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brave and noble thing, truly.”
    “Then why do I feel so awful?” I whispered.
    Joscelin touched my hair, looking sick. “Do you ... do you want to speak of it?”
    “Of what happened in Daršanga?” I laid one hand on his chest, keeping him at bay, feeling his heart beating steady and strong beneath it. Tears came to my eyes unbidden. “Oh, Joscelin! Even if I did ... could you bear to hear it?”
    His answer, when it came, was rough and honest. “I don’t know.”
    “So.” I swallowed hard, nodding. “We’ll wait and see.”

Sixty-One
    IT WAS Imriel’s scream that awoke us both, shattering slumber-short, sharp and urgent, a cry of imminent danger.
    “That’s no nightmare.” Instantaneously alert, Joscelin rolled out of bed and onto his feet, mother-naked, fumbling for a weapon. Struggling into a silk dressing-robe, I followed as he raced into Imriel’s room, illuminated by a faint light from the torch-lit hallway.
    On his bed, Imriel knelt, white-faced with stark terror, his hands fixed in rigid claws. A figure clad in loose-fitting black clothes, a dark burnoose concealing its face, retreated toward the outer door, which stood ajar.
    With a curse, Joscelin hurled his dagger. It missed, clattering against the door-frame. The figure spun and dashed into the hall, Joscelin hard on its heels. I kindled a lamp with trembling fingers, only then daring to look at Imriel. “Are you all right?”
    He nodded, hands unclenching slowly, his narrow chest heaving.
    “What happened?” I asked him.
    “I woke up and someone was there. I screamed, and-” He mimed striking out with one clawed hand. “Then Joscelin came. Do you think he was trying to kill me?”
    I sat down on the edge of Imriel’s bed. “What do you think?”
    “Yes.” His face was still white, but he was calmer. “I think so.”
    So did I, but I waited until Joscelin returned, grim and empty-handed.
    “I lost him,” he said shortly. “Or her. I couldn’t tell. What do you think, Imri? Was it a man or a woman?”
    “I don’t know.” The boy sounded miserable. “It was dark.”
    “You did well. You did very well.” Joscelin retrieved his dagger and scowled at his left arm in its sling. “I’d have had him, if not for this. It puts off my aim. I can’t move as quickly, either. A three-step lead? I should have had him.”
    Imriel shivered, huddling on the bed and hugging his knees. I stroked his hair. “You must have gotten some odd looks,” I said, eyeing Joscelin. Aside from his sling, he was still rather splendidly naked. Imriel peered over his knees and giggled.
    “A few.” Joscelin raised his eyebrows. “Come on, you. From now on, you’ll stay in our quarters.”
    It took the better part of an hour, but eventually Imriel fell asleep in our bed. Joscelin and I sat up, wrapped in robes and discussing it in low voices.
    “It could have been anyone,” he said in disgust. “Man, woman, eunuch; Akkadian, D’Angeline-Jebean, even ... I didn’t get a good enough look. He ducked into a side hall, and by the time I’d backtracked, I’d lost him.”
    “None of the guards outside saw anything?”
    He shook his head. “None would admit it.”
    “Either they lied, which means likely it’s an Akkadian conspiracy, or they saw naught out of the ordinary, which still means it was likely an Akkadian. Not a woman; a woman unescorted would draw notice, at this hour.”
    “It could be a D’Angeline.” Joscelin’s voice was quiet. “Valère has D’Angeline servants in her entourage, enough to pass unremarked.”
    “True.” Neither of us needed state the obvious, which was that Valère L’Envers was Duc Barquiel’s daughter, and the Duc most assuredly would prefer Imriel dead. “Lord Amaury’s men have the run of the Palace as well.”
    Joscelin sighed, dragging his free hand through his sleep-tangled hair. “Amaury ... surely you don’t suspect Amaury.”
    “Amaury, no. But the others ...” I stared at the dancing flame of the oil lamp. “How well do you know them? Vigny, de Marigot, Charves ... Vigny’s bitter, you said so yourself.” I looked up. “It would be a stroke of genius for someone who wanted the boy dead to get himself placed on the mission to find him.”
    “Amaury’s company was hand-picked,” he said. “Valère’s a likelier candidate.”
    “I agree.” I thought of Melisande Shahrizai’s description of Lord Amaury Trente in La Serenissima. A capable man, it is said, and loyal to the