"It's not supposed to taste good, exactly. It sweetens the breath." I picked up the missive, glancing at the seal. The Baron d'Eresse, an Eisandine lord with interests in the spice trade. "Good for toothaches, too. If I were in the market for imports, I'd consider him." Since I wasn't, I put his letter on the likely-to-decline pile. "Here, help me sort through these latest."

Happily, for there had been a great many proposals delivered in the past days, all three of my chevaliers found the prospect amusing enough that none minded playing at secretary. For a time, there was no sound in the sitting room save the faint crack of seals breaking and the rustle of paper.

"Ah!" Remy laughed aloud. "A brother and sister, my lady; who hold jointly the Marquisate de Fhirze. Shall I put them on the decline pile?"

"I should think-oh, wait." I caught sight of the seal, twinned masks of Diana and Apollo. "No, I liked her. I'll see it."

"As you wish." He grinned, eyebrows raised.

"My lady," Fortun said quietly, looking up from the missive he scanned. It was unopened, a scroll of thick vellum tied with a gold cord and sealed with red wax. "I think you will be interested in this."

"Whose is it?" Accepting the scroll, I glanced at the seal; too crudely drawn for D'Angeline work, it depicted a Serenissiman carrack at harbor, a tower in the background. The insignia of the Stregazza family. "My lord Severio," I mused, cracking the seal and sliding off the cord. "I wondered how long he would wait." I skimmed the contents of his letter.

No one noticed when the scroll fell from my nerveless fingers.

"Phèdre?" Joscelin, entering the room, checked at my expression. I looked blankly at him. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." I blinked, picked up the scroll and handed it to him. "Look."

He read it quickly-it was only a couple of lines-and looked bewildered. "Does he jest?"

"No." I shook my head. "I don't think so. He didn't seem much for humor."

" 'No one outbids the Stregazza,' " Joscelin read aloud in a flat tone. " Twenty thousand in gold to be the first.'' Ignoring the collective indrawn breath of my chevaliers and a faint squeak of astonishment from Gemma, he tossed the scroll on the table. "No poetry, no protestations of desire and no pretty sentiments in honor of Naamah," he observed. "But you can't argue with the price, if that's what matters."

I looked coolly at Joscelin. "Severio Stregazza is three-quarters Caerdicci, and raised in La Serenissima. If he lacks the grace and polish to compete with half the royal D'Angeline court, at least he has the wit to know it. I promised him no pretense. He has taken me, I think, at my word."

"He's a boor," Fortun murmured.

"Yes," I said. "He is. And I am going to accept his offer."

"What-" Gemma was still wide-eyed at the figure. "My lady, what will you do with all that money?"

I smiled. "You will see."

As it happened, they learned sooner rather than later what I intended with the sum. It took the better part of two days to hammer out the terms of the assignation, with Remy serving as my representative. He had a knack, it seemed, for such things. It was necessary to explain to Severio the guild-laws that bound the terms of our contract, and the penalties for breaching them. It is a serious business in Terre d'Ange; to violate the rights of one of Naamah's Servants is to violate the precept of Blessed Elua, and is the gravest form of blasphemy. Elsewhere, I am told, courtesans are largely dependent on the whims of their patrons. It is not so among D'Angelines.

The nature and purpose of the signale needed also be explained to the Serenissiman Prince, for although I heard a group of young gallants had taken him to the Night Court, it was to Orchis House they went, for lovemaking and merriment. Valerian and Mandrake alone among the Thirteen Houses use the signale, and at Mandrake, it is for the benefit of the patrons. In the arts of pain, protestation is a part of the game; it is therefore important that a signale be established. I should know, having gone to extreme lengths without speaking mine.

Choosing the word itself was simple, for I have had the same one since first I was an adept: Hyacinthe. He was the truest friend I ever had, and my refuge and sanctuary from childhood onward. If I chose his name in part to annoy Delaunay all those years ago-and I did-I chose it now for Hyacinthe himself, who made the greatest sacrifice of all of us on that fateful journey.

My plans kept me busy, and by the time Remy returned with the signed contract and a nervous clutch of Palace Guardsmen surrounding two laden mules, I had an appointment waiting.

"Half on signing," Remy called, grinning. "As you asked, my lady."

"Good." Standing in the doorway, I fastened the clasp of my sangoire cloak. "Now bid them take it to Eglantine House. I've a meeting with the Dowayne."

His mouth fell open and he gaped at me; the Guardsmen grumbled. "You're not-"

"It's my fee, and I'll do as I please with it," I said mildly, then raised my voice. "Joscelin! Will you do me the honor of beholding how I disperse this money that so offends you?"

If I thought to find him apologetic, I was wrong; he came at my call with an amused expression, adjusting his vambraces. "Will it please you if I admit to curiosity?"

"It would please me if you admitted to rather more," I said, "but I will settle for that. Come and see."

The Dowayne of Eglantine House was one Moirethe Lereux, a stately woman in her middle forties, without the madcap streak that marks so many of that house; which, I suspect, was a large part of how she came to be its Dowayne. I have heard also that she played the harp so beautifully that warriors wept and criminals confessed at the sound of it, but I never had the pleasure of hearing her play. No adept of the Night Court is easily swayed by the sight of money and a Dowayne less than most, but even Moirethe was hard put not to look twice as the Palace Guardsmen deposited clinking sack upon sack on her desk. I could see the Chancellor of the House itching to count it after I thanked the Guardsmen and dismissed them. They left posthaste, shaking their heads at the madness of Naamah's Servants.

"Are we agreed, then?" It felt strange, sitting and facing the Dowayne as a D'Angeline noblewoman fair swimming in gold, with a Cassiline and a chevalier attendant behind me. "Four thousand for her marque, and four thousand against the House's loss of her art and labor in the time she would have made it."

"And a balance of two thousand toward the purchase of materials and a year's patronage at Eglantine House should she so desire; hers clear if she does not," Moirethe Lereux agreed, glancing over our written agreement. "I am in accord, Comtesse. Shall we sign?"

We did, and it was witnessed and approved by the Chancellor after he had opened and peered into each of the sacks, weighing Severio's coinage with sensitive fingers.

"Done," the Dowayne proclaimed. "Anselme." She beckoned to an apprentice, who knelt quietly abeyante. "Will you bring Favrielle, please?"

He fetched her as quickly as he could, I think; still, we had a time to wait. Moirethe Lereux bided patiently, serving us chilled wine and sugared almonds, of which Remy ate a great many. When Favrielle no Eglantine entered scowling, it was clearly at her own pace.

"You," she said without pleasure, beholding me. "I've got half the petty lordlings in the City plaguing me on your account, Comtesse! I didn't ask you to tell everyone who made that gown."

"I didn't," I protested.

"Fortun told them," Remy volunteered helpfully. "They daren't ask you, my lady."

Moirethe Lereux cleared her throat. "Favrielle, for your services in designing a costume for the Midwinter Masque, the Comtesse Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève has chosen to bestow a patron-gift upon you. The balance of your marque as established prior to your ... accident... is paid in full, and the balance of funds from the loss of your services. To you is remanded the sum of two thousand ducats, which you may apply toward materials and a year's patronage in Eglantine House if you so choose. You may retain such assistants as you have trained, and all profits in that time would be your own. If you do not wish to remain here," she added, "it is yours clear, but we would be pleased to have you."

Sharp-tongued as she was, Favrielle was at a loss for words, staring at me. "Why would you do that?" she asked me finally, her voice sounding young and bewildered without its customary edge. "You don't even like me!"

Cocking my head, I regarded the seamstress, her pretty face with its scattering of golden freckles marred only by her scarred lip now that astonishment had smoothed away her habitually cross expression. "You told me to let you know when I could transform you as surely as Kushiel's Dart unmade my flaw," I said. "Well, I cannot make you into an anguissette, and I do not think you would like it if I did. But I can give you the means to transform yourself from an unfit adept indentured to years of service in Eglantine House to a woman of independent means and the foremost couturier in the City of Elua."

Still staring, Favrielle gave a short laugh. "You're mad!"

"Mayhap." I shrugged. "So too have been the proposals I have received, and your genius may well have doubled their insanity. That much, then, do I give back, and we are at quits, you and I."

Biting her lower lip, she turned to the Dowayne. "That's it, then? I'm free?"

"Yes." Moirethe handed her a document. "By the tenets of the Night Court, of course, you are forbidden to bear Eglantine's marque on your skin, as you have not, properly speaking, been engaged as a Servant of Naamah. But the amount of your marque is paid in full, and your contract is returned to you."

Favrielle accepted the contract absentmindedly, her gaze distant as she calculated. "I'll stay," she said abruptly to the Dowayne. "Two thousand's not enough to do it properly, not with the costs of lodging and materials. In a year's time, I can earn enough to set up my own lines of credit with merchants and hire my own assistants. But I'll not work free for Eglantine House."

"Of course." Moirethe Lereux spread her hands. "Any arrangements you make with adepts of the House will be strictly on commission. Provided, shall we say, that you continue to train such assistants as you choose and allow them to work on the House's behalf when precedence requires. We can negotiate such occasions as they arise."

"Done." Favrielle nodded. Regarding me once more, she knit her brows in a scowl. "I'll not work free for you either, Comtesse. You chose this, not I. There is no debt between us."

"I agree," I said mildly.

She narrowed her eyes gaugingly. "Do you have any money left?"

Remy coughed, and I could hear a faint sound as Joscelin's elbow dug into his side. "I will," I said, ignoring them. "Once the assignation is completed, and I have repaid my debt to my factor. Why?"

Her scarred lip curled wryly. "I've set a high tidemark with you, Comtesse. The City will look to you, now, to set the mode. It will serve us both well if I continue to design your wardrobe. Anyway, whether I like you or no, you're interesting to dress."

"Then," I said, rising, "I will call upon you again, Favrielle nó Eglantine, when my coffers are full again."

So it was that we took our leave, and Joscelin waited until we were in the courtyard before bursting into rueful laughter. "Phèdre," he said, shaking his head. "Will you never be done with surprising me?"

"If you thought better of me," I retorted, "you would not be so surprised."

No longer laughing, he looked at me with sorrow in his summer-blue eyes. "You don't make it easy," he said quietly. "It would be simpler, if it were only about money."

"Yes." I sighed. "You'd have fled back to the Cassiline Brotherhood long ago. But I'll not pretend to simple greed, Joscelin, just to ease your conscience. Stand at the crossroads if you will, but if you'll not choose, I'll move on without you." "I know," he murmured, and we spoke no more of it.

FOURTEEN

Onthe day of my assignation with Severio Stregazza, a summons came from the Rebbe to meet with him for another session. In truth, I had been somewhat remiss in my studies, but he had promised to tell me tales of the Lost Book of Raziel, and I did not want the opportunity lost. Gauging the hour to a nicety, I determined I had the time to spare.

Unprepared as I was, there are times when distraction serves better than focus, and this proved one such; half-unthinking, I rattled through the verses of the Tanakh he'd assigned me without an error. Expecting to have my knuckles struck, instead I was rewarded with one of the Yeshuites' apocryphal tales, such as are passed from mouth to mouth and not recorded in their books.

"It is commonly said," the Rebbe told me, "that Sammael and others among Adonai's servants were jealous that He had given such power to Edom the First Man; power even to master the Malakhim." (For so, I may add, did the Yeshuites name angels in the Habiru tongue.) "And Sammael stole the Sefer Raziel, and cast it into the waters."

"I have heard as much, Master," I replied politely.

"I am not done." The Rebbe glowered at me. "There is another tale, of Lilit, Edom's first wife, whom Adonai wrought before the mother of all, leva. Out of dust He made them both, equal to equal, and blew the breath of life into their flesh - and sorry enough He was, for Lilit disdained to serve beneath Edom and fled, taking with her the Sefer Raziel. And when Adonai sent his Malakhim to retrieve her, she laughed, and opened the book and read aloud a word, commanding them by the Sacred Name to return empty-handed."