"That will not be necessary," said Bertran de Talair, briefly, dismissively, from the opposite wall. Rosala turned to look at him.

He had arrived only the night before, with Blaise and his mercenaries and eight hundred armed men of Gorhaut. The assembled council was still dealing with that last fact, and the presence among them this morning of Duke Fulk de Savaric. Rosala was struggling to adjust to it as well, if for different reasons. Pride and fear and disbelief swept over her whenever she looked at her brother. They had not yet had a chance to speak privately.

"I would be very interested in learning why," Urté said to Bertran, gazing inimically at the other man across the room. "Have military strategies changed so greatly in recent years?"

"Hardly at all." Bertran, dressed in nondescript brown riding clothes, turned away from de Miraval to the countess. "You will remember, your grace, that I had dealings with King Daufridi of Valensa during the Lussan Fair." He paused. There was a stir in the room at this; it was news to most of them. Bertran ignored the reaction. "These dealings have borne useful fruit, though not, I'm afraid, dramatically so. Daufridi has persuaded Jorg of Gotzland that their joint interests will not be served by a swift destruction of Arbonne. They will not go so far as to intercede for us, but the promised supplies from the east will be sadly late in arriving, I am informed. The food, when it reaches the army of Gorhaut, will be of dangerously poor quality, most of it inedible. King Jorg will be profusely apologetic to Ademar, of course. He will promise an enquiry, offer to return some of the money he has been paid. It helps," he added with a straight face, "to have up-to-date information in wartime."

"It helps," said the countess of Arbonne icily, "if the commanders serving us share their information with each other and ourself."

Bertran looked unabashed, despite the rare, admonitory use of royal language by the countess. "I only returned last night," he said mildly. "I found confirmation from Valensa waiting for me. I might have expected to receive approval from my countess and those assembled here for what I have done, rather than condemnation."

"You presumptuous peacock!" rasped Urté de Miraval. Comparing the garb of the two men, Rosala found the word almost amusing. But there was really no room for levity just then. "An army more than twice as large as any we can raise is burning its way through Arbonne," Urté snapped, glaring at Bertran, "and you seek praise like a vain child, preening yourself on small triumphs of diplomacy."

"Small perhaps, my lord—I began by saying as much myself, you will recall—but do favour us with an account of what you have achieved in the same interval." Bertran's hard blue eyes met those of Urté and this time neither man looked away. Rosala felt hatred in the room like a wintry, congealing presence.

"It would be most pleasant," Bertran went on, in a voice that was not pleasant at all, "to be able to report richer results of my efforts with Valensa, but we can hardly blame Daufridi or the Gotzlanders for being careful here, can we? We might perhaps make some comments instead about lords of Arbonne whose principal activity this past year seems to have been to sanction, if not instigate, the attempted murder of a friend and ally."

Rosala, vividly remembering that night in Lucianna Delonghi's rooms, saw Blaise step forward then. "That's enough, I think," he said quietly to Bertran. "We'll get nowhere useful retracing old paths." His tone was interesting; he had changed in the short time since going north and coming back. His father and Ranald had both been at Garsenc, she had been told by Rudel Correze just before the meeting began. The one had escaped and the other had been set free; it was hard not to wonder about what had happened there.

"Enough? Is it really?" Bertran de Talair said, turning away from Urté again. "I'm dreadfully sorry. So please forgive my lamentable penchant for excess." His voice was etched in acid but he didn't argue, Rosala noticed, or pursue the matter. Blaise looked at him a moment longer, but said nothing more.

"We forgive almost everything just now because we have little choice." It was the countess again, reclaiming control of the room. They turned back to her. Her hands clasped about one of the small metal warming balls her women favoured, Signe waited a moment, deliberately, and then added: "And also because we have desperate and perilous need of you, my lord of Talair, with all your… penchants. After taking most careful thought on this, we are resolved to appoint you herewith to lead our armies in this war. Into your hands we now entrust the sovereignty of Arbonne and the destiny of our children."

Rosala closed her eyes for a moment. Cadar was with his nurse upstairs; it occurred to her to wonder if Fulk would ask to see him. She didn't think so. She looked up. Signe had paused again, looking with her famous eyes into the equally celebrated blue ones of the duke of Talair. When she spoke again her tone was very different.

"Bertran, it may be unfair to say 'Fail me not, for I know what Ademar of Gorhaut has brought against us, but I am going to say it nonetheless, for if you do fail we are lost and from the burning that must follow there will be no rising from ashes."

"No. You cannot do this!" In the stark silence that followed the countess's words, the voice of Urté de Miraval sounded harsh and raw. There was passion in it and a real pain.

Rosala saw him step awkwardly forward from the fireside and drop heavily to his knees before the countess. "I am prostrate before you, my lady," he said fiercely. "I will not ask but beg. Do not do this thing. Do not put me in this position, I beg of you, your grace. I will not serve under him. I cannot. You know I cannot. For love of Arbonne, for the memory of your husband, for any honour at all in which you may yet hold my name, choose another leader! It need not be myself, it cannot be myself or you do the same thing to de Talair—but choose another leader, countess, lest you break me into pieces." Under the short-cropped grey hair, his still-handsome, fleshy face was vivid with stricken intensity.

Signe de Barbentain's features, by contrast, were like a mask, beautiful and implacable, as she looked down at the duke on his knees before her. "Have you ever thought," she said with frigid clarity, "how like children the both of you are?" She drew a breath then, and Rosala winced in premonitory anticipation of what was coming. Nor was she wrong.

"My daughter Aelis," said the countess of Arbonne deliberately, "was willful and proud and a child herself when she died. It was twenty-three years ago, in the name of our most holy goddess! Can neither of you realize that?" Rosala saw Urté flinch at the spoken name; Bertran turned his head away. Signe ignored both reactions, went on, her voice blunt as a hammer. "She deceived Urté with Bertran. We all know this. She bore a son that was not her husband's and told him as much. We know this too. It was a desperately foolish thing to do. The child died or did not die. My daughter died. It is an old story. Do you hear me, both of you? It is an old story! Let it rest! Let Aelis lie in her grave, with her child or without him. I will not let Arbonne lie buried in that same grave, or be trapped in the maze you two have shaped for each other from that history. It is over! It must be over. Make no mistake, I am naming as leader this morning the man who understands Gorhaut better than any other here and who has Blaise de Garsenc and Fulk de Savaric beside him. This is my firm decision. It is not subject to the tired, worn-out passions of ancient history, my lord de Miraval."

Silence then. A stillness as after a storm has passed. And into it, at length, came the quiet, careful voice of Bertran de Talair, unwontedly diffident. "Your grace, I am deeply mindful of the honour you offer me. I will say that I have no difficulty at all in stepping aside for another if it will… ease matters among us. I will be proud to serve under Duke Thierry for example, or your brother of Malmont if you would prefer."