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search the hills by torchlight. A few stray goats, no more.” She was silent for a moment, then continued. “They searched again in the morning. He thought at first that Imriel must gotten injured, or trapped somewhere-a steep gorge, a cave-in, something. But there was nothing.”
    “So he sent to tell you,” I said.
    “He searched the countryside first, questioning as best he dared to learn if a boy of Imriel’s description had been seen in any of the villages, on any of the roads. When he was sure none had, he came himself.”
    “And you believe him?” I raised my eyebrows.
    “Because he lied to Ysandre’s men, you mean?” Melisande met my eyes, reading my thoughts. “Elua’s priests are sworn to serve love, not truth. Yes, I believe him. I have not forgotten how to read the telltales of a lie, Phèdre nó Delaunay.”
    I blushed, although for the life of me, I couldn’t have said why.
    “And that’s when you set your spies to searching for him.”
    “Yes.” Her lashes flickered. “My spies.”
    “Who found ... nothing?”
    “Nothing.” Melisande drew a deep breath and exhaled. “Not a hair, not a footprint, not a rumor or whisper of conspiracy. My son has vanished as if he never existed. You see why I ask your help?”
    “Yes.” I rose to wander the salon, frowning in thought; a bad habit and apt to cause unattractive lines. I would have been chided for it in the Night Court, but I didn’t like the direction in which my thoughts were going.
    “Did anyone else know your son’s whereabouts?” Joscelin asked Melisande.
    “No.” It was unnerving to hear her voice without its honeyed menace. What I had taken for restraint was an unfamiliar undertone of grief-and even stranger, fear. I don’t think anyone else would have recognized it as such. I did. “Some of the priests and priestesses may have guessed; I cannot say for sure.”
    “So someone could have known,” Joscelin said, watching me pace.
    “Yes.” Melisande followed his gaze. “It is always possible. There is always danger. Phèdre, what are you thinking?”
    My name from her lips. It still raised the fine hairs at the back of my neck. I paused before a pot of flowering almond, brushing the petals with my fingers. “That there are very few people capable of playing as devious and ruthless a game as you, my lady,” I said. “How many, do you think, in Terre d’Ange itself?”
    “A few, mayhap.”
    It was a generous estimate. “Your kin?” I asked.
    “No.” Melisande hesitated. “No one in House Shahrizai would have harmed the boy, whether they reviled me or no. He holds too much possibility for us. If any of my kin had found him, I would know. One way or another.”
    Now that, I did believe. I sighed, turning to face her. “There is one person who comes to mind.”
    “Barquiel L’Envers.” Melisande’s eyes met mine, and I knew we thought alike.
    We are wary allies, Ysandre’s maternal uncle and I. Once, he was my lord Delaunay’s greatest enemy, and I was slow to trust him because of it. I did, in the end; I placed the fate of Ysandre’s throne in his hands, and he acquitted himself heroically, holding the City of Elua against Percy de Somerville’s rebellion until Ysandre came to reclaim it. Still, I cannot forget those other acts he committed to secure his niece’s throne, that were neither noble nor lawful.
    “He wouldn’t,” Joscelin protested.
    “He had Dominic Stregazza assassinated,” I reminded him. “He’s as much as admitted it.”
    “Dominic killed his sister.” Joscelin flushed. “I’m not saying it was justified, Phèdre, but he had cause to seek vengeance.”
    “Barquiel L’Envers is ambitious and clever,” Melisande said, “and he does not scruple to do what the Queen will not. If word of Imriel’s existence reached his ears, I do not think he would lay it in Ysandre’s lap. I think he would take whatever measures he deemed necessary to secure her throne for House L’Envers’ lineage.”
    Although her voice remained even, her face was unwontedly pale. “I don’t think he would,” I said. “Not that. But he is one of the only people I can think of who would be capable. I will learn what I can.” I looked at her a moment without speaking. “You know there is a good chance the boy is dead.”
    For all that I hated her, I made the words as gentle as I could. Melisande’s expression never changed. Given the same knowledge, there was no possibility I could conceive that