“What happened?” Blanche asked very quietly. When you are empress, everything you do must be quiet; servants and friends and allies and enemies are always at your elbow; conversation, lovemaking, defecation, all very, very quiet.

Gabriel sighed. “An angel visited me and said, ‘Ave, Gabriel,’ and . . .”

She hit him.

He held out his right hand, his sword hand, in the darkness, and the glow was barely perceptible. “Really,” he said. “I have no idea.”

“I don’t see you as a saint,” she said.

“No one sees me as a saint. It’s a secret role and I relish it.” He had begun to stroke her shoulders and back.

“Ssssh!” Blanche said a moment later. “Everyone is getting up!” she giggled. “Damn. I walked into that.”

There was some rustling.

Anne Woodstock closed the door to the bedroom, as if by accident, and went back to laying out clothes. Cheeks burning.

Toby came in with a steaming mug of hippocras.

Anne glanced at him and turned away.

Toby shrugged and walked to the door. “They up?” he asked.

“I don’t think . . .” Anne said.

Toby smiled. “Ahh,” he said. He put the cup down on a tile and went to the fireplace, a fine hearth with a separate chimney, as was all the fashion in the Antica Terra. He mulled a cup of cider poured from a fine creamy ceramic flagon.

“Cider?” he asked his page.

She blushed.

“Anne,” he began, and then smiled. “Cup of cider?”

“Yes,” she said. “He’s to be shaved today.”

Toby nodded.

“Only I can’t find anything. His razors are with the army baggage.” She started at a sort of sighing sound from the next room. And blushed again.

Toby nodded. “Probably my fault. I’ll ask the staff.”

“He’ll want to shave as soon as he . . .” At a loss for words, the page shrugged and looked away.

“Gets up?” Toby asked. He laughed.

Master Julius, now the emperor’s private secretary and no longer merely the notary to a company of mercenaries, laughed aloud from the next room.

Toby finished fussing. “Ser Michael’s here. Does Robin have razors?”

Anne glanced at him. “Didn’t ask.”

“I’ll ask him.” Toby started for the door and there was the notary, pen in hand.

“Ser Pavalo is here to see the emperor as soon as he receives,” he called softly. “And Ser Alison.” He pointed at the door to the scriptorum. “Lord Pavalo appears to have ridden all night.”

Toby handed Anne a cup of steaming cider and walked out through the solar, where Master Julius settled back down. He and two clerks were already writing, by candlelight, and a third man was cutting hides of vellum into strips.