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He stopped there。 He stopped because she had reached up even as he began to speak and was now； with careful； deliberate motions； unbinding her hair。
Bertran fell silent； desire and wonder and the sharp awareness of implications all written in his face。 It was that last she had to smooth away。 He was too clever a man； for all his youth； he might hold back even now； weighing consequences。 She pulled the last long ivory pin free and shook her head to let the cascade of her hair tumble down her back。 The sheerest encitement to desire。 So all the poets sang。
The poet before her； of a lineage nearly as proud as her own； said； with a certain desperation now； 〃A child。 Are you certain？ How do you know that today； now； that we 。。。〃
Aelis de Miraval； daughter of the count of Arbonne； smiled then； the ancient smile of the goddess； of women centred in their own mysteries。 She said； 〃En Bertran； I spent two years on Rian's Island in the sea。 We may have only a little magic there； but if it lies not in such matters as this； where should it possibly lie？〃
And then knowing…without even having to think of what her mother would have done…knowing as surely as she knew the many…faceted shape of her own need； that it was time for words to cease； Aelis brought her fingers up to the silken ties at the throat of her green gown and tugged at them so that the silk fell away to her hips。 She lowered her arms and stood before him； waiting； trying to control her breathing； though that was suddenly difficult。
There was hunger； a kind of awe and a fully kindled desire in his eyes。 They devoured what she offered to his sight。 He still did not move； though。 Even now； with wine and desire racing through her blood； she understood： just as she was no tavern girl； he in turn was no drunken coran in a furtive corner of some baron's midnight hall。 He too was proud； and intimately versed in power； and it seemed he still had too keen a sense of how far the reverberations of this moment might go。
〃Why do you hate him so much？〃 Bertran de Talair asked softly； his eyes never leaving her pale； smooth skin； the curve of her breasts。 〃Why do you hate your husband so？〃
She knew the answer to that。 Knew it like a charm or spell of Rian's priestesses chanted over and over in the starry； sea…swept darkness of the island nights。
〃Because he doesn't love me；〃 Aelis said。
And held her hands out then； a curiously fragile gesture； as she stood； half…naked before him； her father's daughter； her husband's avenue to power； heiress to Arbonne； but trying to shape her own response today； now； in this room； to the coldness of destiny。
He took a step； the one step necessary； and gathered her in his arms； and lifted her； and then he carried her to the bed that was not the charcoal…burner's； and laid her down where the slanting beam of sunlight fell； warm and bright and transitory。
PART I…SPRING
CHAPTER 1
There was very little wind； which was a blessing。 Pale moonlight fell upon the gently swelling sea around the skiff。 They had chosen a moonlit night。 Despite the risks； they would need to see where they were going when they came to land。 Eight oars； rising and falling in as much silence as the rowers could mand； propelled them out across the line of the advancing waves towards the faint lights of the island； which was nearer now and so more dangerous。
Blaise had wanted six men only； knowing from experience that missions such as this were best done relying on stealth and speed rather than numbers。 But the superstitious Arbonnais who were Mallin de Baude's household corans had insisted on eight going out so that there would be； if all went well； nine ing back when they were done。 Nine； it appeared； was sacred to Rian here in Arbonne； and it was to Rian's Island they were rowing now。 They'd even had a lapsed priest of the goddess go through a ritual of consecration for them。 Blaise； his men watching closely； had reluctantly knelt and permitted the drunken old man to lay gnarled hands on his head； muttering unintelligible words that were somehow supposed to favour their voyage。
It was ridiculous； Blaise thought； pulling hard at his oar； remembering how he'd been forced to give in on those issues。 In fact this whole night journey smacked of the absurd。 The problem was； it was as easy to be killed on a foolish quest in the pany of fools as on an adventure of merit beside men one respected and trusted。
Still； he had been hired by En Mallin de Baude to train the man's household corans； and it had suited his own purposes for his first months in Arbonne to serve a lesser baron while he quietly sized up the shape of things here in this goddess…worshipping land and perfected his grasp of the language。 Nor could it be denied…as Mallin had been quick to point out…that tonight's endeavour would help to hone the corans of Baude into a better fighting force。 If they survived。
Mallin was not without ambition； nor was he entirely without merits。 It was his wife； Blaise thought； who had turned out to be the problem。 Soresina； and the utterly irrational customs of courtly love here in Arbonne。 Blaise had no particular affection； for good and sufficient reasons； for the current way of things in his own home of Gorhaut； but nothing in the north struck him as quite so impractical as the woman…driven culture here of the troubadours and their joglars； wailing songs of love for one lord's wife or another。 It wasn't even the maidens they sang of； in Corannos's name。 It seemed a woman had to be wed to bee the proper object of a poet's passion in Arbonne。 Maffour； the most talkative of the household corans； had started to explain it once； Blaise hadn't cared enough to listen。 The world was full of things one needed to know to survive； he didn't have the time to fill his brain with the useless chaff of a patently silly culture。
The island lights were nearer now across the water。 From the front of the skiff Blaise heard one of the corans…Luth； of course…offer a fervent； nervous prayer under his breath。 Behind his beard Blaise scowled in contempt。 He would have gladly left Luth back on the mainland。 The man would be next to useless here； good for nothing but guarding the skiff when they brought it ashore； if he could manage to do even that much without wetting himself in fear at owl noises or a falling star or a sudden wind in the leaves at night。 It had been Luth who had begun the talk earlier； back on shore； about sea monsters guarding the approaches to Rian's Island…great； hump…backed； scaly creatures with teeth the size of a man。
The real dangers； as Blaise saw it； were rather more prosaic； though none the less acute for that： arrows and blades； wielded by the watchful priests and priestesses of Rian against falsely consecrated men e in secret in the night to the goddess's holy island with a purpose of their own。
Said purpose being in fact extremely specific： to persuade one Evrard； a troubadour； to return to Castle Baude from his self…imposed exile on Rian's Island in the depths of righteous indignation。
It was all genuinely ridiculous； Blaise thought again； pulling at the oar； feeling the salt spray in his hair and beard。 He was glad that Rudel wasn't here。 He could guess what his Portezzan friend would have had to say about this whole escapade。 In his mind he could almost hear Rudel's laughter and his acerbic； devastating assessment of the current circumstances。
The story itself was straightforward enough…an entirely natural consequence； Blaise had been quick to declare in the hall at Baude； of the stupidity of the courtly rituals here in the south。 He was already not much liked for saying such things； he knew。 That didn't bother him； he hadn't been much liked in Gorhaut； either； the last while before he'd left home。
Still； what was an honest man to make of what had happened in Castle Baude last month？ Evrard of Lussan； who was said to be a modestly petent troubadour…Blaise was certainly not in a position to judge one man's scribblings against another's…had elected to take up residence at Baude in the high country of the south…western hills for a season。 This had rebounded； in the way of things down