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Nor did I.

One day, mayhap, I will be wise enough to understand the ways of the gods. For now, it was enough to take what was offered, mercifully devoid of pain’s cruel yearnings; pleasure, Naamah’s coin, pure and unalloyed, graced with the presence of love.

Blessed Elua’s presence.
Hold this near to your heart
, it whispered.

I did, and did, until we lay sated and exhausted, my head on Joscelin’s chest, the soft breeze cooling our sweat-dampened skin. Still awake, he toyed with my hair as it mingled with his, lazily braiding our locks together. “See.” He stroked the cabled length of it, sable and blond. “Dark and fair, intertwined as our lives.”

It gave me an unexpected jolt of memory. I had done that very thing-twelve years ago, it must be-in Anafiel Delaunay’s study, with Alcuin, who’d been nearly a brother to me; Alcuin, whose hair was as white as milk. I might have forgotten it, had Delaunay not entered in that very moment, bearing word that Melisande Shahrizai had come to offer me an assignation for the Longest Night.

And in the seeds of that offer lay betrayal and horror, the study turned abattoir, Delaunay dead and Alcuin dying, his white hair sticky with blood.

I hadn’t known, then. How could I have known? I had no gift of the
dromonde
to read the future like an open book. I had merely startled at Delaunay’s entrance, tugging my caught hair and feeling foolish.

This time, I took the omen to heart.

Beauty at its fullest bloom, before the first sere kiss of frost.

It needed no dream, no seer to give warning. Beneath the languor of pleasure, I felt the weariness of long travel in my bones, and a thousand miles lying before me … and in the distance, like hunting-horns blowing on the wind, the call of Kushiel’s justice.
Hold this near to your heart
. Our twined locks, joined fates, lay quiescent on his chest. I gazed at Joscelin’s face, relaxed and unguarded, as if to engrave it on my memory.

“Why do you look at me so?” he asked.

“Because,” I said, “I love you.”

Unsurprisingly, I slept overlong and woke to broad daylight and the Queen’s summons waiting. At the Palace, we were met with alacrity and ushered into Ysandre and Drustan’s presence.

Ysandre’s face was unreadable. For once, she made no rebuke when I curtsied to them in greeting. Whether or not she was wroth that I had circumvented her authority, I could not say. She’d gotten the letter I had sent by courier from Verreuil, and I daresay she knew from my demeanor that the news was not good.

“Tell me,” was all she said.

Drawing a deep breath, I did, leaving out no detail, with Joscelin supplying additional commentary. When I had finished, I gave her Nicola’s letter. Ysandre read it without speaking, passing it to Drustan.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” I ventured at length, unable to bear the silence.

“Don’t be.” Ysandre’s gaze returned from the unknowable monarchal distance on which she’d fixed it. “You did well to find him. I’m grateful for it.”

“Thank you.”

“Mind you,” the Queen’s voice took on an edge, “I am not entirely pleased that you chose to question my uncle the Duc without my foreknowledge, nor the priest Selbert, whose actions skirt dangerously close to treason. Still, I have learned well enough, Phèdre nó Delaunay, when it is unwise to interfere.” I said nothing, and Ysandre sighed. “How is it that you never solve one puzzle without laying a greater one at my feet?”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” I repeated.

“Oh, stop it.” Ysandre rested her chin on her fist and regarded Drustan as he laid down Nicola’s letter. “What do you say? How would the Cruarch of Alba handle such a matter?”

Drustan gave a wry smile at odds with his tattooed features. “What do you think, love? We are barbarians, after all. If a Prince of the Cullach Gorrym were stolen, the Cullach Gorrym would ride to war. It is not so simple in Terre d’Ange, and this thief is no rival tribesman, but a merchant from a distant land, with no idea of the value of his prize. You can hardly go to war against Menekhet over it.”

“No,” Ysandre said soberly. “Nor, I think, would Parliament support the notion. Carthage, now … blood will run hot over their crime. I will have no trouble, I think, recommending that we demand reparation from the oligarchy. It must be done, lest this should happen again; even so, what merit in it in terms of regaining the boy? The Carthaginian thieves are dead, Nicola writes, executed at the Count of Amílcar’s command. You saw it done?”

It had been done. We had not watched it. I’d seen enough, even for my conscience.

“It was a public execution, my lady,” I said. “Their heads were mounted on poles in the Plaza del Rey as a warning. That much, we saw.”

“Unsubtle,” Ysandre said. “Pray it proves effective. Still …” She shook her head, troubled. “Menekhet. They’ve little enough power, but it is an ancient nation, and cunning. Mayhap this slaver, this Fadil Chouma will return to Amílcar; mayhap not. I must presume the latter to be true, and proceed accordingly. There is our alliance with Khebbel-im-Akkad, but it is a tenuous one, and I suspect my uncle Barquiel would oppose me in this matter. It is his own daughter wed to the Khalif’s son; without him, I do not like the odds of Akkadian support. If I offer a ransom for the boy’s return-what then? Without the teeth of a threat, it admits weakness. In what risk do I then place my own people, my own children?”

“Treat it as a matter of trade,” Drustan offered. He shrugged as she glanced at him. “A private matter couched in a greater, a Queen’s whim fulfilled to grease the wheels of trade. If I have learned anything since Alba entered the broader world, it is that no nation disdains trade. Parliament may not authorize the threat of force against Menekhet-and I think you are right; for Melisande’s son, they will not-but they would have no likely objection to a trade delegation. Especially,” he added, “if your delegates bear an interest in Alban goods. Then it is the Cruarch’s concern, and not Parliament’s.”

“A clever thought, for a barbarian.” Ysandre’s voice was soft. “You would do that?”

“Our goods, your delegates. Why not?” Drustan grinned. “We might make an exchange of it. Do you think you could persuade a few Azzallese shipwrights to winter in Alba?”

“I might.” Ysandre smiled back at him. How strange it must be, I thought, to be wed not merely as husband and wife but Cruarch and Queen, trading men’s lives and the wealth of nations as love-tokens.

I said none of this aloud, asking instead, “Who would you send?”

“Amaury Trente,” Ysandre said without hesitation. “He’ll argue against it, but he’ll go in the end and I can trust to his discretion. Whatever transpires, I’d as soon this stayed quiet, Phèdre. Too many people would like to see it fail.”

“Of course.” I inclined my head. Her choice was a good one. I had ridden with Lord Amaury Trente on the flight from La Serenissima, when he served as her Captain of the Guard. For all that he would rail against the wisdom of it, he would do all in his power to locate Imriel de la Courcel and see him restored to Terre d’Ange. His loyalty was beyond question.

“What do you say, Messire Cassiline?” Ysandre asked Joscelin with genuine curiosity. “Is it wisely done?”

Joscelin bowed to her, his forearms crossed. “It is. Do you send to Verreuil, I give my word that my family’s discretion will equal our own.”

“I doubted it not.” The Queen looked at me. “What will you do now?”

“Now?” I squared my shoulders against the burden of it. “I have some few things to be done in the City, my lady. There is a Yeshuite scholar I would consult, and some others. Then …” I drew a breath. “Then we ride to La Serenissima. I have a promise to fulfill, and a name to garner. Elua willing, we will be in Iskandria not long after Lord Trente.”

“I thought as much.” Ysandre’s expression softened. “Ah, Phèdre! If you must do this thing, must you do it on Melisande’s terms? Surely a courier could bear the news, and some other guide be found. I will not demand it of you, but Blessed Elua knows, if you are going to Iskandria, I would be passing glad to have your presence at Amaury’s side. What do you owe Melisande, that you must deliver this news yourself?”

It caught me out; I’d not expected the offer, nor the question. They were looking at me, all of them, awaiting my answer. I felt my heart beat, slow and thudding, in my breast, the blood beating in my ears.

“I don’t know,” I said. My voice sounded small. I raised my hand unthinking, reaching for the diamond that no longer hung at my throat. “Forgive me, my lady, but I truly don’t.”

“So be it.” Ysandre sighed. “You are bound on this quest to free the Tsingano?”

I nodded mutely.

“And you will go with her?” She bent her gaze on Joscelin.

“I have sworn it.” His voice was flat.

Ysandre raised her brows. “Is there aught I may do to aid you in it?”

Joscelin shook his head. “Pray for us, your majesty.”

“Wait. There is one thing.” I met Drustan’s eyes. “You will return to Alba come autumn? And Sibeal with you?”

“We will,” he said slowly, catching the shape of my thought. “You think that the Master of the Straits will hear her?”

“I think he will.” I swallowed. “They are seers alike, Anasztaizia’s son and Necthana’s daughter. I didn’t understand it, when we met on the waters; her dream, that is. I see more clearly, now. If you … if you do not seek to land, but only to converse, I think he will allow it. And I might give her a message to bear. It is a long road, truly. We will be a year and more upon it. A word of hope … it might help him to endure.”

“Speak with Sibeal,” said Drustan mab Necthana. “If it be her will, I will see it done.”

Twenty-Five

I MET with Sibeal, Drustan’s sister, in the Royal Mews.

There had been, I gathered, no few offers of lover’s tokens or of marriage for the Cruarch of Alba’s sister during her time in Terre d’Ange. Insofar as I heard, Sibeal had refused them all, with a serene grace against which no one could take offense. Instead, she preferred to spend her time in the unlikeliest of pursuits.

Currently, it was visiting the mews.

The Head Falconer, a slight, dark man with the aquiline features of his own charges, clearly adored her. He watched with doting eyes as she assumed the duty of feeding the fledglings, carrying a basket filled with gobbets of meat. Awkward and still partially down-feathered, the young birds craned their heads toward her with beaks parted, maws agape.

“Drustan said you wished to see me,” Sibeal said in her soft Cruithne accent, setting down the basket.

“Yes.” A bell rang beside my right ear, on the jesses of a perched hawk as it roused, then preened. I sidled to my left. “I have a message for Hyacinthe.”

Her dark eyes were calm and unsurprised. “And you wish … ?”

“I wish you to bear it for me,” I said firmly. The Head Falconer, clucking, hurried past me with gauntleted arm extended, untying the hawk’s jesses and coaxing it onto his arm. It was not my choice of venue, but I had little time to waste.

“I do not think,” Sibeal said reflectively, “the Master of the Straits wishes to let any vessel draw nigh.”

“He’ll let yours.” I kept a wary eye on the hawk as the Head Falconer eased it onto a distant perch near the doorway onto the courtyard. “Unless I miss my guess.”

“He might.” The words were murmured, her head bowed. “I cannot say.”

“You love him.” I made the words blunt. It cost me, to say it; more than I had reckoned. It struck home in my own heart, and I saw her head rise, eyes startled. “He’s D’Angeline, Sibeal, Tsingano or no.
Love as thou wilt
. I saw it, on Alba, all those years ago.”

“Moiread.” She breathed her sister’s name; youngest of them all, slain in battle in Alba these many years gone by, a loss still grieved. “It was Moiread who made his heart glad. He might have loved her, and she him. Who can say? There was you, then and now. And I, I am only …”

“Alive.” I said. “Alive, and in love. Well and so, Sibeal, we too are sisters in this, for he is dear to my heart. But Moiread is dead, and I … I have a long road to follow. Hyacinthe will understand that, if anyone will. Tell him I walk the
Lungo Drom
on his behalf, Joscelin and I. He was right about that. He saw it before I did. Tell him … tell him I go seeking the Name of God. Will you do that for me?”

“Yes. If he will allow it, I will tell him.” Sibeal extended a hand toward one of the fledglings, stroking its half-grown plumage with one slender brown finger. “They are called eyasses, did you know? The young birds. Eyasses. It is a lovely word, I think.”

“It is.” I thought of the acolyte Liliane at the sanctuary of Elua, and our mounts following her in a line. I thought of the Battle of Bryn Gorrydum, where Moiread had died, and the black boar that had burst from the treeline there, giving the element of surprise into the hands of Drustan’s forces. Truly, there were things in this world beyond my understanding. “Thank you, Sibeal.”

“Come back.” Her dark, visionary’s eyes held mine. “It is what he would ask of you. However far you go, whether you find what you seek or no. Whatever is to become of us all. Come back.”

A shiver brushed my skin, a touch of magic that was ancient when Elua was young. Earth’s Eldest Children, they call themselves; barbarians, Drustan might jest, but they are older than we. “I will try,” I promised, bowing my head to Necthana’s daughter and taking my leave.

Joscelin was awaiting me in the courtyard-the weathering yard, the falconers call it, where the birds are trained on long lines. He had padding wrapped about his vambraced forearm, a peregrine’s talons biting deep into the leather as one of the Head Falconer’s apprentices instructed him. “Phèdre!” He grinned, hoisting the bird to display it. “What do you think? Shall we build a mews at Montrève?”

“Elua willing.” I stood back a healthy distance, regarding the peregrine’s fierce, round eye, its raptor’s beak. I had seen that look on my patrons; I did not need to endure it from a bird. “We may build a bestiary, if you like, providing we return in one piece. Are you ready?”

With some reluctance, Joscelin returned the peregrine unto its keeper, and we departed. It was only one of several meetings I had arranged prior to our leave-taking, and ’twas the next I dreaded the most. I have learned, in my trade and in my life, to deal with monarchs and their kin, with seers and scholars, priests and pirates alike. But if there is one person capable of striking fear into my heart, it is my
couturiere
, Favrielle nó Eglantine.