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know.
    It was a long and bitter winter to endure.
    There were points of brightness in it, and chiefest among them was Imriel. He flourished in our home in the City of Elua. Eugenie doted upon him, as did all the servants in my employ. He studied the Cassiline disciplines with Joscelin in the frozen garden, mimicking his every move; not to be outdone, Ti-Philippe taught him conventional swordsmanship. To the amusement of us all, young Hugues appointed himself Imriel’s personal guardian. He was not especially skilled with blades, but he wielded a shepherd’s cudgel to wicked effect, and I once saw him give Joscelin a bout that pressed him surprisingly hard. Hugues taught Imri to play the flute, too, finding he already knew the rudiments of it.
    My goat-herd prince.
    Other things, I taught him-much as Anafiel Delaunay had once taught Alcuin and me. He read well in D’Angeline and Caerdicci, and I gave him histories and philosophies to read, borrowing what I did not possess from the archives of the Academy. I taught him Cruithne, which he had begun to learn in the Sanctuary of Elua. Once upon a time, it was a tongue no one studied, spoken only by blue-painted barbarians on the far side of the divide held by the Master of the Straits. I myself had rebelled at learning it. Now, it is the mother-tongue of the Cruarch of Alba, husband of Queen Ysandre de la Courcel, and D’Angeline schoolchildren study it as a matter of course.
    Why? Because of Hyacinthe, who made it possible. Only they do not say that.
    I introduced Imriel to Emile in Night’s Doorstep, and through him to the Tsingani population in Terre d’Ange. They did not care whose son he was, but only that he had played a role in procuring the key that would free Anasztaizia’s son, the Tsingan Kralis , the Prince of Travellers.
    Like me, the Tsingani were waiting for spring.
    And I introduced him too to Eleazar ben Enokh, the Yeshuite mystic. It grieved me to be unable to share the Name of God with Eleazar, who had sought it for so long-and yet I could not. When I thought upon it, my throat swelled near to closing, and I knew the Sacred Name had been entrusted to me for one purpose, and one purpose only.
    “Adonai does as He wills, and none of us may grasp the whole of His thought.” Eleazar’s words were gentle. “My heart is glad on your behalf, Phèdre nó Delaunay.”
    If I could not share the Name of God with him, I could tell him of the Tribe of Dân, and that I did, at length-of the union of Shalomon and Makeda and the Covenant of Wisdom, of Khemosh’s folly and the flight to Tisaar and the Lake of Tears, of the Ark of Broken Tablets on the island of Kapporeth. These things he recorded eagerly, and his wife Adara looked on with indulgence and interest.
    In such ways did my Bitterest Winter pass.
    I spent long hours composing letters, replying to a year’s worth of correspondence. Although my letters would not go overseas until spring, I wrote to Nicola L’Envers y Aragon in Amílcar, to Kazan Atrabiades in Epidauro, who had written to tell me of his new appointment, to Pasiphae Asterius, who is the Kore of the Tenemos. I studied, obsessively, everything in my library on the angel Rahab, which I had spent ten years compiling, and learned nothing new. I thought about the confrontation to come. Few guests called upon my home and few invited me to theirs during this time. I received several offers of assignations from such people as would never have dared inquire in the past-disreputable merchants, a petty lordling suspected of molesting his household servants. These I burned without deigning to reply.
    The City of Elua was waiting to see if Ysandre would forgive me.
    Every week, a representative of the Queen came to the house to ensure that Imriel was in good health and good spirits-Guillen Baphinol, a young Eisandine nobleman who had studied medicine at one of Eisheth’s sanctuaries. I treated him with unfailing politeness. At first, he made a show of inspecting the house and assessing its fortitude, testing the bars on the doors with a grave demeanor. Joscelin watched with amusement; Imriel with simmering resentment. Although it is small, my house is as secure as any manse within the City. I have always taken care with such things, ever since my lord Delaunay and my foster-brother Alcuin were slain within their own home. In time, Guillen warmed to us and I consulted him on such small bits of herb-lore as I have garnered in my travels. But he