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gaze rested on Imri, filled with compassion. “But it is a story that must be told, that we might remember and never let such a thing come to pass again. I will think on how best it might be done. I may not live to see it finished, but I daresay I will see it begun.”
    “You shouldn’t say such things,” I said, not wanting to hear them.
    Her smile was tinged with sorrow. “Ah, Phèdre! You’ve never shied away from truth. I’ve lived through such times as poets dream of, and I have no regrets. But don’t fear, my dear, I’ll not leave yet. To miss the end of the story-ah, now that would grieve me.” Her tone changed. “It must be hard for you to wait.”
    I took a deep breath, and made no reply.
    “Ysandre will forgive you, you know.” Thelesis read my expression. “You gave her no choice, Phèdre. And I daresay she took it harder, coming from you. But I remember your young Tsingano friend very well indeed, and I suspect he has reserves of fortitude he’s yet to tap. Nearly two years ago, you gave him the gift of hope. He’ll wait thirty years, if he must; three months is naught to one facing immortality.”
    My heart rose. “Sibeal delivered my message?”
    “No one told you?” She shook her head. “Of course not. Who would dare? Yes, my dear, she did. He permitted the Cruarch’s ship to enter the harbor, and she told him. And don’t forget, Hyacinthe has the gift of the dromonde , does he not? As many unforeseeable turns as the path of your life has taken before, I suspect it lies clear at this point.”
    “To Rahab.” I shivered.
    “To the angel known as Pride,” Thelesis said, “and Insolence.” Her voice was gentle. “Do you know what you will do when you arrive?”
    “No,” I said. “Not really.”
    “She’ll have a plan by the time we get there,” Joscelin said to Imriel. “It will probably involve me swimming three times around the island carrying you on my back, wearing Ras Lijasu’s lion’s mane on your head and screaming at the top of your lungs and waving a sword. That should get Rahab’s attention, don’t you think?”
    Imriel grinned. “Can you swim when you’re seasick?”
    “Shhh.” Joscelin tweaked a lock of his hair. “You’re not supposed to reveal that, especially in front of the Queen’s Poet,”
    I caught Thelesis watching their exchange. She smiled, seeing me take notice. “What was it you said to Ysandre? Not all families are born of blood and seed?”
    “She told you that?” I was surprised.
    “Even a Queen may recognize Elua’s hand at work, Phèdre nó Delaunay. Give her time.” Thelesis turned her head away to cough, covering her mouth with a kerchief worked with the Courcel insignia. In the background, the apprentice girl set down her pestle and slipped from the stool, bringing the bowl of fine-ground gall for inspection. “Well done,” Thelesis said, regaining her voice. “Thank you, Alais.”
    Alais? I started, only now recognizing the dark-haired girl in the drab smock as Ysandre’s youngest daughter. So much, I thought, for my vaunted powers of observation. “Princess Alais,” I said with alacrity, rising to curtsy.
    She peered at me with the violet eyes of House L’Envers and wrinkled her nose. “I’m only Alais, here. Thelesis lets me help, sometimes.”
    “Now?” I raised my eyebrows at Thelesis.
    “She wanted to hear her cousin’s story,” she said. “Ysandre did not object. Her grandfather Ganelon sought to protect her from unpleasant truths when she was a child. She will not do the same with her daughters. Better they should know the worst, from the beginning, and live their lives accordingly.”
    “Sidonie didn’t want to hear it,” Alais said complacently. “She doesn’t like to get dirty, either. I do. Will you tell me about seeing lions, cousin?” The latter was directed to Imriel. “I will show you how we make ink.”
    Imriel glanced at me, uncertain. I shrugged. “Go ahead, if you like.”
    “Alais, you’re not to touch the vitriol,” Thelesis called. “Remember last time.”
    “I won’t.”
    Joscelin, who had risen to bow to the young Princess, laughed aloud as she led Imri away to her worktable. “That one’s a handful! I remember, it was Alais who wanted to play with my daggers. How old is she, now? Seven? Eight?”
    “Eight,” Thelesis said. “She has dreams, sometimes, that hold truths; small things, but accurate. Drustan thinks she may have inherited the gift of his mother,