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Michel, what do you know about Imri? Were you there the day he went missing?”
    “Yes.” the boy’s voice fell to a whisper, his expression changing into one of instantaneous this distress. “He went… he wanted to find a higher pasture, past the rock fall. I played and played on my pipes, I did! And he didn’t answer, and I didn’t, I didn’t-”
    “Ti-Michel came to find me, Lady Phèdre,” Beryl interrupted him. “I was with Honore, in one of the lower pastures. We fetched Cadmar, and he and I looked as far as we dared, while the little ones watched the goats. When we couldn’t find him, we went back to tell Brother Selbert.”
    “Did you go past the rock fall?” I asked her.
    She paused, then shook her head. “Not then. It’s a narrow ledge, and dangerous. There’d been another fall, we couldn’t pass. Brother Othon worked to clear it that night.”
    “Cadmar was scared!” Ti-Michel slid down from Joscelin’s knee, forgetting his distress, chin raised in challenge.
    “So were you!” the older boy retorted. “ You ran for Beryl!”
    “Cad-mar was sca-red!” Honore sang, bouncing, then added, “Imri wasn’t scared of anything .”
    “Is that true?” I addressed my question to Beryl.
    “No.” She gave me a cool look of appraisal. “Of course not. Nobody’s afraid of nothing . But he was brave, for a boy.” Her lip curled. “Braver than Cadmar. Imri liked to take risks, to see what would happen. And when he got hurt, he never complained. He was afraid, though. He was afraid of anyone seeing him cry.”
    “One time,” Ti-Michel said, “one time I fell in the river, and Imri-”
    “Oh, shut up,” Cadmar said in disgust. “You could have walked out, if you’d stood up and stopped flailing around. It wasn’t so deep.”
    “Imri taught us how to swim.” Honore climbed down from Joscelin’s knee and came over to stare into my face, clutching my skirts absentmindedly. “We took all our clothes off. I like to swim. How come you have a red spot in your eye?”
    “Because,” I said, touching her nose. “I was born with it. Why do you have freckles?”
    The child looked cross-eyed at her own visage and giggled.
    The words that followed were spoken in a half-whisper. “Mighty Kushiel, of rod and weal, late of the brazen portals, with blood-tipp’d dart a wound unhealed, pricks the eyen of chosen mortals.”
    I raised my head, looking at Beryl, who had gone pale and defiant.
    “I know who you are,” she said. “Brother Selbert thinks I’m too young to know, but I’m not. I hear them whisper. They are always whispering, since Imri disappeared. I see the books they study when they think we’re not paying attention, the scrolls they hide. I know who you are. Why are you here? Why do you want to know about Imri?”
    Joscelin and I exchanged a glance. “Beryl,” I said gently. “What I have told you is true. I am the Queen’s friend, and she does care about Imriel. If harm had befallen any of Blessed Elua’s children, her majesty would want to know how and why. If there is more to it ...” I shook my head. “It is not my place to tell you what Brother Selbert will not. You must ask him yourself. But if there is any knowledge you have that would help me to find Imri, I pray you tell me. I promise you, I seek only to aid him.”
    “No.” Her shoulders slumped. “He’s just gone ! And Elua, Elua did nothing to protect him.” A spasm of bitter grief contorted her features. “Brother Selbert says we are all in Elua’s hand! Where was Elua when Imri needed him?”
    In the silence that followed, Honore began to sob methodically, more upset by Beryl’s anger than any true sense of divine injustice. Ti-Michel’s lower lip quivered, and Cadmar set his jaw and looked sullen. I had done a poor job of heeding the priest’s wishes. Joscelin moved to sit cross-legged on the floor, drawing Honore onto his lap where she soon quieted.
    “Beryl,” I said. “Elua cannot prevent ill things from happening. He can only give us the courage to face it with love.”
    “It’s not enough!” she cried.
    “It is,” I said. “It’s all we have.”
    Who was I, to teach theology to the wards of Elua’s priesthood? And yet Joscelin had been right. It is a hard truth that lies at the center of faith. I watched Beryl measure that truth against the half-lies and omissions that had surrounded the disappearance of Imriel de la Courcel, and brace herself against it, drawing strength from