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lowered beneath my nose, and I knew I would have no peace if I didn’t select a couple of morsels. If Eugenie was deigning to serve us with her own hands, she’d probably made them herself, too. She regarded me with disapproval. “You’ll need to eat more than that if you’re about to go gallivanting about the map again, running yourself into a ragged sliver, my lady.”
    I must admit, my lord Delaunay’s staff never spoke to him thusly. Then again, my lord Delaunay was not an anguissette . I retrieved the silver tongs and took two more pastries. “I’m not going anywhere yet, Eugenie.”
    “No.” She sniffed. “But you will. You’ve got that look again.”
    Joscelin laughed. “I didn’t know you could tell, Eugenie.”
    “After ten years, and her like a daughter to me?” She cast an acerbic eye on him. “I don’t forget, Messire Cassiline. And you ought not to laugh, stuck to her side like a shadow.”
    “Well.” Joscelin was fond of Eugenie. “I’ve my vow to think of.”
    “Your vow!” She shook the serving-tongs at him. “I vow I’ll warm your backside if you don’t bring my lady home safe. And don’t think I won’t do it, Messire Cassiline. I’ve grown grandchildren as tall as you.”
    It made Ti-Philippe laugh uproariously as he leaned forward to pick her platter clean, and even Joscelin smiled, but I heard the genuine worry behind Eugenie’s absurd threat. “I’ll be careful, Eugenie,” I said softly. “Whatever I do. I promise.”
    “You said that last time and it nearly killed you.” My Mistress of the Household leveled a significant gaze at me, her figure broad and imposing in the dusk-lit garden. “Love means hearth and home too, my lady. Don’t forget it.”
    “I won’t.” I watched her go, picking her way across the courtyard, vast figure swaying like a sea-born ship. It was a warm evening, and the scent of lavender and rosemary hung in the moist air. A new maidservant, one of Eugenie’s nieces, slipped into the garden with a lit taper, kindling the lamps that hung about in glass globes, casting a fairy glow. I had musicians play when I entertained here, harp and flute and tambour.
    Jebe-Barkal. My heart ached at the thought of leaving this place, this gracious home. Eugenie was right; this, too, was love. And yet even as I thought it, I ached elsewhere, with the soul-deep need of an anguissette that no kindness, no compassion could assuage. I was bound by my nature as surely as any patron’s shackles. Melisande might as well have set her diamond lead about my neck, I thought, a bitter laugh catching in my throat.
    “Phèdre.” It was Joscelin’s voice, quiet and familiar. “Go to the temple.”
    “Elua’s sanctuary?”
    “No.” He shook his head. “Kushiel’s.”

Eleven
    FOR ALL that I am Kushiel’s Chosen, I go seldom to his temple. I, who feel the prick of his dart throughout all my days, do not require the aid of his servants to seek atonement. My lord Kushiel has always provided ample opportunity to his anguissette . I do not often need to lay my penance at his feet. For me, his altar is everywhere.
    Only once before has Joscelin advised me thusly, after our escape from slavery in the wilds of Skaldia, and then, as now, I remembered what I so often forgot: that Joscelin was priest as well as warrior.
    Now, as then, I listened. I went.
    They asked no questions, Kushiel’s priests, but only nodded to see me. Even if my face had not been known throughout the City of Elua, they would have known me by the scarlet mote. Kushiel’s priests keep his lore sacred. Clad in stygian robes and wearing the full bronze masks of ceremony that hide even gender, they escorted me into the baths of purification and thence to the temple proper, the massive doors clanging shut behind us.
    It is a simple space, high-vaulted, enclosed with thick stone walls blackened by generations of smoke rising from the candles that illuminate it. I made an offering of gold and poured incense on the altar-fire. A billow of smoke arose, stinging my eyes with musky fragrance. The face of Kushiel’s great effigy swam above me, wreathed in smoke, stern and brazen, hands crossed on his breast bearing his rod and flail. When I had done, his priests helped me undress until I stood naked before him.
    A sharp breath, indrawn behind a mask; I don’t know whose. Even Kushiel’s priests are not immune. I know what they saw, my bare skin glowing white by candlelight, the vivid black lines