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would do such a thing, and tell me naught of it?”
    I opened my mouth, and closed it prudently.
    “The Shahrizai.” The Queen’s lips thinned. “Will they ever be a plague on my reign? I will send for Duc Paragon ...” She stopped, and I saw her remember. The last time she had summoned the Duc de Shahrizai before her throne, it had been because of her uncle Barquiel L’Envers’ unorthodox meddling.
    “My lady,” I said. “Ysandre. Melisande is certain it was none of her kin.”
    “What do you think?” Drustan mab Necthana asked me.
    “I think she is telling the truth.”
    “The whole truth?” Ysandre looked hard at me.
    “Probably not.” I shrugged. “One may assume it, with Melisande. But what she spoke was truth.”
    The Queen’s sharp gaze turned to Joscelin. “What do you say, Cassiline?”
    “Your majesty.” He bowed to her with crossed forearms. “I concur with my lady Phèdre. Melisande Shahrizai is as dangerous as a viper, and twice as subtle, but I do not believe she lied.”
    “That child,” Ysandre said, half to herself. “That poor boy. I warned her of as much.”
    Drustan was murmuring to Sibeal, clarifying the exchange in Cruithne. On her face alone I saw somewhat different reflected: hope, and a visionary’s clear certainty.
    “It was a true dream,” she said in her softly accented D’Angeline when he had done. Her wide-set dark eyes turned my way. “You will find a way to free him.”
    Hyacinthe.
    Jebe-Barkal.
    “My lady Sibeal,” I said. “I pray it may be so. But I have made a promise, and I must keep it. It may be that a child’s life hangs in the balance.”
    “And it may be too late.” Ysandre did not mince words. “Whosoever is responsible.”
    “I know.” I met her eyes. “Still, I must look.”
    “Whosoever is responsible.” She took a deep breath. “Whoever it is, they will face our justice, Phèdre, as surely as any criminal. Do you understand this to be true?”
    “Yes, my lady. Ysandre.” I knew what she was saying, and I bled for her. Ysandre de la Courcel was no fool. She had bethought herself of her uncle, and his ungentle methods.
    “For so long as he lived,” she mused, “this child Imriel de la Courcel has posed a threat to my throne and my daughters’ inheritance. I have always known it. And I have always been prepared to deal with it, in my own way, in accordance with the dictum of Blessed Elua. I will show no clemency to any who seek to deal with it otherwise.”
    “I understand.”
    Ysandre raised her eyebrows. “You will, I trust, report to me before you do to Melisande Shahrizai, near-cousin?”
    “My lady!” I protested. “Yes. Of course.”
    And with that, we were dismissed.
    In the halls of the Palace, Joscelin and I spoke of our meeting in low tones, offering courteous greetings to those nobles we passed. Only a few scant weeks ago, we would have numbered ourselves among them, D’Angeline peers who came to meet and mingle in the various salons, the Hall of Games, come for gossip and flirtation and such games of power as are played out in those elegant, marble walls. Now, it all seemed trivial.
    “Did you see her face?” I murmured to Joscelin. “Although she did not say it, I think she bethought herself of Barquiel L’Envers.”
    “I saw.” He paused as we drew nigh to the Marquis d’Arguil and his lady wife, a handsome couple in their forties, very much a la mode. Attending them a pace and a half to the rear was a Cassiline Brother, a young man in ash grey with a cultivated look of stern hauteur. “Well met, my lord,” Joscelin said politely, “my lady.”
    “Comtesse!” The Marquise d’Arguil took my hands in her own, offering the kiss of greeting. “We invited you to our cherry-blossom fête, you and your gorgeous consort, and you were gone from the City, heartless creatures. You must promise to come to our next.”
    “I will try, my lady, but I make no promises.” From the corner of my eye, I saw their Cassiline attendant make an ostentatious greeting to Joscelin, inlaid vambraces glittering as he swept his arms crossed before him and bowed. “Betimes my business requires travel.”
    Ten years ago, after Joscelin’s duel in the Temple of Asherat, an unprecedented influx of noble-born families sought to revive the ancient tradition of sending their middle sons to the Cassiline Brotherhood. Even as the Queen had eliminated her own Cassiline Guard, it had become fashionable for minor royalty to hire