"My lady," I said, struggling against dizziness. "I will remember it."

They laughed and moved on. Gaspar Trevalion in his Eremite's costume shook his mock-bearded head at me. "Delaunay would be proud," he said wryly. "I think."

"Mayhap." Would that Mara's accoutrements included a fan, I thought; I could use a cool breeze. "My lord, the Serenissiman has the right of it, and there is joie to be drunk this night. Will you call upon me before you leave the City of Elua? It would please me greatly to offer you my hospitality ere you return home.”

"I would be honored," Gaspar promised, bowing.

By this time, joie and wine flowed freely and the fête had reached the height of gaiety. I cannot begin to count the number of lords and ladies of the realm with whom I danced, bantered and flirted, nor the number of inquiries, discreet and overt, I received. I heeded the advice I had given Fortun, and made promises to none. It was a good hour before my diligent chevalier found his way back to my side, looking somewhat disheveled for his absence.

"My lady," he greeted me, a touch out of breath. "It seems the interest you incite rubs off on your companions!"

I laughed, and smoothed his rumpled hair. "Whose clutches did you escape, Fortun?"

"A gentleman does not tell," he replied, grinning. "Let me say only that there are some few D'Angeline nobles who think their suits may be heard clearer if I plead for them. They are laying bets on who will be your first patron, my lady."

"Let them," I said with satisfaction. "For now, do you think you might secure us a place at the banquet table?"

"Consider it done."

No formal dinner is served on the Longest Night, but the Queen's table was heaped high at all times and a steady stream of servants came and went, bearing away the empty trays and platters and bringing an endless array of foods. Plates and silver clinked and rattled, gleaming by candlelight, and guests ate and chattered incessantly, lifting wineglasses, dipping fingers in bowls of rosewater to rinse. I dined on pheasant glazed with honey and thyme, so tender and sweet it near melted in my mouth; I daresay Fortun sampled five dishes to my every one. There was a contingent of Cruithne at the table, representatives of Drustan mab Necthana, and we had a lively time conversing once they discovered I was in their midst, for many of them were awkward still with the D'Angeline tongue, and I had not forgotten my sometime role as translator.

It was during one such conversation that the musicians struck up a lively Caerdicci tune, and I felt a presence at my shoulder. Turning, I gazed up to see Severio Stregazza.

"Comtesse." He bowed curtly and extended his hand. "Will you dance?"

"It would be my great pleasure." Taking his hand, I rose gracefully and followed to join him on the dancing floor.

For all that I had boasted of my skill, the Serenissiman led awkwardly, and I was hard put to follow him in such a manner as to conceal it. Still, I managed-we are taught to do no less, in Cereus House. The long nose of his mask bumped against my bare shoulder, and his gaze burned through the eyeholes.

"I heard the King of the Dalriada went to war for one night in your arms," he said abruptly. "Is it true?"

"Yes, my lord." Anticipating a swift turn, I followed. "After a fashion." It was no more and no less than the truth; I did not deem it necessary to mention that Eamonn mac Conor had gone to such lengths out of jealousy of his sister as much as desire for me. Eamonn is dead now, slain on the field of Troyes-le-Mont, and at any rate, he would rather have the latter believed than the former, I think.

"Terre d'Ange is at peace." He steered us through a crowd, then out. "What cost, then, for a Prince of La Serenissima?"

"My lord," I said mildly, raising my head to meet his gaze. "I have set no price, save what Naamah's honor demands. When the Longest Night has passed, I will entertain offers, and we shall see. But this much, I will say." I smiled, and felt his heat rise at it. "Naamah's interests were ever... eclectic. And you are the only Serenissiman prince in attendance upon my debut returning to her service."

Severio's arms, holding me, tensed, though he did naught but nod. When the Caerdicci air was ended, he released me with a stiff bow, and stalked away. I would hear from him. I had no doubt of it.

The pause following the end of the tune stretched into silence, growing slowly apparent to the crowd. The musicians in their mountain grotto took up their instruments and slipped away. One by one, the revelers fell back from the dance floor. In the silence, the tocsin began to beat. The horologists had proclaimed the hour, and Night's Crier made his way through the hall, sounding his brazen gong with a steady beat. I felt a touch at my arm as Fortun joined me, glancing swiftly at me. On the far side of the colonnade, I saw Ysandre de la Courcel, resplendent in her costume as the Snow Queen, surrounded by a coterie of admirers, her gaze fixed on the false mountain.

When the Night's Crier reached its base, he sounded the tocsin one last time.

All at once, darkness fell. There must have been servants at every candle, to snuff them with such utter thoroughness, and where the lamps hung suspended in chandeliers, they lowered rows of silver cones strung on ropes to extinguish them in all swiftness. Only the lamps in the hollow columns continued to glow, and a single lamp above the mountain crag.

With a dreadful, grinding sound, the mountain itself split open to reveal a hollow core, a stair and a promontory; and on it, the Winter Queen, aged and hobbled, bearing her blackthorn staff. I have friends who are players, I know how such things are done. Even so, I gasped. Everyone bowed their heads, even Ysandre; I was hard put not to kneel, the habit deeply ingrained. From the far end of the hall, where the great doors were closed, came a measured pounding of a spear-butt. Once, twice, thrice.

"Let the doors be opened to admit the return of the light!" Ysandre cried imperiously, and the great doors were flung open at her command.

Through them drove a splendid chariot, hung with lamps and drawn by a matched pair of white horses. In it rode the Sun Prince, gloriously garbed in cloth-of-gold, his mask that of a beautiful youth, surrounded by gilded rays. A murmur of awe arose in the hall. Its team moving at an impeccably matched pace, it drew nigh to the foot of the split-open crag. Standing in the chariot, the Sun Prince pointed his gilt spear at the Winter Queen.

She seemed not to move, and yet her garment was riven, falling away to reveal the slender form of a maiden within. In a single, bold gesture, she drew off her aged mask and showed herself to be in the flower of youth, shaking out golden tresses that fell to her waist. And light returned to the hall, tongues of flame snaking up long oil-soaked wicks strung to countless lamps, igniting them all at once. Suddenly, the hall was ablaze in light, seeming twice as bright for the darkness that had preceded it.

We cheered; we all cheered. One cannot help it, at such a time. From the far corners of the hall, the musicians returned, playing with redoubled vigor. The Sun Prince leapt from his chariot, and the Winter Queen, now a Spring Maiden, descended from her mount to join him on the dancing floor. In a trice, they were joined by a dozen couples, and at the corner of the floor, Ysandre's coterie began to break up, vying for the honor of procuring her next glass of joie.

I exhaled a breath I'd not known I held, leaning on Fortun's arm. It was a greater spectacle than the one at Cereus House, which is famed throughout the City, although I daresay they lay no odds on the players in Night's Doorstep. These were professionals, performing at the Queen's behest, with scores of artisans to assist them.

"Shall we dance, my lady?" Fortun inquired.

"And it please you, Comtesse de Montrève," a man's silken voice insinuated, "I would beg that honor."

Turning, I espied my latest suitor clad as Hesperus, the evening star. His doublet and hose were of a deep twilight blue, and over them he wore a surcoat of a deeper blue silk, the shade of encroaching night. For a rarity, the cut was elegant and simple, flattering his well-made form. His coat was adorned with intricate brocade, and in it were set myriad bits of mirror, so that he glimmered with the subtle light of the evening sky, and a silver star mask obscured his features. I knew him by his voice, his grace and his black hair, that fell in a river of fine-linked braids down his back.

"My lord Shahrizai," I said, keeping my voice cool. "Let us do so.”

With an immaculate bow, Marmion Shahrizai escorted me onto the dancing floor.

If I had had a dozen or more partners that night, and I had, not a one approached his skill. One trains as hard to be the perfect courtier as courtesan, I think, and the Shahrizai are without peer. Marmion swept me over the floor, one hand holding mine, one placed with surety low on my back, and I needed no more think to follow his lead than I need think to breathe. Indeed, I heard murmurs of admiration as we passed, for it is in the D'Angeline nature to admire beauty in all its forms. We were well-matched, he and I.

In the scant inches that separated us, it was another matter.

"So tell me," he said, smiling pleasantly, "have you heard from my cousin?"

I smiled back at him, my movements flowing effortlessly with his. "It is strange you should ask, my lord; I was wondering the same about you."

Marmion Shahrizai bent his head tenderly beside mine. "If I heard from Melisande," he murmured in my ear, "the message would likely be delivered at knife-point. But I have been thinking, little Comtesse." He held me at arm's length as we executed a complex series of steps, then drew me in close again as the music slowed. "Someone reached the postern gate unchallenged at Troyes-le-Mont, yes? And who was better trusted and less feared than the Queen's pet anguissette." His expression never changed, smiling down at me. Only I would have caught the cruelty in it. "You have been in league with my cousin from the first, Comtesse; do not think I am blind to it. I assure you," he whispered, his grip tightening on my hand, "I am watching."

It brought me hard against him, my loins pressed firm against his, my breasts brushing his chest, I craned my neck back to gaze at his implacable, smiling star-masked face. "Do you pretend loyalty to the Queen, my lord Shahrizai?" I asked him breathlessly, struggling to match his composure. "I hear you set the fire that killed your sister, lest she reveal the complicity with which you betrayed her."

Marmion's smile hardened and his hand splayed on my back, pressing me harder against him. I could feel his fingertips digging into my flesh, and beneath his breeches, his phallus rising, rigid and pressing against me. His other hand clenched hard on mine, grinding the small bones together. "Do you?" he asked. "I hear a great many things about you, too, Comtesse. I trust not all are slanderous lies, as is this thing you have heard."

Kushiel's Dart strikes where it will; my body betrayed me, yearning toward his. He danced with consummate grace, and no one but I knew that his hips moved with the subtlety of a skilled tribadist, moving against me as his iron grip held me in place. I fought unsuccessfully against the flutter in my loins, the surging warmth. "Lord Shahrizai," I said, my voice taut, "I beg you release me."

"Will you make a scene?" He smiled remorselessly; my left hand was numb from his grip and I moved helplessly against him, rippling with desire. "Or give your signale, perhaps, anguissette? I know all about you, and I am watching. Understand that nothing will come between me and the Queen; not some tattooed barbarian princeling, not my cousin and, surely, not you!"

The musicians ended their air with a flourish, hiding my gasp as Marmion Shahrizai released me, nigh on the verge of climax. He gazed down at me superciliously from behind his mask. "When you think to cross me, little anguissette," he said with amused contempt, "I pray you remember this dance."

"My lord," I said, drawing myself up with difficulty. "The Aeolian harp sounds at each passing breeze, but that does not mean the tune is masterfully played."

A moment's pause, and then he gave a cynical laugh and bowed. "You put a good face on it, anguissette. I should expect nothing less from one of Melisande's creatures, and you are an exceptional one at that." He touched my face lightly in warning. "I have said it once; do not make me say it twice. Whatever game you play, keep it far from me.”

As I watched him take his leave, Fortun made his way to my side once more. "My lady," he asked anxiously, "do you wish me to speak to him?"

"No," I murmured, watching the candlelight diffuse in a thousand shifting points from the Shahrizai's mirrored coat. "Either he's a fool, to overplay his hand thus, or he's more subtle than I credited, to make me think as much. And I rather doubt it is the latter. Let us keep our eye on Lord Marmion Shahrizai, to see what else he may reveal. But for now, I think we must seek our traitor elsewhere." I sighed, my body throbbing with desire unfulfilled. "Fortun, if you care for me, stay at my side the remainder of this Longest Night, and see that I do naught I will regret come dawn."

"I promise," he vowed stoutly.

Somewhat to my dismay, he did.

THIRTEEN

Elua have mercy!" Gemma entered the sitting room staggering under the weight of the parcels and letters she bore. "My lady, how many more ... oh!" A neatly ribboned missive dangling a small, stoppered bottle slid from her grasp and struck the floor. The spicy scent of cloves filled the air as the wax seal cracked and oil leaked from the bottle.

"Never mind," I said absently, setting aside a pile of opened proposals to make room for the latest. "Put them here, thank you."

"You'll need a larger house, at this rate." Ti-Philippe carefully detached the leaking bottle from the letter and placed it upright on the table, licking oil of cloves from his fingers and making a face. "Too strong."