“Then you have failed,” Gabriel said. “I know you are Maria Dariush of Thrake; I know what your language scores at the Academy were. And I know that you are incredibly brave.” He smiled. “The war we are fighting cannot be won with weapons, but it can be won with information. If anyone ever writes a history of this war, an honourable historian will say that E.34 won us Arles; a mere messenger bird whose heart and skill got through the Darkness when we knew nothing. I take hope from that. And from you.”

Other knights gave her a belt, and a collar; she was virtually bedecked in gold, and the three tall Quazitsh watched without comprehension. The middle one, who wore a torque of jade, bowed and spoke carefully in the stentorian tones of Qwethnethog, the language of Mogon and many creatures of the Wild.

“He asks if I am made a king. He understands that men like to be kings, even though they are naturally slaves.” She smiled hesitantly. “He doesn’t mean an insult. He’s not in that modality and his head inclination is polite. He has no experience of men as . . . anything but beasts of burden.”

“Fascinating,” said Tancreda.

“Later, you may explain chivalry to him. Right now, please tell him you have been rewarded for courage and intelligence and careful study.”

Ser Maria turned a delicate rose-pink, and a great many men among the company felt their hearts race to look at her, tall and slim and dark, her skin like old mahogany, her cheekbones like razors.

Maria spoke briefly, her eyes elsewhere.

The Quazitsh all made odd bows, twitching their prominent tail stumps and moving their hips.

She turned even pinker. “They honour me as well.”

Gabriel nodded. “Since we’re all getting along,” he drawled, “perhaps our . . . hosts . . . could explain the state of this plaque, and the nature of the gate.”

Tancreda’s eyes were so bright, they might have started fires in the snow. “Ask them . . .” she interrupted. “Sire, I need to know. I think I understand . . .”

Gabriel’s temptation to snap at her, to slap her down, was enormous. I just want to get this over with.

He made himself refocus. “Speak, Tancreda,” he said.

She bowed, conscious of her error. Mortirmir was looking away, amused and embarrassed.

I’m so glad there’s someone who can interrupt Mortirmir the way he interrupts me, Gabriel thought.

“Ask them what they call the two gates,” Tancreda said.

Maria spoke.

All three salamanders answered—one at length, and then the torque wearer, more briefly.

Maria shrugged. “We came through the Gate of Danger, and we will leave through the Gate of Dragons,” she said. “There is an inference . . .”

“Yes?” asked Tancreda, her eagerness causing her to step past the emperor.

“That all . . . inbound traffic . . .” Maria turned and asked a question in Qwethnethog.