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smile, dark eyes grave and unsurprised in the whorls of blue woad that tattooed his face, raising one hand in greeting. “Phèdre nó Delaunay, my brother Joscelin,” the Cruarch of Alba called from his ship, “well met.”
    His D’Angeline was excellent; it ought to be, for I had taught him. I gripped the railing and stared at him, Duré’s men murmuring behind me. “My lord Drustan,” I said in bewilderment. “How do you come here, and why?”
    Drustan mab Necthana nodded to his sister, who raised her chin to gaze at me across the divide. She had the same solemn eyes as her brother, seeming even wider-set for the twin lines of blue dots that etched her cheeks. “Sibeal had a dream,” he said simply.
    It was only meet, after that, that our forces were conjoined. It took some jostling and maneuvering to enact the transfer, but the seas became oddly calmed and we managed without much difficulty. Some few of Evrilac Duré’s men joined us; most did not, with varying degrees of relief, and Duré ordered the sea-anchor dropped. Drustan helped me aboard his flagship himself, returning my embrace warmly when I flung both arms about his neck and gave him the kiss of greeting. There are few people I like better and admire more than the Cruarch of Alba.
    And when it was done, we heard his sister’s dream.
    They are seers of a sort, the women of the Cruarch’s line. When we arrived on the shores of Alba, it was Drustan’s youngest sister, Moiread, who gave us greeting; there to meet us, she said, in answer to a dream. Moiread is dead, slain these many years ago by a Tarbh Cró spear at the Battle of Bryn Gorrydum where Drustan regained his throne. I saw that happen, too. Many more would have died, if not for Joscelin. The Cruarch has named him brother since that day.
    “I saw a rock in the waters,” Sibeal said softly, speaking in Cruithne. “And on it stood a crow. I saw the skies open and the lightnings strike, and the crow stretched out its wings in agony. I saw the waters boil, full of serpents, and the crow could not fly. I saw the skies part and a white dove fly forth and land upon the rock.” She hugged her arms around herself and gazed toward the island of Third Sister. “I saw the waters rise and the serpents lash their tails, and the crow could not fly,” she said. “I saw the dove land and open its beak, and vomit forth a diamond. And then I awoke.” Her troubled eyes turned to me. “You have dreamed it too.”
    “No,” I whispered; my hand rose of its own accord to touch the naked hollow of my throat. There had been a diamond, once. Melisande had put it there. “That is, yes, my lady Sibeal, I have dreamed. I dreamed of Hyacinthe, no more.”
    “Hyacinthe.” She spoke his name with a Cruithne accent, a faint frown creasing the downy skin betwixt her brows. “Yes.”
    “They say,” Drustan mab Necthana said, “that a fortnight past, lightning flashed and the seas rose. So I have come to see.”
    “My lord!” The words came out sharply. “It is not fitting, that you should risk yourself in this fashion! Even now, the Queen awaits you in the City of Elua. Let us go , my lord. It is what was intended.”
    Evrilac Duré shifted behind me; at either side I had Joscelin and Ti-Philippe, who knew the risks and counted them full well. Drustan mab Necthana, the Cruarch of Alba, merely gazed at me. He had been there, when Hyacinthe paid the price of our freedom. If he could have paid it himself, he would have. He had not forgotten any more than I had.
    We had always understood one another, he and I.
    “Then let us go together, Phèdre,” he said quietly. “One last time. Sibeal has had a dream that is a riddle demanding an answer. This I must do.”
    Thus it was that I came to the island known as Third Sister for a second time, borne as I was the first, on the flagship of the Cruarch of Alba. Whether or not the Alban sailors were affrighted, I cannot say; they were men hand-picked by Drustan, their worth measured in the elaborate degree of tattooing that swirled their arms and faces, and they showed no fear as they hoisted sail. The D’Angelines onboard murmured amongst themselves as a sudden wind bellied our crimson sails, making the Black Boar surge and billow. Joscelin was pale, though whether with fear or seasickness, I do not know. Ti-Philippe’s features settled into unwontedly grim lines as he cast his eye on the steep, looming cliffs of Third Sister. Young Hugues shuffled from