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“It may be,” I said. “But Nineveh is a long way from the City of Elua.”

“Where her father is the Royal Commander.”

“Yes,” I said. “He is that.”

There was nothing childish about Imriel’s face as he considered it.

“House L’Envers will not be pleased with the Queen’s decision. And they are powerful.”

“Not more powerful than the Queen,” I said.

He bent his head and fiddled with the pouch at his belt, his voice nearly inaudible. “You said you wouldn’t leave me.”

“Nor would I,” I said gently, touching his arm. “Imri, listen to me. You have strong feelings for Joscelin and me because we found you in the worst of all possible places.”

“No.” Imriel lifted his head, his expression desperate and stubborn. “You didn’t
find
me. You came and
got
me. When the queen’s men did not dare, when the Lugal of Kebbel-im-Akkad did not dare-
you
did! Other nobles foster their children, I know that! Why couldn’t I be fostered with you and Joscelin? Because the queen is angry? Because…” his voice faltered, “… because you don’t want me? I’ve caused you trouble, I know-”

“
No
!” The word came out sharper and more harsh than I intended. I sighed and ran a hand through my wind-disheveled locks. I was making a mess of this conversation. “Imriel. We love you dearly, Joscelin and I both. If it were only that… Elua! We would adopt you in a heartbeat.”

He looked at me with the terrible hunger only an abandoned child can muster. So be it, then. I couldn’t bear to leave him in anguish. But I had to be certain. “You remember how you hated me in Daršanga?” I asked him.

Imriel nodded.

“And how the way I was frightened you, after Saba?”

He nodded again.

“Well.” I drew a shuddering breath. “It’s part of who I am, Imri; of
what
I am. And that … that will never change, while I live. The manner of it may, but the nature remains the same. I am an
anguissette
, Kushiel’s Chosen. Some of the worst things you have endured … those are things I have known freely, of my own will. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” he murmured.

“You’ve Kushiel’s blood in your own veins.” I took one of his hands in mine and turned it over, showing him the blue veins that coursed in his fine wrist. “One day, you will know it. And it will make matters more difficult.”

“No!” He snatched his hand away. “Never! I am not like that. Like
him
.” His face contorted with loathing. “Like
her
.”

Like the Mahrkagir.

Like his mother.

“No,” I said, “you’re not. You are your own. But you’re half-Kusheline, Imriel, of one of the oldest and purest bloodlines in the realm. And betimes it will out. Betimes you will despise me, as you did in Daršanga. There was nothing said of me there that was not true. And betimes you may despise Joscelin, who knows it, and chooses to remain. It is a great mystery, Kushiel’s mercy. The part I understand is the part that
yields
. Your birthright is the other part.”

His face worked. “I don’t want it. I don’t! Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it is true,” I said softly. “And these are things you need to know if it is your wish, truly your wish, to be adopted into my household.”

Imriel caught his breath; not daring to breathe, not daring to hope. I knew that feeling too well. “Do you mean it?” The words emerged in a breathless rush.

I nodded. “It won’t be easy,” I said. “Even if my plan works, and I’m not wholly sure it will, Joscelin and I are going to be in considerable disfavor. But if it means keeping you with us, it will be worth it, love. And that much I can promise. You see, the Queen owes me a favor. A very large favor-”

And that was all I got out before Imriel flung himself on me, his arms in a stranglehold about my neck. All I could do was hold him, not understanding a word of the incomprehensible syllables he gasped into my hair. All the fears I had, all the pitfalls I saw ahead as he grew to manhood-they measured as nothing next to this. All I could do was hold him hard and blink ineffectually at the tears that stung my eyes.

“What did I miss? Has someone died?”

It was Joscelin, emerged at last from his bout of seasickness, standing on the deck and regarding us with perplexity. Imriel relinquished his grip on me to greet Joscelin with a wordless shout of joy, taking a standing leap into his arms. Joscelin caught him and staggered.

“I take it you told him,” he said to me over Imriel’s head.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well.” Joscelin bent his head to kiss Imriel’s cheek. “I hope you don’t think it’s
always
going to be this exciting in our household, love.”

And Imriel, overwrought, burst into tears.

It took some time to calm him, and more time to explain the procedures that must needs occur for the adoption to take place. It did not mean, I told him sternly, that he would no longer be a member of House Courcel. If he wished, when he gained his majority at the age of eighteen, he had the right to repudiate his House, although I did not think he would or should. We both of us, I said, stressing the fact, expected him to acknowledge his lineage and become acquainted with his kin and heritage. When his presence was requested at the Palace, we would comply. Whatever terms Ysandre de la Courcel dictated on that score, we would accede to on Imriel’s behalf.

“But I can live with you?” Imri asked.

“Yes,” I said, my heart swelling absurdly. “You can.”

After his first delirious reaction had passed, Imriel settled into calmness. He glowed, though. He glowed with a solemn and private joy. I watched him aboard the ship, and how the sailors taught him their craft willingly, how the other passengers-merchants, for the most part-smiled as he passed. A deep, abiding fear had eased in him, a reserve that held itself half-flinching, prepared for a blow, ready to surface at a harsh word, a hint of cruelty.

“We did well,” Joscelin murmured, his arm about my shoulders.

“I know,” I said.

“It won’t be easy.”

“I know.” Elua knew, it wouldn’t.

“We’ll make it work.” Joscelin turned me to face him. “We always do.”

“I know,” I said for the third time, and kissed him. “I know.”

There was a good deal more to be discussed before we reached the harbor of La Serenissima, and that we did. Imriel listened gravely to my plan and nodded his consent. I was not worried about his discretion. He had kept silent about the rebellion in Daršanga and given naught away. After that, this was easy.

Except that it involved Melisande.

So we sailed north, and the winds grew cold and cutting, the sea choppy and grey, fraught with unexpected storms. The passengers took to their berths as we sailed northward up the Caerdicci coast, drawing ever nearer to La Serenissima.

We reached La Dolorosa, the black isle. Joscelin and I stood on deck as the ship sailed past it. It is all very different, now. The fortress where I was imprisoned stands abandoned and crumbling, and the sailors whistled absentmindedly as we passed, going about their business as they acknowledged the goddess Asherat’s awesome grief for her slain son out of habit rather than fear. They tell stories about it still; I know, I have heard them. I am a part of them. This time, no one who would remember noticed, for which I was grateful.

A fraying length of hempen rope, supporting fragments of wooden planks bleached silver-grey with salt spray and time, still twisted in the wind, banging against the basalt cliffs. It had been a bridge, once, swaying over the dangerous sea and crags below. We had crossed that bridge, both of us. I walking it, Melisande’s prisoner. And he … he, crawling beneath it, inch by torturous inch.

Joscelin reached for my hand and our fingers entwined as we watched La Dolorosa pass.

There were things we spared Imriel, and that was one of them. He had reason enough to hate his mother already; he had no need of ours. My imprisonment in La Dolorosa, the cruel slaying of my loyal chevaliers Fortun and Remy … these things were not secret, and doubtless he would learn them, in time. Now was too soon.

It is always too soon, with children.

“The Spear of Bellonus!” called the sharp-eyed lookout, sighting the landmark. “La Serenissima lies ahead!”

And it was so.

We entered La Serenissima.

Eighty-Six

CESARE STREGAZZA, the ancient Doge, was dead.

It was not a surprise, since he had already outlived expectations by ten years. What was surprising was that his son Ricciardo had not succeeded him.

“Oh, I daresay he
could
have,” his wife Allegra told us after welcoming us to Villa Gaudio with a dozen questions in her gaze, and too much courtesy to ask them. “But it would have been an ugly election, and a divisive one. Sestieri Navis holds a good deal of sway in the city, and after Lorenzo Pescaro concluded such a lucrative deal with the Commander of the Illyrian Merchant Fleet, his supporters doubled. In the end, Ricciardo decided he was content to continue sitting on the Consiglio Maggiore and representing the Scholae. It’s all he ever really wanted, anyway.”

“The Illyrian Merchant Fleet?” I asked. “The trade restrictions have been lifted?”

Allegra nodded. “Completely, as of this past spring. The Ban of Illyria immediately appointed a Commander and gave him a great deal of autonomy. A clever fellow, they say, and a bold one. Seems there’s been a cessation of piracy since his appointment.”

“Not…” I looked at her sparkling eyes. “No!”

“Kazan Atrabiades?” Allegra laughed at my expression. “Indeed, the very same. I see you remember him, my dear.”

In such a manner did we renew our acquaintance and Allegra shared such news as she had heard from Terre d’Ange, none of which, to my relief, was noteworthy. It was not until evening, after we had dined and Imriel had been installed in a bed in one of the villa’s many guest rooms, that the discussion turned to our purpose here.

“You must be wondering-” I began.

“Phèdre.” Allegra cut me short. “Twelve years ago, your warning saved Ricciardo’s life. If not for that…” She shook her head. “We are in your debt. If Ricciardo were here, he would say the same. Whatever aid you require is yours. I don’t need to know your purpose.”

“I think you do, my lady,” Joscelin said quietly. “We’ve incurred the Queen’s displeasure, and she may not look favorably on those who aid us.”

Allegra Stregazza shrugged. “When has Ysandre de la Courcel ever looked
favorably
on the Stregazza? Not that we haven’t given her ample reason. But Terre d’Ange wields less influence in La Serenissima than once it did, and Ysandre has a name for being fair. I do not think we need fear her displeasure for repaying a debt of honor.”

“Nonetheless,” I said. “Joscelin’s right. And if anything goes awry, better you should know, Allegra.”

She glanced toward the marble stair leading to the upper floors of the villa. “It’s about the boy, isn’t it? He’s Prince Benedicte’s son.”

“You knew?”

“Only because Ricciardo saw his mother unveiled in the Temple of Asherat when you … interrupted … the ceremony of investiture. He described her to me.” She smiled faintly. “He said it was as well women’s beauty held little sway over him, or he would have feared her even more than he did. I have that, at least, to be thankful for. Are you …” Allegra hesitated, “… are you planning to return him to her?”

“No!” Joscelin and I said in unison.

“Asherat be praised.” She sighed. “I was afraid to ask.”

We told her, then, something of our plan, and the adventures that had befallen us since we left La Serenissima a year and more ago to pursue the Name of God in Menekhet. A shortened version, to be sure, but enough to widen her eyes. There are few people in my life I trust implicitly. Allegra Stregazza was not one of them, but she came very close to it.

“You’re right to fear Melisande’s influence,” she said somberly when we had finished. “Cesare never did, and Lorenzo Pescaro … well, his interest lies in ships and trade, and little else. No one knows what truly passes in the Temple of Asherat-of-the-Sea; no one except the priestesses and eunuchs, and they’re a close-mouthed lot. But I have heard rumors, this year past. You know I continue to work with the Courtesans’ Scholae? They hear things no one else does, though I suppose I don’t need to tell you that, my dear.”

“Rumors?” I inquired.

A servant entered the room to replenish our glasses of rich Caerdicci red. After months without, it was a luxury beyond words to drink good wine. Allegra thanked him graciously, waiting until he left. “Rumors,” she said, then. “Of a secret cult of worship.”

“Of
Melisande
?” My voice cracked.

Joscelin merely swore.

“She took the Veil of Asherat the minute she entered La Serenissima,” Allegra said. “She claimed sanctuary and has endured exile in the Temple without complaint for twelve years. She is a mother bereaved. And though few have seen her face, her beauty is renowned. It takes little more to spark the beginnings of a legend.”

“She is also,” I observed, “a convicted traitor condemned to execution.”

“So Terre d’Ange claims. It is easy for people to disbelieve, here. Whatever allegations have been made of her, nothing was proved in La Serenissima.” Allegra’s expression was grave. “They are rumors, nothing more. But you are right to fear.”

“Wonderful,” Joscelin said sourly, putting his head in his hands. “So now we worry that some Serenissiman fanatic will declare Melisande Shahrizai the living avatar of Asherat-of-the-Sea and set out on a holy mission to destroy her enemies?”

“No, love.” I smiled at him. “That’s why you and I are here.”

We talked long into the night, the three of us, and Allegra agreed to the arrangements I requested. I slept poorly and woke early, spending my time composing a reply to Melisande’s letter. It wasn’t easy. In the end, I kept it simple and to the point.

Swear to me in Kushiel’s name that I will have no cause to regret it and you shall see your son
.

Summoned by Allegra, Ricciardo Stregazza arrived at Villa Gaudio that morning, and we went through the entire story again. This time, Imriel was present for it, listening with his eyes shadowed and wary, pained at the living reminders of his parents’ treason. Not until Ricciardo and Allegra’s son Lucio, now sixteen and filled with good-natured manful pride, took Imri to the stables to choose a mount of his own did his spirits lighten.