"You grew those?" I asked. "They're lovely."

She blushed. "My mother had some skill with plants. I wish I had more time."

As they moved on ahead of us, Joscelin and I exchanged glances behind their backs. For once, he looked as bewildered as I felt, and I was glad of it.

Inside, the villa was both elegant and comfortable, airy, sunlit spaces offsetting the dark weight of the gilt-trimmed wooden furnishings. A few Akkadian rags and bowls of blooming roses added a note of color. We had, indeed, a very fine luncheon. The children were allowed to dine with us and took on the guest-duties of serving Joscelin and me with a charming, well-coached solemnity. It was all very much as one might find at the country estate of a noble-born D'Angeline family.

Our hosts made light conversation, but 'twas never dull. I found Ricciardo surprisingly well-informed regarding poetry, and we discussed in detail the latest verses of Thelesis de Mornay's Ysandrine Cycle. Allegra, in turn, was keenly interested in the role of education in D'Angeline society, and I realized in short order that Allegra Stregazza was one of those rare Serenissiman noblewomen trained to read and write. The invitation had been written by her own hand. All of them were fascinated to learn of the ten-year regimen of training the Cassiline Brethren underwent, which Joscelin obligingly described. When we had done, the children were dismissed unto the custody of their nursemaid, leaving us with a hastily bobbed bow and curtsy and beaming approval on the part of the parents.

It was, on the whole, a delightful performance-and I did not think it was only that. There was genuine affection and respect between Ricciardo and Allegra, and an abiding warmth for their children. But he was the Doge's son, and I was not naive enough to believe that this pleasant visit was not about politics.

So it proved, over a dessert cordial. Ricciardo toasted our health, then spoke bluntly. "My lady Phèdre." He set down his glass. "Please do not take it amiss when I say I know who and what you are. I didn't recognize the name when we met, but I remembered it later, from the Ysandrine Cycle. I say this not to embarrass you, because I think in your own land you must be reckoned a heroine, and I admire that, as I do many things about Terre d'Ange, but because I know my brother. Whatever he may have promised you, no matter what the religious significance in your homeland, Marco Stregazza will not let his son marry a courtesan."

I did not protest that I had no desire to do so, but said instead, "Severio thinks he will." To his credit, Joscelin made no comment.

"Severio." Ricciardo grimaced. "Severio has done no more than dip a toe in the bottomless pool of intrigue that is his birthright. He's not a bad lad, though he can be short-tempered and cruel. Less so, I hear, since meeting you, for which I owe you thanks. Nonetheless, he doesn't know the tenth part of his father's schemes."

I raised my eyebrows. "He seems to know a tenth part of yours. And he actually has a good grasp of what a strike by the salt-panners could do to La Serenissima."

"Does he?" Ricciardo paused, startled. "Well, if he knows that much, I wish he could see that the Consiglio is breaking the back of the workers and tradesfolk who support them with these damnable taxes, all to build this glorious navy." He shook his head, adding bitterly, "But I suppose he believes his mother and father, who tell him that his uncle is rousing the Scholae in a desperate bid for political gain.”

"It's plain folly!" Allegra said indignantly. "Anyone with half a wit to study the annals can see that the Consiglio Maggiore has never elected a Doge from Sestieri Scholae. If all Ricciardo wanted was gain, why he'd, he'd be better off courting Sestieri Angelus' vote!" She blushed at her own words, but her expression remained no less indignant.

"Marie-Celeste said you have no love for the Little Court," I said neutrally to Ricciardo.

"My sister-in-law doesn't know a damned thing about it!" His eyes flashed. "Yes, I sided with my family, out of respect for my father. I think Benedicte was wrong, blaming the entire Stregazza line for the treachery of Dominic and Thérèse. And I think he was wrong to set the son of this second marriage above his firstborn children, especially knowing that Marie-Celeste may inherit naught of his holdings in La Serenissima. But if she hadn't been so suspicious, if she hadn't reacted like such a termagant..." He sighed, gathering his composure. "Comtesse, your Prince Benedicte languished twenty years in a loveless marriage, sold into the bonds of political matrimony by his brother Ganelon. When Maria Stregazza died, he mourned her as much as was seemly. But now he is an old man with an adoring young bride, a refugee from his beloved homeland, who has given him a son. I believe he declared this infant Imriel his heir out of sheer exuberance, with no thought for his actions. Given time and a tactful approach, he would doubtless revise his words and divide his territories between children. If my father would only see reason, he would send a suitable emissary to Prince Benedicte and resolve this foolish quarrel."

"Such as yourself?" I inquired.

Ricciardo shrugged. "I have friends, still, among the Little Court. I think Benedicte would listen to me. It is my father who will not." He looked at me. "I trast Marco and Marie-Celeste told you there was a scandal."

"Yes." I glanced at Allegra, but she was watching her husband, compassion on her face.

"Yes, well." Ricciardo's mouth twisted. "You may as well know it. My father gave me the task of entertaining the son of a D'Angeline ambassador from the Little Court. I was caught out at performing my duty rather too well, and my father has held me in contempt ever since, no matter how hard I labor to win his admiration." He let his eyes close briefly, and said, "Yes. I know what you're wondering. The youth was of age, and willing. I'm not that much a fool; but fool enough."

"I'm sorry, my lord," I said politely, not knowing what else to say. Ricciardo's eyes snapped open, his gaze sharp and canny once more.

"I tell you so that you know," he said, "what my family is capable of, and how little they will bend on certain matters. My brother dangles Severio before you as bait, but once he has whatever he's asked of you-and I know him, there's somewhat he wants-he'll snatch his son away and leave you gaping."

"And he'll turn you to his own purposes if he may," Allegra murmured, "even if 'tis against your own loyalties. Meanwhile, the Doge will hear naught of reason, the silence draws on between the Stregazza and House Courcel, and Prince Benedicte grows fearful for his son and wife and increases the number of his guard at the Little Court."

Her words struck me like a blow, triggering a memory. I must greet his grace the Duc de Somerville, Severio had said to me in the concert hall. Iam charged by my mother on behalf of Prince Benedicte to thank him for the company of D'Angeline guardsmen he sent to attend the Little Court. It seems my maternal grandfather grows chary of protecting his pure-blooded heir.

For the first time in months, I felt the satisfaction of a piece of the puzzle falling into place.

The missing guardsmen of Troyes-le-Mont.

"My lord Ricciardo," I announced, coming out of my reverie. "Let US not toy with one another. Your brother has asked me to approach the Cruarch of Alba regarding trade rights, and if you know who I am, you know there is a chance Drustan mab Necthana would hear me. For reasons of your own-and mayhap concern for my welfare-you ask that I do not. Very well, I will consider it, but there is somewhat I want. You say you have friends in the Little Court. I want access therein, without troubling Prince Be-nedicte."

Ricciardo was staring at me; they all were, even Joscelin. But it was the Doge's son who spoke, wondering. "You don't have any intention of marrying my nephew, do you?"

He was clever; I should have been more circumspect. I shrugged, opening my hands. "I enjoy Severio's company. In Terre d'Ange, that is enough. Beyond that, my business is my own."

"Not if it affects La Serenissima," he said flatly.

I met his dark, hooded gaze squarely. "It doesn't."

"My lord," Joscelin said unexpectedly, leaning forward at the table. "We are looking for Melisande Shahrizai."

I wouldn't have dared say it so baldly, but coming from Joscelin-it took them by surprise. I saw Ricciardo blink, considering Joscelin, who bore it with stern Cassiline calm. "Benedicte's traitor," he said thoughtfully. "Yes, he looked for her too, not two months ago. I daresay it's one of the reasons my father is wroth with him and will not extend his hand in peace, that Prince Benedicte would suspect the Palace of harboring traitors. I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I know no more of it than that."

He evinced none of the signs of lies and evasion I knew to look for and had seen in such abundance in Magister Acco the astrologer; but then, he was a Stregazza, and trained to guile. Still, I thought he had dealt fairly with me, and if his motives were no less ambitious than his brother's, I could not fault him for it.

"Enough of this!" Allegra pushed her chair back from the table and stood. "Ricciardo, we invited the Comtesse here to show her hospitality, not to intrigue," she said, chiding him, then turning to me. "My lady Phèdre, would you do me the kindness of seeing the library? I would see that my children-both my children-are well versed in an education befitting their station. If you would recommend texts, I would be grateful."

"Of course," I murmured.

Their library was small, but not ill-furnished. I glanced over the tomes available and spoke well of several D'Angeline volumes, recommending the addition of key Hellene philosophers and a handful of Tiberian historians. Allegra sat at the desk and made notations in a graceful hand, then took a fresh sheet of parchment and wrote out a brief letter, folding and sealing it with a blot from a wax taper and the familiar Stregazza signet.

"Here." She handed it to me. "It is a letter of introduction to Madame Felicity d'Arbos, who was a good friend to my mother when she served as lady-in-waiting to the Princess-Consort Maria Stregazza de la Courcel in the Little Court. She will remember me kindly, I think, and be pleased to hear my greetings."

"Thank you, my lady." I didn't know what else to say.

"You are welcome." Allegra smiled ruefully. "My husband is a good man, Comtesse, and I think you would come to see it in time. I did. If he is suspicious, he has been given reason for it, too often to count. But he struggles very hard to do what is right, and is rewarded with scorn." She sighed. "If the Doge were not ill, it might be different. Once, he would entertain the captains of the Scholae thrice a year, and hear their complaints. If he could talk to them, he would know that Ricciardo labors honestly on their behalf, and they regard him with respect. Tradefolk do not care for the petty intrigues of nobility so much as the bread on their table. But his father..." She shook her head, and gave me a direct look. "Would it be different in Terre d'Ange, do you think?"

"Mayhap," I said gently. "Many things are. But not of a necessity, my lady. My own lord, Anafiel Delaunay, was shunned by his father for choosing to pledge his life to our Prince Rolande rather than marry and beget a family of his own. It ended in tragedy, and the title I inherited, he never lived to bear. The laws of love are different, but the entanglements of family and betrayal are the same."

Allegra nodded. "I see. Thank you." She rose from the desk and went to gaze out the window overlooking the rear of the estate, rich with farmlands. "Ricciardo has done his duty by his family. And we have been happy after our own fashion. Let his brother and sister-in-law mock if they will. For me, it is enough."

I thought of their merriment in the garden, Ricciardo swinging his son astride his shoulders. His affection, her compassion. And I thought of my bitter quarrel with Joscelin, the hurtful words, yet unrecanted. We had been granted imperfect happiness in love, Allegra Stregazza and I, but where I squandered mine, she nurtured hers, cupping her hands about the embers and blowing to life a flame warm enough to sustain them all.

"You have a lovely family, my lady," I said softly. "I envy you."

THIRTY-SEVEN

I wasted no time calling upon Madame Felicity d'Arbos.

For this excursion, I took with me my three chevaliers. I doubted I'd come to harm within the Little Court, well-guarded as it was, and they were more adept than Joscelin at ferreting out the sort of knowledge I sought.

Fortun had smacked his forehead when I put my theory to them, for not having thought of it himself. He dragged out the carefully crafted maps of Troyes-le-Mont and we marked afresh in memory the knowledge we had garnered before, including the positions and reports of the guards I'd interviewed among the Unforgiven.

Thus armed, we went forth.

The guards at the canal gate of the Little Court greeted me with deference, examining the seal of Allegra's letter and granting us admittance, summoning a servant lad to run to Madame d'Arbos' quarters and announce me.

It was strange, after the bustling familiarity of Serenissiman society, to be in D'Angeline territory once more, surrounded by D'Angeline faces, hearing my native tongue spoken. There was a measured elegance to the pace, a hush in the presence of nobility. The very marble seemed whiter, the ceilings higher, the halls wider, and all the little grace notes I had missed were present-musicians playing in the salons we passed, unexpected niches holding vases of blooming flowers, graceful frescoes on the walls and ceilings.

All of these we passed en route to Madame d'Arbos' quarters, the lad having returned to report that she would be most pleased to receive me. A young guardsman was delegated to escort us, tugging his blue-and-silver House Courcel livery straight and blushing every time he glanced my way. At the doors, I suggested that we need not trouble Madame with the presence of my chevaliers, if he would be so kind as to entertain them, showing them, mayhap, to the guards' common room, where they might while away the time.