"No," Phèdre murmured. "She doesn't."

The letter vanished. I swallowed my impatience and forced myself to circulate, making polite conversation. If I found no chance to speak to Phèdre in private, I did catch a quiet word with Alais. If Talorcan was here to court her, he was in no hurry to do it; but then, Drustan would have advised him to be subtle.

"So?" I asked her. "What do you think thus far?"

She shrugged. "He's nice enough," she said noncommitally. Her face brightened. "I like Dorelei, though. I like her laugh. Do you remember, Imri, I dreamed it, once; that you and I were truly brother and sister. That would be nice, wouldn't it?"

I opened my mouth to reply, and caught sight of Sidonie across the room. As though I had called her name, she met my gaze. Her brows, the exact same shape as mine, creased into a helpless frown. I felt anew the strange flutter in my chest; the ache of something missing.

"I don't know, villain," I said slowly. "You dreamed I'd meet a man with two faces, too. And that hasn't happened yet."

"Stop calling me that!" Alais followed my gaze; her voice rose, incredulous. "Sidonie?"

"No." I shook myself. "Look, Alais… this sister, Dorelei. Did you know about this?"

"Of course not!" She scowled at me. "I'd have told you if I did. Do you trust me so little as that?"

"No." I touched her hair. "I'm sorry, love. This is just… unexpected."

"I do dream true dreams." Her jaw set. "And you haven't even asked after Celeste."

I knelt humbly before her. "Forgive me. How is she?"

"Well enough." Her face softened. "You saved her, Imri."

"That's me." I stood lightly. "Savior of dogs, defender against deer. A right and proper hero of the realm."

"Yes." Alais regarded me. "That's you."

Though it seemed endless, in time, the Queen and Cruarch dismissed us. The carriage-ride to the townhouse was fraught with silence. Joscelin and I exchanged glances, both of us silent and wondering.

"Well?" he said at length. "Do you mean to divulge, love?"

Phèdre's gaze rested gently on me. "You can guess as well as I. If this is some machination of Ysandre's, she's not taken me into her confidence."

"What about the letter?" I asked bluntly. "What's that about?"

"Bérèngere's letter." She smiled, absentminded and distant. "Do you know, she was an acolyte when I was first dedicated to Naamah's Service. I remember. I knew her later, when she rose to head Naamah's Temple here in the City. We worked together, she and I. And now she's the head of the order." Phèdre touched her bodice, where the letter was concealed. "I've no idea what it contains," she said. "I've not read it yet."

Joscelin eyed her, wry and knowing. "Oh, you've plenty of ideas."

She leaned forward to kiss him. "A few."

We returned to the townhouse, where Phèdre cracked the seal on Bérèngere's letter and read it. She tossed it silently onto the low table. Joscelin read it, and I read it after him.

Both of us swore.

"What do you mean to do?" Joscelin asked her.

Phèdre shook her head. "It's not my decision," she said. "Imriel's of age. It's his choice to make."

I was angry, angry enough that it was hard to think. I paced the room in a fury. "I'll challenge him," I spat. "On his honor, what little he's got of it!"

"Or," Phèdre said mildly, "you could speak to Ysandre."

"Ysandre!" I laughed. "For all we know, this is her doing!"

"No." Something adamant surfaced in her gaze. "The other, mayhap. Not this."

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to dispel the image of Barquiel L'Envers pleading for mercy at the point of my blade. "All right." I pressed the heels of my hands against my lids. "All right. I'll speak to the Queen."

"Wise choice," Joscelin murmured.

"Will you come with me?" I lowered my hands. "I'd rather not do this without counsel."

Phèdre nodded. "Of course."

On the morrow, Ysandre met with us in her private chambers, rearranging her schedule with alacrity to accommodate our request. I daresay she thought she knew what it was regarding. Drustan was there, too; no one else, not even a guard. Two days ago, that indicator of her trust would have cheered me. Today, I was still too furious to care.

She saw the anger in my face and confronted it in a straightforward manner. "Imriel, hear me out. No doubt you've guessed that we wished for you to meet Talorcan's sister, Dorelei mab Breidaia. Before you leap to conclusions in this matter, Drustan and I would like you to hear our thoughts—"

I handed her the letter that implicated Duc Barquiel L'Envers in a plot to bring suspicion of treason against me. "Read this."

Ysandre stared blankly at me, too astonished by my tone to take offense at it.

"My lady." Phèdre sounded apologetic. "I think you should."

She did. I watched her face turn pale as she read. When she finished, she set the letter aside and sighed. "Barquiel."

"What has he done?" Drustan asked.

"He tried to make me out a traitor," I said grimly. "Did a good job of it, too."

The Cruarch looked unwontedly perplexed. "I don't understand."

"The letter is from Bérèngere of Namarre, my lord," Phèdre said. "The head of Naamah's Order. I asked her aid. Five days ago, a courtesan in the city of Valtrice reported an assignation with a young man who boasted of a dangerous task he performed for his lord. He is a member of Duc Barquiel's household."

"Are you sure?" Drustan frowned. "A dangerous task could be many things."

"The lad had a loose tongue. There are details." Ysandre picked up the letter with distaste and passed it to him. "How did you know?" she asked Phèdre.

"I didn't," she said. "But I knew he was Namarrese, and young. And I know where young men are apt to spend coin they've come into suddenly. It was worth a try."

Ysandre rubbed her temples. "Name of Elua! Why? What possessed my uncle?"

"Sport, mayhap," I said sourly. "No doubt he's had a good laugh watching my friends turn against me."

"Oh, he's more cunning than that." Phèdre turned to Ysandre. "My lady, tell us honestly. What lies behind the presence of the Cruarch's niece here at Court?"

"I will answer." Drustan glanced at his wife, then set his shoulders and looked straight at me. "The idea was mine. You are aware of the difficult matter of succession in Alba?" he asked. I nodded. Drustan rested his hands on his knees, his eyes somber in his blue-masked face. "Imriel, I will be truthful. If I were to follow my own heart and Ysandre's wishes, I would name Alais my heir. But it is not worth the cost. We have gone to war once over this issue. I have gone to war over it. Since I became a father, my heart has changed. Even so, I cannot, in good conscience, change my stance and put my country through it again. Can you understand this?"

"Yes, my lord," I said. "Alais and I have spoken of it."

He smiled a little. "Ah, she's a clever lass! And she'd be a fine Cruarch. But…" He shook his head. "My people want Talorcan. And he's a good lad, my sister-son, with a level head on his shoulders. If Alais consents to wed him, she will rule at his side one day."

I nodded again. "But their children wouldn't stand to inherit. That's it, isn't it?"

"Yes." His gaze softened. "Talorcan would name his own sister-son his heir."

"Imriel." Ysandre leaned forward. "After all you have endured, I will place no demands upon you. I do not ask this thing, only that you consider it. We have fought"—she glanced around at Drustan, Phèdre, and Joscelin—"we have all fought so very hard for this bond between our nations. It has brought peace and prosperity to all of us, and it galls my heart to think of losing it."

"You want me to wed Dorelei," I said.

She spread her hands. "It would keep the peace. It would placate those who insist Terre d'Ange must maintain an equitable foothold in Alba."

"You mean those who murmur against your heir," I whispered. "Your Cruithne half-breed heir."

Ysandre didn't flinch. "Yes."

"Your children would inherit Alba," Drustan said quietly.

I felt like crying, but I was a man grown; instead, I laughed, wild and uncontrolled. It was what I had guessed, what I had suspected from the first moment I beheld Drustan's niece. Still, it was somewhat else to have it stated and confirmed, spoken aloud. "Ah, Elua!" I gasped. "That would amuse my absent mother, wouldn't it? What a fine twist she would think it!"

"Ysandre." Phèdre's cool, thoughtful voice intervened. "Did Barquiel L'Envers know of this plan?"

The Queen looked away. "He knew."

"Then I suspect you have your answer." Phèdre folded her hands before her. Her eyes were clear and grave. Joscelin stood at her side, silent. He didn't need to speak. His scars, his battered vambraces, the grip-worn hilt of his longsword over his shoulder were testimony enough. "Your uncle the Duc thought to give Imriel a bit of added incentive to accept your proposal and leave the shores of Terre d'Ange behind him. Barquiel cares naught for Alba, but he would very much like to see the last of Imriel." She smiled sadly. "My lady, why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you would oppose it." Ysandre met her gaze. "Would you?"

"No," Phèdre said. "I would have let Imri choose. It's what I promised."

I thought about the diamond lying in her palm, its facets sparkling in the sunlight. The note that accompanied it. I keep my promises. For the first time, I felt less than ashamed at being my mother's son. At least there was a measure of honesty in it.

"What do you chose, Imriel?" Ysandre asked me.

"I don't know." I faced her squarely. "I need to think."

She nodded. "That's fair. I ask nothing, only that you think on it."

"What about Duc Barquiel?" I asked, my voice hard. "You know, now, what he has done. What penalty for him?"

Ysandre looked weary. "If you wish, you may bring a case against him in Parliament. I can tell you what he will say. He will claim it an ill-conceived jest at your expense, and nothing more. I tell you truthfully, it is best dealt with in private." She sighed. "Let me keep the letter. I will ask him to step down from command of the Royal Army. Will that suffice?"

"Oh, he'd hate that." Joscelin grinned.

I thought about the suspicion in Bertran's eyes, the way former friends avoided me at Court. "It's not enough," I said. "Barquiel L'Envers smeared my name with treason. I want a public apology from him."

"You won't get it." The Queen's voice was candid. "I know my uncle, and he doesn't bend easily. This"—she waved the letter—"this is insufficiently damning. It's third-hand innuendo from a source admittedly biased toward Phèdre nó Delaunay."

"Then we'll find Barquiel's man," I said. "And make him testify."

"You might," Ysandre said. "Or Barquiel might put him out of reach, or worse. Do you think he doesn't keep a watch posted over his estates? One move from House Montrève in that direction, and I wouldn't give a fig for the man's chances."

My blood ran cold. "So you'd just condone this? Let him get away with it?"

"That's not what I said." Her eyes flashed. "Name of Elua! Imriel, he slandered you. It's unpleasant and underhanded, but it's not a crime against the realm. If you pit yourself against him openly, you will earn his outright enmity. I do not want House Courcel torn apart over this. Use your head," she said grimly. "Barquiel will acquiesce if I reckon with him privately. He won't want to force my hand. And I will make a public proclamation that our investigation has proved you to be the butt of an unfriendly jest by unknown persons. Such is my offer."

I glanced at Phèdre, who looked troubled. "What do you think?"

She addressed Ysandre instead of answering me. "My lady, are you scared of him?"

"Of Barquiel?" The Queen's lids flickered slightly. "Of course not."

It was one of the tell-tales of a lie. Because of what Phèdre had taught me, I knew it. With an effort, I stepped away from my anger and stood outside myself, regarding Queen Ysandre. I beheld a woman who had been thrust into the role of greatness unprepared, who had faced tremendous challenges, who had fought long and hard with all the courage of her convictions to do what was best for her realm.

But the Ysandre de la Courcel who had ridden fearlessly between the ranks of a rebellious army was not the woman who sat the throne today. The burden of the Crown had taken a long, exhausting toll. She was afraid—afraid for her daughters, afraid for the future of relations between Terre d'Ange and Alba, afraid of what her ruthless uncle Barquiel L'Envers would do if openly provoked.

Afraid for me.

I sighed and wished I had seen less. And I thought about my oath to Sidonie, and what it would do to her if I forced House Courcel into schism—and to Alais, the one member of my kin who had always trusted me unreservedly.