He dismounted as gracefully as he could manage, and bowed, and she curtsied, her head held perfectly, a very model of good manners. He made himself walk slowly across the newly laid flags and across a trench; he looked away from her to smile at two workmen who were staring in awe at Ariosto, and then he jumped the trench and he was standing with her.

“My lord,” she said with another curtsy.

“My lady,” he managed. “My God, how I missed you.”

She smiled. “I summoned the council as soon as Ariosto was sighted.”

“What if I tell you,” he said softly, “that I came only to see you?”

Her smile told him a great deal; it flirted with him, it hid from him, and it hung evocatively from the left corner of her mouth. “The saddest thing,” she said, “is that even if you mean that, the council will prove more important.”

“I doubt it,” he said, with some fire.

Far above the plain and the newly flagged yard, the Emperor of Man sat in his sweat-damp flying clothes and drank a cup of Etruscan red wine.

“The gonnes worked,” he said to Ser Michael, who had his legs stretched out before him, and a cup of wine, and was rubbing Kaitlin’s feet. Kaitlin sat in an ancient oak settee, its wood almost black with age, carved with saints who had once been painted, and her feet were in his lap.

Michael nodded. “I knew they’d work,” he said with satisfaction. “I wish I’d been there.”

Gabriel scratched his beard. They all made him feel dirty; their clothes were clean, their bodies were clean, and there was food. He hadn’t eaten his fill in eight days.

Blanche entered with the Queen of Arles and her ladies, and Gabriel rose, feeling less than elegant, and returned their bows and compliments.

“Comnena is taking our starvlings back to Etrusca,” Michael said. “Ser Milus has brought the main army back over the pass. He’s a day’s march away. Sauce is . . .”

Behind Blanche’s shoulder was a woman Gabriel didn’t know, young, blond, and pretty. And behind her . . .

Gabriel lunged forward. “Sukey!” he said, and rose and gave his company head woman a hug.

Sukey was tall, more handsome than beautiful—tall and strong with jet-black hair that had a shockingly white stripe in it from an old injury. The white patch and the scar by her mouth combined to give her a piratical look.

But in years of marching with her, Gabriel had never seen her look so well rested. Nor so well dressed.

“Careful of my gown,” Sukey said with a grin. “It’s only a loan.”

Blanche kissed her on the cheek. “You loaned me your best once,” she said.

Sukey kissed her back with gusto. “It was a good investment, as I hope you’ll allow. One look at you an’ I knew the cap’n would keep you.”