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and hooded, that will keep off the sun’s glare or the night’s chill. Will it suit?”
    “Yes.” I looked at her handiwork and sighed. “Beautifully. How soon can you have it done?”
    “Come back in two days for a final fitting.” She sketched a fine border of embroidery, then looked up at me. The indirect light caught the genuine curiosity in her green eyes, showed plainly the scar tissue that twisted her upper lip. If not for that, Favrielle would have been an adept of Eglantine House, a Servant of Naamah in her own right. “Why Jebe-Barkal?”
    “Because,” I said. “There is somewhat I must do there. It is a debt I owe a friend.”
    “A debt.” She cocked her head, lip curling. “You’re very keen on debts, Comtesse.”
    Anger born of long frustration blossomed within me, and I met her gaze with a level stare. “Mock me if you will, but you are of Eglantine House, Favrielle, and trained there nigh to adept status. You know the art of telling tales as well as that of draping cloth; it was you who told me the story of Naamah’s daughter Mara, the first anguissette . Do you know the tale of how a Tsingano half-breed called the Prince of Travellers became the Master of the Straits?”
    For once, Favrielle nó Eglantine’s regard held something in it that saw me as a fellow mortal being, and not an inconvenience and an unpleasant reminder of an unwanted favor. “I know it,” she said softly. “I have heard it told.”
    “Well.” I ran a length of cloth-of-gold between my fingers. “It is not ended. And that is why I must go to Jebe-Barkal.”
    “So.” She bent over her drawing, adding an unnecessary fillip of embellishment. “Two days. And,” Favrielle looked up, eyes gleaming, “you might pay a visit to the marquist, Comtesse. You’ve need of a good limning.”
    In her own infuriating way, Favrielle was right, of course; ’twas on my list of things to be accomplished ere we departed for La Serenissima. I thought on it with amusement and annoyance as I lay on the limning-table in the marquist’s shop. It was an exquisite torture, the keen, ink-dipped needles piercing my skin, rendering the lines of my marque clean and bold. Whatever claim Kushiel may have on me-and it is a prodigious one-I am Naamah’s Servant too, twice-pledged of my own volition. It would not do to set out on a journey of this magnitude with my marque ill-tended.
    When it was finished, I regarded myself in the mirror of the marquist’s well-heated shop, gazing over my shoulder. It was well done. The black-thorn vine designed by Master Robert Tielhard was immaculate against my fair skin, twining the length of my spine, accented by crimson petals. The marquist bowed, honoring the work more than the wearer. I paid him generously nonetheless. The Marquists’ Guild tithes to the Temple of Naamah. A gift to one was a gift to the other.
    Naamah, I prayed silently, do not forget your Servant.
    There was a good deal more to be done, and much of it dull and prosaic. I met with my factor, Jacques Brenin, to discuss my finances. We agreed on arrangements for the coming year-which is to say, I acceded to his suggestions, which were always good-and he gave me promissory notes for the Banco Tribune in La Serenissima and a money-lending house he knew by repute in Iskandria.
    I paid a visit, by day and sober, to Emile in Night’s Doorstep. To him I gave my heartfelt thanks, and a purse of gold coin, which he made to refuse. “No.” I closed his fingers over the purse. “Keep it, Emile. Half for yourself, or the Didikani of the City if you wish, and half for Kristof, Oszkar’s son. Let it be known that it is out of gratitude, in honor of Hyacinthe, Anasztaizia’s son. I ask nothing in return but silence.”
    “Tsingani do not meddle in gadje affairs,” Emile said automatically, then grinned. “Not those who walk the Lungo Drom , any mind. So you found the missing prince?”
    “I found his trail,” I said. “And I will cross it again, Elua willing. But my duty is done to the best of my ability. It is Hyacinthe’s quest I undertake now.”

Twenty-Six
    On THE following day, I was no less idle, meeting with Audine Davul at the City Academy and listening spellbound as she told me aught that she might of Jebe-Barkal. In my ignorance, I had conceived of it solely as a desert land, like unto the Umaiyyat; but there were mountains, she assured me, and valleys dense with foliage, vast inland lakes and one of the most