Now Denis turned pale. "You're not!"

"I am," Raphael said calmly. "What better way to celebrate his majesty's natality than to introduce him to long-lost kin?"

His companion made a strangled sound. "Jehanne is going to kill you!"

A muscle twitched in Raphael's jaw. "Jehanne," he said with icy precision, "would expect nothing less of me. Don't believe every piece of gossip you hear. You do not know her nearly as well as you think, my friend."

"Do you know," I said to no one in particular, "I would truly have been grateful for a far less complicated destiny, if that's what this is." Both men looked blankly at me. "No mind." I waved my words away. "Raphael, I wanted you to see the gown. But you're not to pay for it. I've a letter of credit."

"I know." He gave me that unexpectedly boyish grin. "I rifled through your belongings, remember?"

"Aye, but—"

"Moirin, let me do this." He toyed with my gown's straps, unobtrusively stroking the skin beneath them. "It helps assuage my conscience for having caused you injury in the first place. Please?"

I couldn't think straight when he touched me. "Oh, fine. Since that's the case, I'm glad you like it."

He kissed me. "Very much. Are you keeping Messire Vallon waiting? I wouldn't advise it."

"All right." I pulled away from him with an effort. "I'll leave you to your mysterious plotting, then, shall I?"

Denis choked.

Raphael merely looked amused. "My dear, if you don't want me to think you sly and uncanny, you've really got to stop eavesdropping." He made a shooing gesture. "Now go! If you earn the enmity of Atelier Favrielle, you'll live to regret it."

I went.

Benoit Vallon was packing his things and looking almighty disgruntled when I returned. It took a good deal of profuse apologizing on my part before he relented and began to unpack them.

"You're young and foreign," he said grudgingly, beginning to help me out of the wonderful bronze gown. "It's his lordship ought to know better."

"He's engaged in mysterious plotting," I informed him.

"Oh?" Benoit's hands went still on the clasp of my collar. "He's a name for meddling in matters he oughtn't," he muttered. "And I don't mean just their majesties' private affairs."

"Magic?" I asked innocently.

He peered into my face. "What would you know of it?" he asked, then thought better of it. "Come to think on it, I'd rather not know." His hands moved briskly, peeling away the gorgeous fabric. "The reputation of your people precedes you."

"Oh?" I stepped out of the gown. "Truth be told, we're quite a peaceable folk."

Benoit folded the gown and snorted.

"'Tis true," I protested. "In the annals of history there is no record of the Maghuin Dhonn going to war, no matter how many times Alba has been invaded. Other follies were committed, yes. Believe me, we are painfully aware of them to this day. But I would ask you not to judge my people based on the actions of one or two of our ancestors."

"You may have a point." He folded away the bronze gown and extended one of fine-spun russet wool worked with intricate trim. "Try this. It's suitable for day wear or even travel, and is based on a very old design created by the atelier's founder, Favrielle no Eglantine herself."

It flowed gracefully.

"And this." A deep green satin with a heart-shaped neckline. Benoit knelt and tacked a few loose, temporary stitches to improve the fit.

In the mirror, I tilted my head this way and that. "If you're so wary of the Maghuin Dhonn, why did you accept this commission?"

He winced. "Must you keep saying that name aloud?"

"It's not bad luck!" I said in exasperation. "That's just a silly superstition put about a thousand years ago when Cinhil Ru claimed the Maghuin Dhonn had slain their own diadh-anam. It was never true. They know better in Alba these days, even if we are not well loved. They've known better since Alais de la Courcel restored the truce between our folk. Even Caroline no Bryony wasn't afraid to say it, and she's the one commended me to you."

"All right, child!" Benoit raised his hands. "I didn't intend to give offense. And I accepted the commission because the couturieres of Atelier Favrielle relish a challenge more than we fear ought else."

"Even bear-witches?" I asked.

His mouth twisted. "So it seems. Truth be told, you're not a particularly fearful specimen, young and naive as you are."

I thought about Cillian's death. "Not so naive, I fear."

Benoit Vallon studied my face. "Not in the ways of life, mayhap, but the D'Angeline Court is another matter. Have you given thought to my advice?"

"I have," I admitted.

He eased the green dress from my shoulders. "But you mean to stay."

"Yes."

"Elua have mercy." Benoit put the dress away. "Are all of the Mag—" He couldn't bring himself to say it. "Are all of your people this stubborn?"

I laughed. "You ought to meet my mother."

He shook his head. "I'll be back in a day's time for the final fitting. You can't say I didn't warn you."

"I won't," I promised.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

By the eve of my debut, the bronze gown was finished and I had two perfectly suitable dresses for daywear, three pairs of shoes, and a variety of undergarments. My calluses had been softened and smoothed, my nails neatly trimmed and buffed to a shine. The ragged ends of my hair had been trimmed and Benoit had taught me three different ways to style it. There was still some tenderness around my ribs, but the lump at the back of my skull was gone altogether and I hadn't felt sick or disoriented for days.

"I mean to go to the Temple of Naamah today," I informed Raphael at the breakfast table.

He hesitated. "Wouldn't you rather wait until after your debut?"

"No." I slathered a piece of bread with peach preserves. "You would rather I wait until after my debut. Mayhap you have lost sight of the fact that I did not come to Terre d'Ange so that you might surprise and dazzle the Court with your exotic protegee. I came to find my father. And wherever he may be, I'd sooner he learned of my existence before the entire City does."

Raphael smiled. "Protegee, is it?"

I shrugged. "Is that not the right word?"

"No, I reckon it's as good as any. Your vocabulary is surprisingly good, and your accent is improving daily."

"Mm-hmm." I took a bite of jam-smeared bread. "And you are changing the subject. I wasn't asking, Raphael. Unless you mean to imprison me, I'm going. With your assistance, I'll go discreetly by carriage. Without it, I'll go on foot."

"No doubt asking directions all the way," he said wryly.

"No doubt," I agreed.

"Oh, fine." Raphael tossed his linen napkin on the table. "I'll take you; of course I'll take you."

"I don't mean to ruin your surprise," I said apologetically. "But this is important to me."

"Of course it is." He hoisted a cup of the bitter Jebean drink called kavah toward me in a toast. "I'm a right ass for not acknowledging it, Moirin, and you're not ruining anything."

"No?"

"No." Raphael sipped his kavah and stretched out his long legs. "Naamah's priests can keep secrets as well as anyone and better than most." He eyed me. "What do you expect of him?"

"My father?" I had no idea. When I'd set out, I'd hoped my father might be able to point me toward my destiny. Now I suspected it lay in the form of the intriguing, somewhat infuriating, and wholly desirable man across the table from me. "Nothing, I suppose. I want to know him, that's all. What's your father like?"

"Dead," he said briefly.

"Oh." I swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right, you couldn't have known." Raphael gave me a bleak smile. "I was young when it happened. A boating accident. It took my mother and father both."

"I'm sorry," I repeated. "How old were you?"

"Eleven." He looked away, remembering.

The space behind my eyes tingled with a strange pressure. I saw a freak storm blowing out of nowhere—a great wave, swamping the pleasure-boat as it returned from Eisheth's sacred isle. Cries and shouting, guards thrashing in the water, stripping off their swords and boots. They were rallying to someone. A white hand sinking below the waves. Still, they rallied.

One pair of arms around me, keeping me afloat. A ragged voice in my ear uttering encouragement.

Only one.

"You were there," I whispered. "Your father tried to save you."

"Yes." Raphael rose abruptly and walked away from the table. "He did save me. The effort cost him his life. How did you know?"

I rubbed my temples. "I saw it."

He didn't turn around. "More magic?"

"I don't know," I murmured. "There's an old woman, Nemed, among us. She can breathe in your memories and swallow them. Once they're gone, they're lost forever. But only if you let her."

Raphael's back was rigid. "Do you reckon she'd take mine?"

I went to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressed my cheek between his shoulder blades. "Who were the guards trying to save?"

"My mother." He drew a long, shuddering breath. "The Lady of Marsilikos. Then, when they lost her, my sister. The heir. Her, they were able to save."

My sister the heir.

The memory of Cillian's voice made me shiver. "The eldest?"

"No." Raphael said softly. "She's younger than me. Eleanore. Nine, when it happened. But Marsilikos was founded by Eisheth herself. From time out of mind, it has been ruled by a Lady. There are no male heirs."

"Oh," I said. "I see."

He turned in my arms, hands rising to take my shoulders in a hard grip. "How did we get here?" His long lashes were damp with tears. "I've never talked to anyone about that day, not even Jehanne. Who are you to draw the very memories from my head?"

"Myself." There was a tremor in my voice. "I don't know, Raphael. It's never happened before. I'm sorry."

"No. No, don't be." He took another deep breath. "It's all right. It's only that it's a bitter memory as well as a hurtful one. If just one of the guards had gone to help my father that day….." Raphael shook his head. "It's not their fault. They had their orders. Still, I cannot help but wonder."

My heart ached for him. "Of course you can't."

"Well." He let go of my shoulders and dashed one hand across his eyes. "Today should be a joyous one for you, Moirin. I'm sorry to cast an unexpected pall over it."

"You're helping me find my father," I said. "Mayhap we might do it in your own father's memory."

Raphael nodded. "That's a kind thought. Thank you."

In the carriage, he was quiet and withdrawn. I left him to his thoughts, not wanting to trouble him further. Although I would have liked to gaze on the City, I kept the curtains closed and instead pondered the mystery of what had transpired between us, wondering if I were on my way to acquiring Nemed's gift. Raphael's memories had been so clear, so vivid. I could feel the boat pitching on its side and the shock of the cold water, its weight dragging at my sodden clothing. Salt in my mouth, terror and disbelief in my heart.

How did one swallow such a thing?

I had no idea.

Somewhat to my surprise, the Temple of Naamah dedicated to star-crossed lovers was in a humble part of the City. It was a graceful little building of white marble set like a pearl in the midst of inelegant wooden residences. I remarked on it to Raphael.

"Oh, yes." He roused himself. "You don't know the story behind it?"

"No."

"You'll like it." He smiled at me. "I'll tell you on the ride home."

There was a woman in the adjacent building stringing laundry on a ramshackle balcony. She barely spared us a glance.

"This is the Tsingani quarter," Raphael said in my ear as we approached the door to the temple. "They don't gossip outside their own circles."

"Lucky for you," I remarked.

"Moirin." On the doorstep, he halted and gave me a serious look. "You don't have to go through with the plans I've made for you. The debut, I mean. My surprise. You're free to do whatever you like. You don't have to indulge me."

I laid my hand on his chest. "Will it please you?"

Raphael covered my hand with his. "That's not important."

"Strangely, I find that it is." I smiled ruefully. "All right. Will her majesty the Queen shriek and snatch at my hair in a fit of jealous rage?"

He laughed. "No. Most assuredly not."

I squeezed his hand against me. "Then I've naught to fear and I may as well please you, since I'm in your debt."

The door to the temple had a knocker in the shape of a plump dove nestled on a perch. Raphael raised it and rapped sharply. My heart leapt into my throat. I wondered if I would recognize my father if he came to the door. Oengus' long-ago words echoed in my memory. Milky-white skin and green, green eyes.