Muttering, he subsided into some semblance of acquiescence.

"What if they are worse?" Remy inquired.

"They couldn't be," I answered him dryly.

It may seem at times as if a riddle has been chased to ground, all possibilities exhausted, all avenues of inquiry covered. So it seemed to me that night, but in the morning, a new thought struck me. Thelesis de Mornay, the Queen's Poet, had interviewed many of the survivors of Troyes-le-Mont, taking copious notes for her epic of the Ysandrine Cycle. Mayhap there was somewhat in her notes that might prove useful.

I voiced my suggestion to Joscelin as he came in from his morning's exercises, and he nodded agreement. "It's worth a try, at any rate." He smiled. "I missed her visit, the other day. I'd not mind seeing her."

We arrived at the Palace at midday, and were swiftly granted audience. Thelesis' rooms in the Palace were spacious and well-appointed, with an elegant mural of Eisheth at her harp on the eastern wall and a lovely bronze statue of the Tiberian poet Catiline. For all of that, they were a mess, strewn about with books stacked in teetering piles, carelessly heaped scrolls and half-scratched parchments. Truly, a working poet's quarters.

"Phèdre, Joscelin!" The ink smudged on her cheek took nothing away from her glowing welcome. "I'm pleased you've come. Joscelin Verreuil, let me look at you." Thelesis took his hands, regarding him with pleasure. "You look splendid," she declared. He bent to kiss her cheek. Thelesis de Mornay was one of the few people for whom Joscelin felt unalloyed affection.

"So do you," he said fondly. "I hope you've been keeping well."

"Well enough." Thelesis gestured to her blazing fireplace. "Ysandre makes certain there's no chance of my taking a chill," she said, amused. "It's hot enough for a steam bath in here, most of the time. I hope you don't mind. So tell me, what brings you here?"

I told her, and watched her expression turn keen and thoughtful.

"I took some notes, I remember that much. Ghislain de Somerville was dreadfully upset; his father had entrusted the watch to his command that night."

Joscelin and I exchanged a glance. He shook his head slightly.

"You don't suspect-" Thelesis began, then stopped. "Ghislain. You do."

"I don't want to," I said. "We travelled under Ghislain's command from the banks of the Rhenus to the mountains of Camlach. He could have laughed in my face, when I proposed we offer Isidore d'Aiglemort a chance at redemption, and he didn't. But still."

"Not Ghislain," Joscelin said firmly. "I don't suspect Ghislain."

I shrugged. "What did he tell you?"

Thelesis moved stacks of paper and books, unearthing a bulky folio tied with leather thongs. "I think this is the right one," she said ruefully, glancing at a marking scratched hastily on an upper corner. "This may take a moment."

We sat quiet, waiting while Thelesis de Mornay shuffled through sheaves of parchment.

"If it were verse," she murmured, "I'd have it committed to memory, you know, but I chose in the end to give scant play to Melisande's disappearance ... let her be a footnote in the annals of history, after all, it is better than she deserves ... here it is." Holding her notes at arm's length, she read aloud. " 'And the night passed fair quiet, with the solemnity appropriate to an eve whose dawn brings the execution of a member of D'Angeline peerage. I made my rounds at one bell, and three, and five, and all was quiet. Then with the changing of the guard at dawn, all seven hells broke loose, when Phanuel Buonard made to relieve the guard at the postern gate and found him dead of a knife to the heart. He ran shouting through the lower halls for my father, and I caught him to ask what was the matter. By the time he had told me, half the guard had mustered in the lower quarters, and I had to order many back to their stations. By now, my father had emerged, and assumed command unthinking. He wasted no time in ordering a detachment to the second floor, to Melisande Shahrizai's chamber where she was confined. There, he found her guards slain; one with a dagger to the ribs, and the other with his throat cut. The chamber itself was empty.' " Thelesis cleared her throat and looked up apologetically. "That's all, I'm afraid. It's not much help."

"Nothing we didn't know, at any rate," Joscelin observed.

"That's not true." Pinching the bridge of my nose in thought, I glanced up to meet their surprised gazes. "We know that it didn't happen before five bells. We know that Ghislain commanded the watch that night, and not his father Percy. We know that the death of the gate-keep was discovered before the disappearance of Melisande, and we know the name of the man who discovered it. And we know that the gate-keep and the guards at Melisande's door were not killed in exactly the same manner."

"Phèdre, there are a dozen different killing strikes with a dagger," Joscelin said reasonably.

"Mayhap." I shrugged. "But it is worth noting, nonetheless." I turned to Thelesis. "Thank you, indeed. Was there anyone else you spoke to about that night?"

"No." She shook her head, regretfully. "Would that I had, now. If you'll trust no one else, I still think you should speak to Ysandre."

"I will," I said. "When I know somewhat more."

ELEVEN

1 had learned no more by the day of the Midwinter Masque. It would have to do, for now the time was come to devote my energies unto the Service of Naamah.

Everything was in readiness. My costume and Fortun's attire had been delivered by an Eglantine House courier. After making certain that no final adjustments were wanting, I began my preparations by luxuriating in a hot bath fragrant with scented oil, with half a dozen candles set about to illuminate the wreathing steam.

"Phèdre."

It was Joscelin's voice at the door; I started, splashing water over the edge of the tub. "Come in."

He let himself into the room, closing the door carefully behind him. I leaned my arms on the rim of the tub, looking up curiously. "What is it?"

"I just wanted to see you one last time," he said quietly, kneeling opposite me and taking my hands in his. A rueful smile hovered at the corner of his mouth. "Before the rest of the world did."

"Oh, Joscelin." I squeezed his hands; mine were slippery with water and oil. His face by candlelight was heartbreakingly beautiful. "Can you forgive me, a little anyway?"

"If you can me." He stroked my damp hair. "I love you, you know."

I nodded. "I know. And I you."

"Elua have mercy on us." He rose, and stood looking down at me. "You'll dazzle them. They won't reckon the tenth part of your worth, but you'll dazzle them, Phèdre." Tears Stung my eyes; I'd no reply. After a moment, he gave his faint smile. "I've got to leave now if I'm to be at the Temple of Elua before dark. Naamah hold you in her hands and keep you safe."

Somewhere, I found my voice. "Thank you," I whispered.

With an unwontedly awkward bow, he nodded in return, and left.

I closed my eyes and let myself wallow in the bittersweet pain of it for a moment. At least he had come to see me, and given me his blessing, after a fashion. Naamah's Servant and a Cassiline; Elua have mercy, indeed. But there was too much at stake to linger overlong in the intricacies of my relationship with Joscelin. After a moment, I set it reluctantly aside and emerged from the bath to pat myself dry, calling for Gemma to assist me.

In truth, I could have used a coterie of attendants to make ready for the Masque. Since I didn't have them, I made do. My hair, I twined carelessly atop my head; it would have to wait until the last. First, came the gown.

Finespun as a whispered prayer, the scarlet jersey slithered over my head and fell like water about me, fitted close to the hips and then falling in immaculate folds to sweep the floor. It had a high neckline, rising like a crimson flame to clasp around my throat, belying the daring nature of the low back; and low it was, skimming the very base of my marque.

"Oh, my lady!" Gemma cried, wide-eyed, biting her knuckles.

"Not bad, considering the cost." I surveyed myself in the mirror. "Here." I pointed to the seam along my left side, which gaped open. "This is where you'll need to sew it. Are you sure you're up to the task?"

"Ye ... yes." Her voice trembled, and her fingers shook with nervousness as Gemma endeavored to thread the needle Favrielle no Eglantine had provided. After a minute, I sighed.

"Here, let me-no, wait. Gemma, fetch Remy, will you?"

She brought him in a trice, and he entered grinning, caught sight of me, coughed and promptly tripped over his feet.

"Remy." I eyed him impatiently. "If I remember right, all of Rousse's sailors are handy with a needle and thread, and you in particular, yes?”

"Elua!" He breathed it. "You really do notice everything! What do you need sewn, my lady?"

I told him. His grin grew enormous.

If things had gone otherwise in my life, I reflected, this would have been a very different evening. I could have made a fortune working under Delaunay's patronage; by the time I opened my own salon, I'd have been well settled. I would not have been the Comtesse de Montrève, with most of my monies tied to the welfare of my estate and its inhabitants, begging funds, at the mercy of a surly young clothier for my costume, with a war-seasoned sailor as my chief attendant.

It is a good thing Blessed Elua saw fit to endow me with a sense of humor.

As it happens, Remy did a neat job of it, and when he had finished, the scarlet gown clung to my upper body like it was painted there. That damnable Favrielle was a genius. "Thank you," I said to Remy, dismissing him; he grinned once more, and left chuckling. "Gemma, bring my cosmetics."

I do not use a great deal; I am young enough that it would be vulgar. A hint of kohl to accentuate my eyes, which would be mostly hidden behind the veil, and carmine for my lips. When that was done, I set about styling my hair. One must learn such things, in Cereus House; happily, I had not lost the touch. It took some time, recreating the elaborate coif I'd seen in Favrielle's illustration of Mara, but I was well satisfied when I was done.

The half-veil, I secured with hairpins topped with glittering black jet, and when it was in place, a stranger's face gazed back at me from the mirror. My veiled gaze was lustrous and mysterious, for once not betrayed by the scarlet mote in my left eye. The elaborate coif of my dark hair added an archaic elegance, and my fair skin glowed against the black gauze of the veil. And the gown-I rose, and it swirled around my hips in a crimson glissade.

"I think that will do," I said softly.

"My lady." Gemma held up a tangle of scarlet ribbons. "For your wrists."

I had forgotten, that was the final touch to the costume of Mara; silk ribbons bound about the wrists, hanging gracefully and fluttering. Deft enough now that her nerves had settled, Gemma tied them in place with elegant knots. I caught my breath, feeling them tighten around my wrists. That settled it, then. If there was any truth to old legends, Naamah's child Mara was truly an anguissette. I turned, ribbons trailing, surveying my reflection one last time. From the rear, the entire expanse of my back was bare, ivory skin framed in scarlet silk and bisected by the dramatic black lines and crimson accents of my marque.

"That will do, indeed." It was Fortun's calm, deep voice. He stood leaning in the doorway, surprisingly elegant in black velvet. The bronze key glinted dully on his chest, emblem of Asmodel's calling, and the black domino made his features mysterious. It peaked in twin horns, piercing the dark locks that fell over his brow. "Are you ready, my lady? Ti-Philippe has the carriage waiting."

I drew a deep breath. "I am ready."

He bowed, and held out his arm. "Then let us depart."

Perched in the driver's seat, Ti-Philippe wore an imp's mask shoved high on his forehead, the better to see. When I emerged on Fortun's arm, he gave a sharp whistle and stamped his feet, making the horses skittish.

"Enough," I said, laughing. "You're to be on your best behavior tonight."

"Much like yourself, my lady." With an irrepressible grin, he leapt down to throw open the carriage door. "Though it may mean somewhat different!"

Fortun handed me into the carriage and followed after, and in short order we were on our way.

Unaccountably, I found I was nervous. It had been a long time-two years, exactly-since I had appeared in public in the formal role of a Servant of Naamah. A great deal had happened since Melisande Shahrizai had paraded me before the peers of Kusheth on a velvet lead. Thinking on it, I reached instinctively to touch my throat where her diamond had lain. I had been a slave, an ambassador, and inherited a noble title; what I was about now was a far cry from my days as Delaunay's anguissette, where I had naught to do but that which my own nature dictated and to recount the observations of my faculties to my lord Anafiel Delaunay.

I had no master, no patron to whom to report, and I knew altogether too well the stakes for which I played.

"My lady." Fortun interrupted my thoughts. "There are bound to be inquiries. How do you wish me to handle them?"

He was right, of course; every D'Angeline past the age of five knew what it meant to see a Servant of Naamah bare his or her marque publicly. "Tonight," I said, "is the Longest Night, and I am attending the Queen's Midwinter Masque by her invitation as the Comtesse of Montrève. To conduct business, even Naamah's business, on this night would be unseemly, and you would do well to remind them of that- courteously, of course. As of tomorrow, however, if they wish to propose an assignation, they may send around a courier with a written offer."