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deserves. But I have my own safety to consider, and that of those who are beholden to me.”
    “The Cassiline,” Melisande said dryly.
    “Among others,” I said. “Yes, Joscelin first of all, but there are others. Ti-Philippe, my chevalier ... you remember him, my lady? His comrades were slain on Prince Benedicte’s orders. And there is Eugenie, my Mistress of the Household, and others, in Montrève ... my seneschal, Purnell Friote and his wife Richeline, and others, too many to count. I am fond of your son, Melisande; passing fond. But while you plot against the throne, we are all in danger of being accused of conspiracy. I will not jeopardize them on his behalf. I require safeguards.”
    That was the lie, the bluff. I delivered it unblinking, and Melisande’s gaze searched my face. “You said there was a price,” she said at length.
    It was all I could do to keep from sighing with relief.
    “Two things,” I said, holding up two fingers. “One: You will swear to me, in Kushiel’s name, that you will do naught to jeopardize the lives of Ysandre de la Courcel and her daughters. Two: You will make no attempt to leave this place, but will live out your days in sanctuary, seeking only penitence and not worship.”
    Melisande laughed.
    I waited.
    “Ah, Phèdre!” Leaning forward, she brushed my cheek with her fingertips. Her touch stung like a lash, and I closed my eyes against it. “One,” Melisande said tenderly, her voice redolent of smoke and honey. “Two conditions have you set me, Phèdre. Do you take my son, and raise him without teaching him to hate me more than he does now, I will grant you one. Only one. And the choosing of it is yours.”
    It was hard not to lean into her touch. It stirred me, stirred things in me I had not felt since Daršanga. I had thought, after that, I might never yearn for such tender cruelty again. I was wrong. Melisande’s scent surrounded me, clouding my faculties. Even the Sacred Name itself blurred under her fingers, turning to incomprehensible syllables, my tongue grown thick with desire. I wanted to touch her, to taste her, to kneel at her feet.
    “The first,” I said, feeling the pulse beating betwixt my thighs. “On Kushiel’s name. Swear you will not raise your hand, nor any other’s, against Ysandre and her daughters.”
    “I swear it.” Melisande withdrew her hand. “In Kushiel’s name, I swear it.”
    I stood, feeling giddy. “Then I will raise your son as my own, my lady.”
    “So be it.”
    I got halfway to the door before her voice stopped me.
    “Why did you do it?” Melisande asked, holding me with her wondering gaze. “Surely, you had done all that was in your power, and more. My oath didn’t bind you unto near-certain death. You had your quest, and the key to the Name of God. Why did you abandon it to walk alone, with only that mad Cassiline to protect you, into a land even the most hardened Akkadian warrior feared? Was it only to free my son?”
    I paused, and shook my head. “No, my lady. My oath took me to Khebbel-im-Akkad, no further. For the rest, I can say only that it was Elua’s will, and part of a pattern more vast than I could have guessed. All of it. There was ... there was somewhat in Drujan that Ptolemy Dikaios was right to fear, a shadow that might have fallen over us all, had it lived. But it is gone, now. A great ill has been averted. This would not have happened if I had not gone.”
    Melisande’s face was very still. “Then Imriel did not suffer in vain.”
    “No,” I said, and shook my head again, pitying her against my will. “Not wholly, my lady, and not only in retribution for your crimes. There was a purpose to it greater than Kushiel’s justice alone.”
    Her eyes closed, and her lips moved in a prayer of thanksgiving. It was not a thing meant for me to see, and I turned once more to go.
    “Phèdre.”
    After all these years and all that I knew of her, my name on her lips still brought me up short. Melisande might as well have had me on a lead. I stood despairing and watched as she rose from the couch, crossing to approach me. Squares of winter sunlight lay upon the marble floor, and sunlight gleamed on the Veil of Asherat, drawn back to lie in a glittering net on her blue-black hair. Her hands, pale as ivory, with long tapering fingers, rose to cup my face with infinite tenderness and the promise of immaculate cruelty. Caught between the desire to flee and to stay, I caught my breath, my heart beating