It wasn't that I lacked desire.

If anything, I had a surfeit of it. I thought about it all the time. I remember how Phèdre laughed when I asked her if she thought about my Shahrizai kin, about Mavros. A belly full of a seventeen-year-old's desires. What were those? She made them sound simple and urgent. And yet I was fifteen, and mine weren't. They were deep and awful. At fifteen, it seemed there should be a yearning sweetness, and there wasn't. I remembered the way Katherine had kissed me in the courtyard, tender and fleeting. It had opened up a pit of wanting in me. And in the meadow… ah, Elua! I was sick with it.

Betimes the desire was so intense, it seemed to swell my whole body to bursting. Such a vastness seemed out of place in the pleasant, bantering courtship that went on at the Palace; and what I wanted was neither tender or sweet, but dark and intense, tinged with the odor of violence and the stagnant-water stench of the zenana. And so I shied from it as a horse will shy at a high fence; and like a spooked horse, I built it higher in my mind.

"I'm not ready," I said to Gilot as we rode home that night. "Not yet."

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "Any readier and you'll burst, Imri."

"I'll take that chance," I said.

Gilot shrugged. "As you will."

It was that, as much as anything, that led to my decision regarding the Longest Night. Once again, I was invited to the Queen's fete. It was taken for granted that I would attend this year, not only because I had fallen ill after maintaining Elua's vigil last year. I had grown easier at Court; I had made friends, all of whom would be in attendance. Everyone expected me to go, even Joscelin.

It was at the dinner table that I announced otherwise. "I want to go with you to the Temple of Elua."

Joscelin dropped his fork with a clatter and stared at me. "After last year? No. Oh, no."

Somewhat to my surprise, Phèdre did not refuse me out of hand. Instead, she turned her searching look on me, until I squirmed in my chair. Silence stretched and grew around the table. Out of nowhere, unbidden, a vision of her lodged in my head, accompanied by Mavros' voice. Melisande put a collar around her neck, a velvet collar with a diamond…

"All right," Phèdre said mildly. "But dress warmly."

"Are you out of your mind?" Joscelin asked her.

"No," she said in an absent tone, still looking at me. I had the horrible feeling that she could see the vision in my head. Her brows creased, a little furrow forming between them. "This is what you want, love? How you want to deal with it?"

I nodded fervently.

"Well, then, let him," she said to Joscelin. Her gaze sharpened. "Only this time, don't be a fool about it."

"I'll do my best," he said, fixing me with a wry look. "You will say something if you're on the verge of perishing of cold this time?"

"I will," I said. "I promise."

Chapter Seventeen

This year's vigil at the Temple of Elua proved less traumatic. It was long, it was bitterly cold, and at times, deadly dull. Wearing an extra layer of thick woolen attire and a heavy, fur-lined cloak, I knelt and shivered beside Joscelin while the City reveled, and this time I gained no epiphany for my efforts, nor words of prophetic warning. But I survived it with no ill effects, and I left feeling clear in my thoughts and pleased by my own hard-won self-discipline.

It had an unexpected effect at Court.

Of course, I had to hear about the marvelous gala I had missed—the costumes, the dancing, the varying liaisons that resulted from the Longest Night. It is ever a time of license in a City not known for its restraint, and in the eyes of my male friends I was a fool for forsaking the opportunities it afforded. But in the eyes of the women, what I had done was a gesture of great and terrible romance.

"I can't imagine!" Marguerite Grosmaine shivered at the thought of it. "Why do they do it? Why did you do it, Imriel?"

"Cassiel's servants do it to affirm his choice and the sacrifice it entails," I said solemnly. "I do it because I owe my life to Joscelin and to Blessed Elua, whom he serves."

"That's so lovely," murmured Colette Trente. "So noble!"

"So foolish," muttered her brother Julien. "If you ask me."

I shrugged. "I owe a debt."

It was true; and yet. I was conscious of using it for my own ends. I saw the way Marguerite looked at me. She had long, red-gold hair. I imagined seeing it fanned across a white pillow, and hearing her ragged breath gasping lewd words in my ear.

"I think it's noble, too." She smiled at me, touching my arm.

I gritted my teeth and withdrew from her. "No," I said in thick voice. "It's not. It's just… what is needful."

During the long, dark months of winter, that Longest Night's vigil served as my touchstone. I clung to it; to the discipline of it. When desire surged in me, I put myself there, remembering the frozen ground beneath my knees, and the sight of Joscelin's profile against the stars, his head bowed, serene and meditative.

It got me through the winter.

Then came spring, and the thawing of the earth.

Blessed Elua himself was nurtured in Earth's Womb. He was engendered by the blood of the Yeshuite mashiach, Yeshua ben Yosef, and the tears of his lover, Mary of Magdala; the Magdalene. He is the One God's ill-gotten son; but it is Earth herself who brought him to term.

In the spring, the Earth quickened; and I quickened, too.

And I turned sixteen years of age.

I knew somewhat was afoot. There are no secrets in a small household; and when all was said and done, House Montrève was that. I heard the talk and laughter among the men-at-arms as they debated, and Gilot arguing strongly among them. But I did not know what they had decided, and I was afraid to ask.

In the end, it was Phèdre who told me. She summoned me to her study on the eve of my natality. "Do you know what they're planning?" she asked without preamble.

My lips had gone dry, and I licked them. "Something to do with the Night Court."

"It's a rite of passage among young D'Angeline noblemen." Her tone was neutral. "Staging a mock abduction with all a young lord's friends, and hauling him off to taste the pleasures of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers."

"Oh," I said.

"Somehow, the women seem to manage with less fanfare." Phèdre smiled slightly. "Imri, if the notion pleases you, I won't speak against it. I'm sure your friends would think it a grand lark. They're young and heedless enough to give little thought to what memories it might evoke. But if you are uneasy at it, I will see it goes no further."

"What…" I cleared my throat. "Which House?"

"Which House would you choose?" she asked, curious. "They're like to make the choice for you if you can't say."

"I don't know." I looked away. "I don't think… I don't think I want this." I did and I didn't, and it made a sickening knot of desire and revulsion in my belly. When I imagined my friends and the Montrèvan men-at-arms around me, laughing and jesting as they accompanied me to Mont Nuit, the revulsion grew stronger. I didn't know which would be worse; the mock abduction, the agonizing indecision, or the terribly public nature of it all. "Not like this."

"How, then?" Phèdre asked gently.

"I don't know!" The words burst from me. "I want… oh, Blessed Elua, I want, but I don't know how! It's all mixed up, and it keeps getting bigger, and I don't know how to sort it out!" I was on my feet, pacing the length of her study in a fit of agitated misery. "And I don't even know how to talk about it, or who to talk to! Mavros thinks he understands, but he doesn't not this, not"—I swallowed—" Daršanga. And you… you…" I shook my head, unable to explain. "You, I can't—"

"Imriel." Reaching into the purse at her belt, Phèdre withdrew a small ivory disk. "Here," she said, tossing it to me.

I caught it by reflex and stared foolishly at it. It bore the image of a flowering plant in raised relief, and nothing more. The plant looked vaguely familiar; I thought I might have seen it growing in Richeline Friote's herb garden.

"What is it?" I asked at length.

"It's a token for Balm House," she said.

"Balm House?" I echoed.

Phèdre nodded. "If it's your will to use it, then speak to Hugues before the end of the Queen's fete tomorrow. He will escort you, and Joscelin will ensure that the others plan no mischief."

"All right." I closed my hand around the token. It felt cool and smooth. I knew little of Balm House, save that it was a house of healing and Eugenie's niece Clory had studied the art of massage there. "Why… why Balm House?"

She smiled, and for a moment I thought she would remind me again that she carried the Name of God in her thoughts. But instead, she said, "I do have some experience in these matters, love."

"I know." The coiled anxiety in my belly had eased. "Thank you, I think."

The day of my natality dawned cool and bright. I felt strange unto myself. I had crossed an invisible threshold on this day, and it might be that I would cross another ere it ended; a visible, very tangible threshold. I felt at the ivory token in my purse, wondering if I dared use it, thinking about Phèdre's choice. Was I so broken that I was in need of healing?

Yes, I thought; mayhap I am.

What they would do there, I couldn't imagine. I had watched Clory at work many times. Not lately, because… well. But Clory was not Naamah's Servant, she had only studied to learn massage. What I wanted was far more than any mere massage. I thought about the Trois Milles Joies, much of which I had endeavored to commit to memory. It spoke much of pleasure, but little of healing.

As she had done last year, the Queen held a fete in my honor. It was a little larger with my new friends in attendance, and there was music and dancing afterward. I danced with Alais, feeling guilty for having neglected her.

"Are they going to do the abduction, Imri?" she asked me.

"What?" I held her at arm's length. "You know about that?"

"Of course. It's only boys who aren't told." She looked up at me. "Well, are they?"

"No," I said. "No abduction."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "I was looking forward to seeing you fight them."

I laughed. "It's not that kind of abduction, villain."

"I know," she said, considering. "But you might have made it so."

I started to laugh again, then stopped and thought about it. I had been abducted once in earnest. What my own reaction to this nobleman's game would have been if I'd truly been caught unwitting, I could not say. Phèdre was right, my friends were heedless in their youthful folly; and my little cousin was nearly as clever as Phèdre. "You're awfully smart, Alais."

"I know," she said complacently.

After our dance, I sought out Hugues. He was talking with Ti-Philippe, but he turned away the moment he saw me. I fished the Balm House token out of my purse and showed it to him, and he merely nodded. Phèdre had chosen him wisely. I remembered how he had silenced the others on the way to Lombelon when their talk of the Night Court began to make me uncomfortable. Out of all Montrève's household, he had the kindest heart.

The remainder of the affair passed in a blur. I endured sly looks from Bertran and Julien, and Gilot and the others; and I watched them fade in resigned disappointment as Joscelin circulated, speaking quietly to them. Somewhat to my surprise, Mavros did not appear to be among my would-be abductees. He shook his head when Joscelin spoke to him, his expression unchanged. Then again, he knew me better than the others. I was easier in their company than I was in his, but I had never opened my heart to them, and they had no skill to see inside it.

I wonder, sometimes, what it would be like to have a true friend—one I could speak to openly and without fear, or strange undercurrents of tension. I was friendly with Gilot, but it wasn't quite the same. In truth, Alais was probably the nearest thing I had… but there are certain things one cannot speak of to an eleven-year-old girl.

Like tonight.

The fete ended at a reasonable hour. I made my thanks and farewells, and in the flurry of activity as the footmen hurried about fetching cloaks and summoning coaches, Hugues tapped me on the shoulder, Ti-Philippe beside him.

"Our horses are saddled and waiting," he murmured.

"You, too?" I said to Ti-Philippe.

"Joscelin's orders. A two-guard minimum." He smiled. "He'll come himself, if you'd rather."

"No," I said slowly. "He's not overly fond of the Night Court, I think."

"True," said Hugues. "Let's go."

Under cover of darkness, we slipped away from the Palace and rode through the City toward Night's Doorstep. The Bastard huffed and snorted beneath me, arching his neck and picking up his hooves in an odd prancing gait. Anxiety had returned to settle in my belly, and I wondered if he felt it. As though to alleviate it, Hugues sang aloud as we rode, an old Siovalese ballad about a shepherd lad who loved Blessed Elua for a brief time, until Elua left him, wandering across Terre d'Ange.

You will find it and lose it, again and again…

It was cold and clear that night; almost wintry, except for the moist odor of spring in the air, rising in a mist from the damp, quickening soil. The inns and wineshops of Night's Doorstep were doing a rollicking business, but it took place behind closed doors and sealed windows, leaving the streets relatively quiet.