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too fast, erratic.
    “Phèdre.” Melisande smiled, her eyes as deep blue and fathomless as the evening sky. “You’re a dreadful liar.”
    I drew in a shaking breath, trembling under her touch. “I’ve never lied to you.”
    “No?” The corners of her lovely mouth curled with amusement. “Let us say then that there are certain things you failed to mention, such as the attempts upon Imriel’s life made in Khebbel-im-Akkad. As for the rest, I will say only this. One day-not soon, but one day-tell my son that this bargain I have made with you today is my gift to him, the only one he would accept from me. And I, I will rest easier in the knowledge that he will be safer with you and your Cassiline than anywhere in the City of Elua, for you will permit no dangerous intrigues under your roof, and the two of you will protect him to the death.” She looked at my expression and laughed. “Oh, Phèdre! Did you think I would not see that he loves you, and is loved in turn? Even Joscelin sought to protect him from me. And you ... my dear, you could no sooner turn away love than you could erase the prick of Kushiel’s Dart from your eye.”
    Feverish with desire and fear, I struggled to frame a reply.
    Melisande ignored my efforts and kissed me.
    The Name of God ignited in my skull, blazing under the touch of her lips, her tongue. I saw our paths crossing and recrossing, the myriad paths of might-have-been . All the scenarios that might have happened, had events not fallen out as they did. And in each and every one, our fates were intertwined. In one, she joined forces with Anafiel Delaunay and stood in loco parentis to me, a relationship as fraught with difficult tensions as the worst possibilities I feared for Imriel. In another, she wed Baudoin de Trevalion, and I served as plaything to both. In another, I stood beside her, gazing at the poisoned corpse of Waldemar Selig, knowing myself the agent of his death.
    All of these, and more.
    All that might have been.
    Melisande raised her head and released me. “Take care of my son.”
    “I will.” How I got out the words, through a throat choked tight with longing and vision and the Name of God, I will never know-but I did. Melisande only nodded.
    She had always, always known me better than anyone else.
    “Good-bye, Phèdre.”

Eighty-Eight
    I ENTERED the Temple of Asherat to find Joscelin engaged in describing to Imriel events that had transpired therein some twelve years past, standing in the corner and whispering as he pointed to the balcony opposite the mighty effigy. The priestesses of Asherat frowned visibly behind their veils and muttered, displeased.
    Asherat-of-the-Sea, immortal and less easily discomfited, maintained her solemn gaze across the emptiness of domed space, crowned with stars. Like the One God’s Sacred Name, her mystery had endured longer than mortal memory, and it would endure too when we had gone, passing to the true Terre d’Ange-that-lies-beyond.
    Because I knew it was so, I laughed.
    Joscelin lifted his head in answer and smiled at me. And there was no covert message in his smile, no dire knowledge, only simple gladness at my presence. “Did she agree to it?”
    I nodded and held out one hand to Imriel.
    He came warily, the old fear riding him. “She promised?”
    “Yes,” I said. “Not all of it. Only the important part.”
    “Will she keep her promise?” His shadowed eyes searched my face.
    “She will,” I said. “And we will go home .”
    From the Temple, we went to the Banco Tribuno where I still had notes of promise on record from my factor in the City of Elua, Messire Brenin. His Serenissiman contact there remembered me well, and forbore to comment on the strangeness of our Jebean attire. I signed a scrip for funds sufficient to our purpose, and we went thence to the tailors’ quarter and commissioned travelling garb in the Serenissiman style, bright-hued velvets and heavy capes trimmed with ermine. It was overly ornate for my tastes, but far more suitable for the cold Caerdicci winters.
    “You didn’t have to get the ermine trim,” Joscelin observed.
    I regarded him over the fur collar of my new cloak. “I am the Comtesse de Montrève, after all. Don’t you think I ought to look the part?”
    As always, there were other arrangements to be made. Had it merely been Joscelin and I, we would have travelled as before, just the two of us-but there was Imriel to consider, and I had not forgotten the bandits that had