When Lisseut expressed the same intention to be present no one gainsaid her. She hadn't expected them to. She didn't even see herself as being presumptuous. Not with this. It seemed to her that there might even be a shared feeling now that one of the musicians should be there.

She had actually forgotten, for the moment, that Bertran de Talair was a troubadour too.

The king of Gorhaut, it soon appeared, had not. The two groups met within sight of the armies but at a careful distance removed. There were archers of skill in both ranks. The place chosen by the heralds was to the west, along the northern shore of Lake Dierne, beside a rocky strand of beach. They could see the great stone arch not far away, and in the distance, to the south-west, the towers of Miraval ended up like an illusion over the forest between.

Amid that company, beside the whitecapped lake, the voice of Signe de Barbentain rang out, colder than the waters or the wind. "I thought Gorhaut had fallen somewhat since your father's death," she said, looking straight at the broad-shouldered figure of Ademar. I had not realized until very lately how great that fall was. The man on that platform was honoured in all the countries of the world. Are you not ashamed before Corannos to have done this foul thing?"

"The god's name is profanity in your mouth," said Galbert de Garsenc quickly, before Ademar could reply. The king gave him a sharp glance.

"Cannot your king at least speak some answers for himself?" Signe asked with deceptive mildness. Lisseut saw Ademar flush. She saw him look at Rosala de Garsenc before replying.

"He was captured as a spy." The voice was unexpectedly light, but controlled. "He would have been dealt with and executed as such, and the yellow-haired one as well, but he made a mistake." Ademar turned to Bertran de Talair. "He elected, unwisely, to sing some verses of a song you wrote, my lord. The wrong verses, the wrong song. And the other man chose to laugh. You might say you are responsible for what happened to them."

For the first time he smiled. Lisseut shivered, seeing that. She saw Rosala de Garsenc turn away. But then, despite her own fear, or perhaps because of it, and because it was not clear what had happened, she dared speak, even in that company, for the sake of the two dead men she had loved. She said, to the king of Gorhaut:

"He sang for you? You didn't remotely deserve such an honour. Were these the lines by any chance?

What manner of man, with his father new-fallen,

Would destroy with a pen-stroke a long dream of glory?"

She felt an anger such as she had never known in her life. Almost snarling the words she added, "Or did he ask the other, obvious question in the same song: Where went the manhood of Gorhaut…? Where indeed. They are asking that question all through the world, about a nation that burns helpless women." She spoke the words with all the passion of her heart.

And she was met, brutally, by laughter. "I would have thought the question of lost manhood would apply to the one on the platform, actually." King Ademar's amusement faded, the small pale eyes held hers. "But since you have chosen to raise the issue, I will make a point of remembering your unremarkable face, and personally dealing with that question when we are finished doing what we have come to do tomorrow."

"Your father," said Bertran de Talair quietly, speaking for the first time, "never blustered. I remember that about him."

"Ah," said Ademar, turning quickly to him. "It comes back to fathers, does it?" He looked pointedly towards the distant towers of Miraval. "I was told it had as much to do with a bastard son and a lusting woman, legs wide for any man but her own husband. What a shame the cuckolded duke of Miraval is not here to offer you his wise counsel. And what a great shame as well," he added, turning from Bertran, whose face had gone white, "that you have had to find such frail vessels from the north to fill out your sorry ranks."

Lisseut had wondered when they would get to Blaise. In the moments that followed, she was made to realize that she had not moved past longing into acceptance after all. The image of that stone sinking silently down through dark water left her then, and never returned.

Blaise, despite Ademar's hard gaze, utterly ignored him, as if the king of Gorhaut were some minor functionary, unworthy of attention. His own eyes were locked on his father's face, and Lisseut saw the forbidding figure of Galbert de Garsenc in his blue cleric's robe looking at his younger son with an expression that actually terrified her. She had thought, naively, that her travels had led her to understand something of the world. She realized now, seeing that exchange of glances, that she knew nothing. She also understood in that moment that, in a real sense, all of this came down to the two of them.

"In the Books of Othair," said Blaise softly, "which are the holiest writings of Corannos, it is told that the land of Gorhaut carries the god's burden of bringing justice into the world. It teaches that Corannos has bestowed upon us the holy task of guarding the helpless and the persecuted in all lands we pass through, in return for his great favour and the promise of his eternal shelter when we die." He was silent, and in the silence was an indictment.

"You dare speak to me of the teachings of the god?" Galbert said, his rich voice rising, genuinely incredulous. Behind him Lisseut saw a man who, from his appearance, had to be the other son. He was sitting astride a handsome horse among the small number of men who had come with the High Elder and the king. His expression was strained, oddly suspended between bitter amusement and pain. Impulsively, she glanced over at Rosala. She was gazing steadily at her husband, her face unreadable. There were, Lisseut thought, layers and layers of grief here.

Blaise seemed to ignore his father's interjection. He went on, as if no one had spoken. "You are, in the light of these teachings, as much a betrayer of Corannos as this falsely anointed king is a traitor to his people. Because you are my father and the god teaches us to respect our parents in their dotage you will not be executed, but you will be stripped of your office when we return to Gorhaut."

"You are mad," said King Ademar flatly, dismissively.

Only then did Blaise turn to him. "I am enraged," he said, a ferocity in his voice for the first time, a first blaze of heat. "I am revolted. I loathe how you have allowed yourself and your country to be used. What king permits a counselor's vile obsession to lead him so far down paths of unholiness and betrayal?"

"A false king," said Fulk de Savaric, his sudden voice clear as a bell. "One unworthy of his crown."

"Or his life," said Bertran de Talair quietly.

"Or of any remembrance at all in the world after the death that Rian is even now making ready for him," added the countess of Arbonne, and of all those there it was her voice that was grimmest of all, as if she were truly speaking for some power beyond the world.

For the first time the king of Gorhaut, turning from one of them to the other, looked shaken. And so smoothly, predictably, his adviser moved to fill the silence that followed.

"These," Galbert said in the deep, commanding voice, "are the last strident posturings of the doomed. Shall we quail before this mumbling? Rather, you should all be on your knees even now, begging the mercy of a gentle death."

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" said Ariane de Carenzu, moving her horse forward a little. She was smiling, but not with her eyes. "You would like the women of Arbonne kneeling before you, I see. I do see it now, actually. No wonder your son's wife fled from you. What does Corannos say about such desires, Galbert de Garsenc?"