taverns were alight and lively, and a part of me yearned to tarry there. But we passed onward and began to ascend Mont Nuit.

"So what passed between Raul and Maslin of Lombelon?" I asked Colette. "I heard Maslin gave you insult and Raul challenged him."

"Maslin!" Julien nudged his sister. "Tell him."

"He was rude." She crossed her arms. "Very rude. I merely expressed the thought that I found him appealing in a certain brooding fashion. His response was quite ungracious. Raul took offense on my behalf when I told him. It was all very foolish."

"Mayhap Maslin's interests lay elsewhere," Mavros said smoothly. "Mayhap he had an itch in need of scratching."

As much as I liked my cousin, betimes I hated him.

"The Dauphine," Julien affirmed. He withdrew a flask of brandy from the inner pocket of his doublet and drank deep before offering it to the rest of us. "Dear Sidonie. That's where Maslin's aspirations lie."

"Oh, Sidonie!" Colette said scornfully. "She wouldn't."

"No?" Mavros tipped the flask and drank. "I heard she did."

"No, no," Julien said drunkenly. "She's got the priestess' daughter. And she took her to the Night Court, just as we're going. All very discreet, but that's the rumor I heard."

"What?" My voice rose.

"Well, what would you have her do?" Mavros' tone was logical, but his eyes gleamed in the dim light of the carriage. "Grant her favors to one of the dueling cocks of the walk that hang about the Court and watch the feuds ensue?" He wagged his finger at me. "Ah no, dear cousin! Our young Dauphine is far too cool-headed to be carried away by passion. If she was of a mind to take a man into her bed-and why shouldn't she?-she'd sooner trust to the discretion of Naamah's Servants."

I glared and snatched the flask from him, swigging brandy.

"Was it Alyssum House?" Colette asked her brother, who opened his mouth to reply.

"No, wait." Mavros forestalled him. "Let me guess." He tilted his head back and pursed his lips in thought. "Not Dahlia," he said. "It's too obvious, isn't it? She's haughty enough as it is, she'd not seek more of the same. No. Camellia, mayhap? Nothing less than perfection should suit a princess. But no, she might not care to be reminded that her lineage renders her less than perfect in the eyes of Camellia House. And I think we've already seen that our Dauphine favors unwavering devotion. So." He narrowed his eyes. "Heliotrope."

Julien shook his head. "Jasmine."

"Jasmine!" Mavros' brows shot upward. "Well, well!"

I laughed softly in the darkness. Among the Thirteen Houses, Jasmine catered to sensuality, pure and simple. Phedre's mother had been an adept of Jasmine House. Ti-Philippe had once said there were adepts there would leave you limp as a dishrag, half drowned in the sweat of desire.

"Well, well," Mavros repeated.

"It's just a rumor," Julien said. "It may not be true."

I believed it. I had caught a glimpse of what lay beneath Sidonie's surface. It wasn't brittle and it wasn't cool. And I half wished we were headed for Jasmine House. It was a mortifying thought, but I wanted to study the adepts and guess which one she'd chosen, which one bore the memory of her naked skin against his. But then came the sound of one of the outriders answering the gatekeeper's query, and we passed through the gates and arrived at our destination.

Alyssum House had a deep courtyard lined by tall cypress trees. It had twin entrances with high pointed arches, both deeply recessed.

"Which one-" I began to ask. No sooner had the words left my lips than a pair of adepts emerged; a woman, robed and veiled, and a man, clad in a long surcoat with a high collar. He bowed to Colette without meeting her eyes and beckoned her toward the left-hand entrance. She giggled and went with him.

The veiled woman ushered us into the right-hand entrance. I felt at once uneasy and aroused. She led us into a private salon. With a shy gesture, she drew back her veil to bare a lovely face, though her gaze remained averted.

"Be welcome, my lords," she murmured. "I am Agnes Ramel, the Second of Alyssum House." A light flush touched her cheek. "We have all manner of adepts to serve you. You may whisper your desires to me."

I felt a fool when my turn came, bending to whisper into her delicate ear. I seek a woman. Surely there was naught out of the ordinary in it, and yet her flush deepened and her eyelids trembled.

Amid hushed apologies, her steward brought the contracts. We all signed them and paid our patron-fees, and one would have thought there was somewhat unnatural in the transaction for all the embarrassment it caused.

"This way," she whispered.

I had been to only two Houses of the Night Court, and they were very different. Here, there was no easy commingling. What Mavros and Julien had chosen, I couldn't say, but I had to await my turn before I was ushered into a room filled with female adepts, standing in a line. All of them were robed and veiled, but the robes they wore were of sheer linen, almost transparent in the lamplight. I could make out the shapes of their bodies; tall, slender, plump, short, firm. At a word from Agnes, they unveiled and stood with eyes downcast.

The remembered odor of stagnant water haunted me. It was too much like the Mahrkagir's zenana, the women awaiting his summons in dread. I did not like the way it stirred me. "I'm sorry," I said thickly. "I fear this is not for me."

Agnes Ramel twisted her hands together in an agony of embarrassment. "My lord, please! Do not be cruel."

Near the end of the line, one of the adepts glanced up at me. A quick glance, swift and darting, and then her gaze was lowered once more.

"All right," I said recklessly, pointing. "Her."

Her name was Mignon, and once I had chosen, she led me to a private chamber. There, I gazed at her. Her limbs beneath the sheer linen were soft and rounded, and she made me think of a dove. She looked away.

"Will you put out the lamps, my lord?" she whispered.

"No," I said. "Mignon, this is a game, is it not?"

"Would you have it be so?" She did look at me then, her eyes full of soft wonder. "No, my lord. There are those among us who believe that Naamah trembled at what she did when first she lay with a mortal man-at the audacity of it, at the shame of it, at the glory of it."

"Shame," I murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Shame is a spice, my lord," Mignon said softly. "Why have you come here if you do not understand this?"

"Because," I said, "Alyssum starts with an A.'"

"Then I will have to show you."

It was not, I think, the way assignations usually went in Alyssum House; or mayhap it was common. I do not know. Mignon sat on my lap and stroked my face, her fingers quivering. She rained soft kisses on me, her breath quickening, and pressed herself against me. Her body trembled in truth, and yet she radiated heat and the tips of her rounded breasts were taut with desire as they rubbed against my chest. She whispered in my ear, telling me in a broken voice all the things she wished me to do to her, until I groaned aloud.

I understood.

There was pleasure in it, and it was a pleasure akin to the violent ones I had known in Valerian House, though it was different, too. I did all that she wished, and all that I wished, too. And yet I could not relish the shame. For her, it was purging. For me, it was not.

When we were finished, she wrapped herself once more in her linen robes. "I'm sorry, my lord. I wish I could have pleased you better."

"Don't be." I leaned down to kiss her, but she turned her head away. "Mignon!" I said her name sharply and she glanced up involuntarily. I smiled at her. "I have learned somewhat about myself this night, and that is a valuable gift. Thank you."

She gave me a shy smile in return. "You are welcome."

Afterward, in the carriage, the other three compared their experiences. Mavros, as usual, was pleased with himself, and the Trentes had found it a great lark.

"Oh, the way he blushed!" Colette laughed. "I bade him take off his shirt, and he went red all over. It was sweet. Did yours blush, Julien?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "She begged me to blow out the lamps, and I did."

"Silly boy," Mavros said. "That's part of the fun." He studied me. "And you, Imri? You didn't care for it?"

I shrugged. "Not as much as you did."

My Shahrizai cousin grinned. "That's true of a great many things."

That night I lay awake for a long time, thinking about Alyssum House, wondering what manner of patron went there as a matter of course, whether they went to purge their own shame or to revel in that of the adepts. Whether Naamah appreciated the reverence done to her there. I supposed she must. Desire, like love, takes many forms.

And I thought about Sidonie, too.

Jasmine House. I wondered if it were true. Somehow I didn't doubt it.

Well, well.

Chapter Five.

"DIOGENES," I SAID FIRMLY.Favrielle no Eglantine clamped her jaw so hard the crooked little scar on her upper lip turned white. "Can you not talk sense into him?" she spat at Phedre.

"Why not Diogenes?" Phedre replied. "Can we not do a Hellene theme?"

Due to the distraction of Lucca's siege and my uncertain return, we were late in commissioning costumes for the Longest Night; truly late, and not just in terms of Favrielle's reckoning. That wasn't why she was angry, though.

"Rags!" She loaded the word with contempt. "You want me to adorn a Prince of the Blood in rags."

"And a lamp," I added.

"Why?" Favrielle demanded of Phedre.

"I've no idea," she said tranquilly. " 'Tis Imriel's fancy. And after what he's been through in the past year, I'm minded to let him have his way." She paused. "If you're unwilling, we can always go elsewhere..."

Favrielle merely glared at her. It was a bluff, but it was one she wouldn't call. It was ever thus between them. In the end, Favrielle conceived of a notion that pleased her well enough. I would portray asceticism in the persona of the Cynic philosopher Diogenes, and Phedre would portray opulence in the persona of the D'Angeline philosopher Sarielle d'Aubert, who was renowned in her lifetime for travelling with a retinue of attendants prepared to cater to her every whim.

"I reckon that would be me," Ti-Philippe observed.

There was a reason for my choice. The Cynic's lamp was a symbol of the Unseen Guild, and I was minded to serve notice that I knew it. I'd been caught up in my Alban studies and personal affairs, but I hadn't put the Guild altogether out of mind. It would be interesting to see if anyone reacted to the sign of the lamp. There was a risk, but not a great one. The Guild knew I was aware of its existence; they had sought to recruit me in Tiberium through Claudia Fulvia. In the end, I had refused. Still, I was curious to know if it operated within Terre d'Ange.

We hadn't learned much since my return. Ti-Philippe had paid a visit to the Academy of Medicine in Marsilikos and brought back a copy of the system of notation devised by a long-ago priest of Asclepius who lost his vision; a complicated series of notches and strokes intended to be read by touch. Members of the Guild used it for secret communication. My mysterious protector Canis had given me a clay medallion in Tiberium that bore the Cynic's lamp on its face and a hidden message etched on its edges. It was mere chance-and Gilot's ill luck-that had led me to the temple of Asclepius, where a priest told me its meaning.

Do no harm.

The chirurgeon's credo, the Guild's warning. It was Claudia who confessed that it meant a member of the Guild had placed me under his or her protection. The medallion was gone-I'd crushed it to bits in a fit of anger-but I had made a sketch of it, and I intended to have a silversmith craft its likeness.

Exactly why, I couldn't say, except that it was an unresolved mystery. I wanted to know. The Guild had done a good job of shrouding itself in secrecy. Like the folk of Alba, they left no written trail. Still, there was a human trail, and one never knew what inadvertent reaction one might provoke.

The same held true for Alba.

I hadn't forgotten about Alais' Maghuin Dhonn. I didn't broach the subject again with Firdha-her withering glare stilled my tongue-but there were other Cruithne in the City of Elua. Not many, truth be told; the Albans preferred their green isle to our white-walled city. Still, there was the honor guard.

Drustan had left half a dozen of his men to serve as Firdha's honor guard while the esteemed ollamh tutored his daughter. They were all proven warriors among the Cullach Gorrym, and they made for a striking sight when one came upon them in the Palace, their faces etched with woad tattoos.

I made it a point to seek out their company. At first they were reticent in my presence, until I had the very good idea of convincing them to accompany me to Night's Doorstep. There was a tavern called the Cockerel there, and it had a long history. It was a Tsingani place, mostly, although young D'Angeline nobles still went there to fancy they were living dangerously. There was no danger for me. It was the place where Hyacinthe had told fortunes when he was still the merry young Tsingano half-breed I knew only from stories, and not the fearsome figure I had met. I had told the story of freeing the Master of the Straits from his curse there more times than I could remember. The owner Emile had been his friend, and he would defend to the death any member of Phedre's household for what she had done.

"My prince!" he roared when we entered. "Our gadjo pearl!"

I suffered his embrace, which rivaled Eamonn's for bone-cracking strength. The Cruithne grinned. "Emile," I wheezed. "These are the Cruarch's men."

"Ah!" He let me go and clapped his meaty hands. "Ale! Ale for the Cruarch's men!"

There was ale, then, and a great deal of it. Emile and I toasted to Drustan and then to Hyacinthe, and the Cruithne drank, too. Other toasts followed, and I made a point of offering a toast to Dorelei, my bride-to-be.

"You are a lucky man, you know." Kinadius, the youngest of them, studied me. "You do know this, yes?"

"Yes," I said honestly. It was true, in its own way. "I do."

They exchanged glances among themselves. "Few of your countrymen would feel the same," murmured their leader, Urist. He was old enough to have fought at Drustan's side in the war of the Skaldi invasion, and I understood the Cruarch regarded him highly.

I shrugged. "There are always those who fear change. Is it not the same in Alba?"

"A great deal of change has come swiftly to Alba." Urist took a deep draught of ale. "Some think too swiftly, yes."

"The Maghuin Dhonn?" I asked.

Kinadius, startled, dropped his tankard. Several of the Cruithne cursed and leapt up to avoid the spreading pool of ale, and a barkeep hurried over with a rag. Urist folded his arms and stared at me. His features were hard to discern in the intricate patterns of blue woad that made a mask of his face, but his eyes were as black as stones. "What do you know of them?"

"Only the name."

"It's ill luck to speak it." Kinadius shivered.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because they did a very bad thing long ago, and brought shame upon themselves and upon Alba." Urist's unblinking eyes held mine. "We do not speak of it. We do not speak of them."