. . . was between Rahab and I.

Well and so, I thought. This burden I cannot share or pass; it is mine, and mine alone, with the Name of God emblazoned inside my head. And that is as it should be, for it is my place Hyacinthe took. But I have faced death willingly twice today and we are a long way yet from home, and there are bandits and lions and crocodiles in our path, long sea journeys and the anger of Ysandre, which may be no small thing. So I will worry about facing down this angel known as Pride, and Insolence, later, because right now it is too much to fathom.

It was early evening by the time we reached Tisaar, and the harbor was filled with people—men, women and children, silent and watching, awaiting our return. Semira and Yevuneh and some of the others were clustered together under the dour eye of the Elders of the Sanhedrin, looking stubborn and fearful.

"People of Tisaar!" It was Eshkol ben Avidan who addressed them, leaping agilely onto the dock. "Brothers and sisters, Melehakim! We have beheld a mystery this day."

He told them then what had transpired, while the vessel was secured and the rest of us disembarked. My head ringing with the dreadful syllables of the Name, I was glad I did not have to speak. None of us were any too fit. After his long night's ordeal, Joscelin looked exhausted, harrowed with pain, streaks of dried blood on his hands and arms beneath his vambraces, and there were violet shadows under Imriel's eyes. I wondered if the priest would have opened the door if Imri hadn't screamed. Was that the sound, born out of pain and terror in Daršanga, that had moved Adonai's heart to compassion? Mayhap it was so. If it was, he had played a role none of us had ever reckoned.

So I mused, unable to pay Eshkol's recitation the attention it deserved, caught up in the mysteries locked inside my head. But when Eshkol had done, the Elders of the Sanhedrin crowded round, pressing me with questions, anxious and demanding.

"Did the Voice of Adonai speak between the cherubim?"

"What is the nature of the Sacred Name?"

"Did you dare to lift the Kapporeth?"

"My lords." My voice emerged in a hoarse whisper. "It is not my place to answer these things."

"Whose, then?" It was Bilgah the Elder who asked, white-bearded and fierce. "You defied our authority to trespass where we said it was forbidden! You instigated violence on sacred ground! Who should we ask, if not you?"

"Ask Adonai, old fool!" Semira called from where the women were clustered. "Or ask the priest himself, Aaron's scion and Nemuel's, whose appointment it is to speak for the Lord of Hosts. Have you so forgotten who we are? It is no wonder Adonai has remained silent!" Shaking her head in disgust, she pushed her way through the Elders. I saw compassion writ in the deep creases of her features, and wisdom gained through old sorrow. "Ah, child. It is a mighty thing to bear, is it not?"

I nodded.

"So they say," she murmured. "So they say."

There came more arguing after that—men and women, young and old. I closed my eyes and listened to it, hearing the deep tones of fear and doubt clashing with the clarion notes of hope and faith. It would not be settled this day, nor soon. But it was enough. While they argued the meaning, enough believed. Adonai's incomprehensible will had been made manifest. There would be no punishment, not for us.

"Phèdre." Joscelin's hand was under my elbow, steadying me. I hadn't realized I was wavering on my feet. "Come. Semira says to let them argue. You need rest, and food. We all do." Yevuneh was waiting, Imriel beside her.

"What about Tifari Amu and the others?" I asked with difficulty.

"Alive and imprisoned." He gave a shadow of his wry smile. "They wouldn't flee. Jebean pride, I suppose. Eshkol spoke to the troop-leader ben Hadad sent after them. He said they surrendered more or less peaceably to await our return."

"Can we get them released?"

"Eshkol's working on it."

"Good." I had seen the bright flame of courage in the young soldier, and the trail it would blaze in Saba's future. "Let's go, then, before I fall over."

It was no easy thing to make our way through the throng. People pushed close, wanting to see. Heavy-headed and weary, I pressed on ward, concentrating on setting one foot in front of the other, syllables of the Name echoing with every step I took. Yevuneh hovered protec tively over Imriel, for which I was glad. Joscelin, steel-clad, kept the worst of the press at bay with warning glances. No one protested the fact that he went armed in the city of Tisaar.

Once, though, he stopped, uncertain.

It was a woman, weeping, who barred our way, placing herself before me. Even Yevuneh faltered, bowing her head. "Ardath," she said in sorrow, acknowledging her daughter.

"Forgive me," Ardath pleaded, tears in her dark eyes. "I was afraid.

I was afraid!" She held up her babe in both hands. "Or let me bear the blame if you must, but I beg of you, spare my daughter its curse and give her your blessing.'"

"My blessing?" A strangled laugh caught in my throat, where the Name of God was lodged. "Ardath . . . there is no blame, no curse. If your fear was folly, still, it was born of love. I am D'Angeline. It is not in my heart to fault you for it. Who can say how matters might have transpired, had you not betrayed us? It may be we would never have found Kapporeth."

Her lips trembled. "Then you will not bless my child?"

I gazed at the infant she thrust before me, its crumpled face unde cided whether to smile or bawl. "Ardath, it is not my place. I am no priest, to speak for Adonai. I am Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève, Naamah's Servant and Kushiel's Chosen, Delaunay's anguissette and the foremost courtesan of Terre d'Ange. Is that the blessing you want for your daughter?"

"Yes," she whispered, and I knew she'd not understood a word of it. "Please, lady!"

I looked at Joscelin, who shrugged. "Love as thou wilt," I said in D'Angeline, placing my hand upon the crown of the babe's head. "And may you find wisdom in it."

Ardath's face was transfigured. "Thank you, lady, thank you!" she said with profuse joy, cradling her daughter in one arm and grasping my hand with the other, pressing it to her lips. "Thank you!"

Clutching her babe and bowing, she made her retreat, and Yevuneh, muttering at her daughter's interference, hurried us onward. We did not speak of it then, not until we were safely ensconced within her home, where her cook was waiting anxious in the kitchen, an abundance of food prepared. Tired as we were, none of us had eaten in a full day. The taste of stewed chicken seasoned with hot peppers was a marvel, filling my mouth with rich juices. I swallowed, conscious of the nour ishing food travelling to my belly, of strength returning to my limbs. Such a wonder, the workings of the earth, and we mortal souls upon it!

Afterward, while Imriel bathed and Yevuneh bustled about the house, I soaked and unwrapped the makeshift bandages from Joscelin's hands, grimacing at the raw flesh. He bore it uncomplaining, hissing through his teeth as I cleaned the wounds and applied tincture of snake- root, binding them anew.

"Ought to do the same to you," he muttered. "If you wouldn't enjoy it so."

I examined my blistered palms. "They're not so bad. I've skin left, after all."

Joscelin laughed, but his eyes were grave. "How are you, truly?"

"Truly?" I tilted my head, considering. "All right, I think. Strange. I feel strange. Like myself, only more. I've made a vessel of myself, and the Name weighs heavy within me. It's better, now, than at first. I can learn to carry it."

He nodded. "Can you tell me what happened inside the temple?"

I opened my mouth and closed it, shaking my head. "No. It's too close."

"I didn't think it would be so frightening. I thought the worst of it transpired outside. I may have been wrong." Joscelin gave his faint, deprecating smile. "Funny, isn't it? You setting out to wrestle the Name of God from the Lord of Hosts, and I didn't have any idea."

"Nor did I." I thought of how nearly I'd failed. "It was a gift, you know."

"Was it?" He eyed me. "Well, we'd best use it wisely."

"Wisdom, yes." I made a face. "I spoke bold words about the nature of fear today. Do me a favor, will you, and remind me of them when it comes time."

"To face Rahab?"

I nodded.

"Whatever it is, we'll face it together," he said, taking my blistered hands in his bandaged ones. "You know that, at least."

I glanced toward the back of the house, where the bathing-room was. "All of us?"

"You think we could manage to leave him? You nearly gave your life for his today, Phèdre. If he belongs anywhere, it is with us." Joscelin drew a long, shuddering breath, his fingers tightening on mine. "Bold words, I know. Remind me of them when it comes time."

"To face Ysandre?" I asked.

"Mm-hmm."

And that was all we said, then, for Yevuneh returned, looking tired and drawn, but satisfied. "The lad's asleep, if you don't mind; the bath put him fair under, and I ordered him upstairs. Ah, child! 'Tis a dan gerous course you set him, for one so young."

"I know, my lady Yevuneh," I said. "Believe me, the matter is not simple.”

"No, I thought not." Her kind gaze was shrewd. "He's not your own, is he?"

"No." I shook my head. "He is another's."

"I thought so." The widow nodded to herself. "He calls you by name, not mother and father. It took me a while to hear it, but tonight I did, when he asked after you. Whose is he, then?"

"It doesn't matter," Joscelin said softly. "Not here. Leave him that."

"Born of sin and folly, was he?"

"He was born," I said. "His nature is his own."

"Like Ardath," Yevuneh murmured. "Like all our children, when they are grown. Ah, child, I do not mean to press. It was a kindness, what you did for Ardath. You have the right of it. As often as not, we forge our own chains. And from those, not even Adonai Himself can free us. We must do it ourselves. You are kind, to encourage her."