Kushiel's Mercy

and threw it back to the Court of Assizes. Let the Chancellor make of it what he will. If Le Blanc persists, his silver-tongued advocate can pitch his suit to my mother and find out how well she enjoys having her time wasted.”
    I frowned. “It is odd, though.”
    “Yes,” Sidonie said. “It is.”
    Baron Jean Le Blanc never did get his hearing and his suit was withdrawn for reasons that were never made clear. Still, rumor circulated in its wake. My detractors whispered that it was proof that I was exerting undue influence over Sidonie.
    It troubled her, and me too, although mostly for her sake. In many ways, we were still coming to know one another as adults. If I’d learned nothing else about Sidonie, I knew for a surety that she had a keen sense of justice and a determined adherence to the rule of law, instilled in her by both parents, amplified by her own sensibilities.
    As much as I loathed to mark the passage of time, I was almost glad when the autumn days turned to winter, shortening, and the Longest Night drew nigh.
    It was a time of license and sheer revelry, and although it had its roots in a tradition older than the coming of Blessed Elua, it was one D’Angelines had adopted wholeheartedly.
    It was sacred.
    It was joyous, too.
    For me it held a special significance. Three years ago, on the Longest Night, I had kissed Sidonie for the first time. It had all begun in earnest that night. I still shuddered at the memory of her gold-masked face lifting toward mine, our lips meeting. My Sun Princess.
    The next year, the next Longest Night, I’d passed in Alba. I’d knelt in the snow, keeping Elua’s vigil. That was the night Dorelei had finally surmised to whom my heart belonged.
    The following year . . . that, I’d passed in Vralia, hunting Berlik. I’d no idea when it had fallen, not for sure. It might have been the night I killed him, or it might have fallen afterward.
    This would be our first time together, truly together.
    “Night and Day,” Favrielle nó Eglantine pronounced. “I see no other choice.”
    “No?” Sidonie asked mildly. “After all, I’ve already—”
    The couturiere’s eyes narrowed. “None.” Snapping her fingers, she uttered an order to one of her assistants. “Bring the fabric.”
    It was gorgeous beyond all expectation. One bolt was black velvet, a black so dense it seemed to absorb light. The other was silk. It was a pale gold hue, almost white, like the radiance of the sun at high noon; but to describe it thus does it no justice. It flowed like liquid sunlight, shimmering with its own inner brilliance. Favrielle handled it with reverence.
    “I discovered this in the stores of Eglantine House when I was fourteen,” she said. “No one ever dared use it. When I first had my own salon, I nearly beggared myself to buy it.”
    She smiled wryly. “And then I never dared use it.”
    “It’s beautiful,” I said sincerely.
    Favrielle held up a length. “It is the essence of daylight itself.” She sniffed. “Not some tawdry cloth-of-gold.” She shot a challenging glance at Sidonie, who hid a smile.
    “It’s remarkable,” Sidonie said. “Truly.”
    “I thought, mayhap, one day Joscelin Verreuil would consent to attend the Queen’s fête with Phèdre instead of keeping Elua’s vigil,” Favrielle mused. “I would have done it for them. But you’ll do, the two of you.”
    I kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Favrielle.”
    She glowered at me. “Go away, now.”
    The days grew short; the nights grew long. In the salon of Favrielle nó Eglantine, seamstresses sewed feverishly. Our costumes took shape.
    Night and Day.
    Our fittings were held separately. I didn’t see Sidonie’s costume until the Longest Night.
    Mine was exquisitely simple: breeches and a doublet of unadorned black velvet, flat and fathomless. One of Favrielle’s endlessly patient assistants spent hours brushing my hair and tying hundreds of tiny crystal beads into it. When she was done, it fell over my shoulders like a cloak of the night sky itself.
    “Perfection,” she said, tying my mask in place. It was a simple domino of muted silver, a crescent moon rising like horns on my brow.
    When at last I saw Sidonie, it took my breath away. I’d dressed in my own quarters. Her guards came to fetch me that we might enter the ballroom together. All I could do was stare at her.
    It was simple, too—and subtle, infinitely more subtle than the Sun Princess costume. The pale silk glowed with soft