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though I am racked by guilt and second-guessing, I believe I chose aright. If I were a vain man, I might think Blessed Elua mocked me for my pride-but Elua is not so cruel as to use a child to lesson his priests. Yet Imriel is gone, and I, I am left without answers.”
    I considered him. “You said we were not the first. Tell me about Melisande’s emissaries.”
    “There were two men who came, bearing her token.” He laced his fingers about one knee. “It was after I had gone to La Serenissima to bring her the unhappy news. They pretended to be from Eisande, though I do not think it was true. It is politics, that, and nothing to do with Elua. I will give you a description, if you wish, and the names they gave, although I think those too were false.”
    “Yes, thank you. They conducted a search?”
    “They questioned me, and every other member of the sanctuary. And they searched the mountains, where it happened.” Brother Selbert glanced toward the window. “I believe they searched in outlying towns as well, and questioned villagers.” He shook his head. “We did as much and more. We combed the crags for days. Every cave, every cleft... I saw to it myself, and we gave her emissaries every aid during the duration of their search.” His voice changed, a tone of ragged grief bleeding through his calm demeanor. “I pray you, do not mistake me, my lady Phèdre! If there were a way, any way-I would give my life in an instant if it meant Imri’s safe return. When all is said and done, I do not believe even Melisande Shahrizai questioned my sincerity.”
    “No,” I said absently. “She didn’t. Your discretion is another matter.”
    “No one knew.” The priest lifted his hands, let them fall back into his lap. “I cannot prove it, not now. They did not question it, when I took the boy to La Serenissima before; I let them believe we went elsewhere. After his disappearance ... some guessed.”
    “You ...” I paused. “You took the boy to La Serenissima?”
    “When he turned eight.” Brother Selbert nodded. “The Lady Melisande wished to see him. I swear to you, I protected his identity to the fullest of my ability. If anyone learned it, it was not through my carelessness.”
    “Huh.” I was hard-put to imagine it was through Melisande’s; and yet she had taken a risk, having him brought to her. A risk, I thought, that she had not seen fit to mention. “What about the boy? Did he know?”
    “No.” The priest’s denial was firm. “Imri believed himself an orphan, that his parents had died of a Serenissiman ague aboard the ship that brought me home to Terre d’Ange, and bequeathed him to me as a ward of the sanctuary. No one ever had cause to doubt it.”
    “No one would doubt the word of a priest,” I said. “Melisande counted on as much. She used you to her own ends, Brother Selbert.”
    “So she believed,” he murmured. “And I, I believed Blessed Elua used me to his. Mayhap I was a fool. If so, I am punished for it now.”
    “Did Imriel not think it strange to meet his mother in La Serenissima?” I asked him.
    “He never knew.” Brother Selbert shook his head. “He was told she had been a wealthy noblewoman, a friend of his parents, who would stand as his patron when he grew to manhood.”
    “Still,” Joscelin observed, breaking his silence. “He would boast of it. He was a boy! You lied to your colleagues, brought him to La Serenissima, and introduced him to this, this fantastic patron ... what did you do, my lord priest? Bid him keep it a secret? A boy of eight? You may be sure of it, he told his friends the minute you returned.”
    “Not Imri.” The priest smiled his enigmatic smile. “You didn’t know him, Messire Verreuil! He believed the lady he met would be in danger if he breathed a word of it, and true enough it was. Ah, no.” He shook his head again, his long braid stirring. “Imri would have gone to his grave with it, after that. Eight or no, he had that, that...” he searched for a term , “that streak of rash nobility which is the heritage of House Courcel.”
    I thought of Ysandre de la Courcel riding between two narrow ranks of the Unforgiven, parting the rebellious army of the Duc de Somerville, her chin raised, eyes fixed on the City of Elua. I knew what he meant. “And if he had half his mother’s wits, my lord priest, he would have guessed his patron’s identity.”
    “He might have,” Brother Selbert allowed, “if he had known the story. But we