The archbishop nodded in return, took the circlet, and placed it on Clarissa’s head with a prayer.

Gabriel bowed. Clarissa rose.

Gabriel nodded. “In the fullness of time, if we triumph, you can have a coronation: anointment, a heavy cloak, choirs, sycophants, everything.” He smiled. “But the office is done. You are Queen of Arles.”

Clarissa bowed her head. “My father would have given his life for this,” she said quietly.

Gabriel nodded. “I know,” he said. “And it may be that you are also Queen of Galle. Honestly, no person alive can tell that right now. I would that we leave the Sieur Du Corse to act as constable and regent until such a time as we can determine what is best.”

Clarissa nodded. “You don’t plan to marry me off to one of your knights?” she asked.

Blanche winced.

Gabriel smiled. “You beat the Necromancer,” he said. “You held your castle against all comers. I don’t think you need a man to make you stronger.”

“Today will live on in history,” Clarissa said.

Gabriel held out his hand, and she found her chair had been moved next to his, and Blanche’s. She sat.

“Master Kronmir,” Gabriel said.

Kronmir looked up from writing. “My lord?”

“Come here,” Gabriel said.

Kronmir passed between the household knights and knelt.

Francis Atcourt produced a pair of golden spurs.

Gabriel drew his long war sword. “By token of this blow, I make you knight,” Gabriel said. “Despite your methods, you have prevented two assassinations, countless attempts on other lives, and your work has repeatedly placed us and our empire at an advantage over our foes. Your courage would be a legend among my knights if only they were allowed to know what you do.”

Kronmir maintained his face, but he was in shock. He did his best to accept the buffet.

Toby put the belt on Kronmir while Atcourt adjusted his spurs.

“Other assassins will be jealous,” Gabriel said very quietly.

Michael leaned over to Kaitlin and said very softly, “Prevented two, made two of his own; that just makes him even.”

Kaitlin giggled.

Kronmir flushed. He rose, saluted with his sword, and went back to his charts, the gold belt glowing on his hips.

“Toby,” Gabriel said.

His squire froze in the act of pouring wine.

“Approach.”

Toby’s heart beat very fast.

It was hard not to hope. Especially when he could see that Queen Clarissa was smiling; that Francis Atcourt had another pair of spurs in his hand; that Blanche was beaming at him.

“Kneel,” the emperor said.

Toby could never remember the rest.

Fifteen minutes later, he was back in the solar, packing the emperor’s traveling kit.

Anne Woodstock was hiding behind the door. “Which, I’m changing!” she spat.

“He’s leaving!” Toby answered her. He took one razor from the bundle that the Marshal had loaned them, and put it in the big leather saddle trunk. Razor, towel, soap; small pot, clean shirt, clean braes, spare points . . .