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Wagers were settled, new wagers laid. Students given a day’s leave from the Academy thronged the streets, toasting the Cruarch’s health, looking forward to three days and nights of revelry when he reached the City. Drustan’s return had become a veritable rite of spring. I wished I shared their high spirits, but Ysandre’s summons had struck fear into my heart and my joyous mood had faded.
    I kept a good face on it as a majordomo escorted us into the Palace, along with a pair of guards. I wondered if we were bound for the throne-room or a private audience. If it was state business, I thought, it will be the throne-room or the Hall of Audience. I feared what Ysandre might declare before an audience of state. What she might say in private, I could not guess, and feared even more.
    As it happens, it was neither.
    The majordomo brought us to the Salon of Eisheth’s Harp, a spacious chamber with elegant frescoes depicting the ill-fated romance of Eisheth and an Eisandine tauriere. It is a place where D’Angeline nobles gather to enjoy pleasant conversation and musical concerts. There was a small crowd assembled, and it seemed a flautist and a lute-player had recently concluded. Ysandre was seated on a couch in the central arrangement, surrounded by courtiers and attendants ... and someone else I recognized.
    “Prince Imriel nó Montrève de la Courcel, the Comtesse Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève, Messire Joscelin Verreuil,” the majordomo announced.
    There was a half-second of silence in the Salon of Eisheth’s Harp.
    “Elua’s Balls, lass, get over here and let me see you!” roared the unmistakable voice of the Royal Admiral Quintilius Rousse as he rose from the couch, opening his arms. “What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?”
    I crossed the distance in a daze to find myself engulfed in a bone-cracking embrace. “My lord Admiral,” I stammered when he let me go. “What brings you here?”
    Rousse grinned at me. If there was grey in his ruddy hair, he was as hale and hearty as ever, blue eyes bright in his scarred, weathered face. “Oh, I hear we’re to fetch that sight-ridden Tsingano lad of yours as soon as Lord Drustan arrives. Sound all right to you?”
    I blinked at him, then stared at Ysandre, belatedly curtsying. “Your majesty.”
    Ysandre raised her fair brows. “Surely you didn’t think I’d let you set off unaided on this quest, Phèdre. We have a vested interest in the well-being of Hyacinthe, Anasztaizia’s son. It has been arranged over the course of the winter. Lord Rousse has a flagship awaiting at Pointe des Soeurs in Azzalle. Whatsoever you require for this journey, you may arrange with Lord Rousse, who has an open writ with the Secretary of the Privy Purse. I trust you will be ready to depart by the time Drustan arrives?”
    “Yes.” I swallowed against the tears that threatened to close my throat. It had meant a good deal more than I reckoned, losing Ysandre’s friendship, and I would give a great deal to have it back. “Yes, your majesty. We will be ready.”
    “Good.” Ysandre’s gaze rested on Imriel. “I suppose you will insist upon going, young cousin?”
    “Your majesty.” Imriel bowed, expressionless. “If you forbid it, I will stay.”
    “And what resentments will that breed?” Ysandre smiled wryly, watching Quintilius Rousse gather Joscelin in a pounding embrace. “No, young cousin, I will not forbid it, much as I would like to do so. I have learned somewhat of when to stand in the way, and when to stand aside. Messire Verreuil,” she called to Joscelin, who freed himself to approach her, bowing. “In the future, I would appreciate it if you did not accompany Prince Imriel in public unarmed. I was promised, I believe, a Cassiline Brother to attend him? The Queen’s Champion?”
    “Your majesty.” Joscelin bowed again and straightened, grinning. “I will not appear before you unarmed again.”
    “Good.” Ysandre glanced around at the gape-mouthed courtiers. “Is there anyone here who has somewhat to say? No? Well and good. My lord Rousse, I grant you leave to make your arrangements. I expect a full accounting of your plans.”
    And with that, we were dismissed.
    We spent the better part of the day in discussion with Quintilius Rousse, who returned with us to the house. Eugenie nearly tied herself into a knot attempting to stage a fit reception for the Royal Admiral-her kitchens were in complete disarray from last night’s