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Aviline River, the hoofbeats sounding hollow over the bridge, and passed soon through the district of Night’s Doorstep. All the taverns were alight and lively, and a part of me yearned to tarry there. But we passed onward and began to ascend Mont Nuit.
    “So what passed between Raul and Maslin of Lombelon?” I asked Colette. “I heard Maslin gave you insult and Raul challenged him.”
    “Maslin!” Julien nudged his sister. “Tell him.”
    “He was rude.” She crossed her arms. “Very rude. I merely expressed the thought that I found him appealing in a certain brooding fashion. His response was quite ungracious. Raul took offense on my behalf when I told him. It was all very foolish.”
    “Mayhap Maslin’s interests lay elsewere,” Mavros said smoothly. “Mayhap he had an
itch
in need of scratching.”
    As much as I liked my cousin, betimes I hated him.
    “The Dauphine,” Julien affirmed. He withdrew a flask of brandy from the inner pocket of his doublet and drank deep before offering it to the rest of us. “Dear Sidonie. That’s where Maslin’s aspirations lie.”
    “Oh, Sidonie!” Colette said scornfully. “She wouldn’t.”
    “No?” Mavros tipped the flask and drank. “I heard she did.”
    “No, no,” Julien said drunkenly. “She’s got the priestess’ daughter. And
she
took her to the Night Court, just as we’re going. All very discreet, but that’s the rumor
I
heard.”
    “What?”
My voice rose.
    “Well, what would you have her do?” Mavros’ tone was logical, but his eyes gleamed in the dim light of the carriage. “Grant her favors to one of the dueling cocks of the walk that hang about the Court and watch the feuds ensue?” He wagged his finger at me. “Ah no, dear cousin! Our young Dauphine is far too cool-headed to be carried away by passion. If she was of a mind to take a man into her bed—and why shouldn’t she?—she’d sooner trust to the discretion of Naamah’s Servants.”
    I glared and snatched the flask from him, swigging brandy.
    “Was it Alyssum House?” Colette asked her brother, who opened his mouth to reply.
    “No, wait.” Mavros forestalled him. “Let me guess.” He tilted his head back and pursed his lips in thought. “Not Dahlia,” he said. “It’s too obvious, isn’t it? She’s haughty enough as it is, she’d not seek more of the same. No. Camellia, mayhap? Nothing less than perfection should suit a princess. But no, she might not care to be reminded that her lineage renders her less than perfect in the eyes of Camellia House. And I think we’ve already seen that our Dauphine favors unwavering devotion. So.” He narrowed his eyes. “Heliotrope.”
    Julien shook his head. “Jasmine.”
    “Jasmine!” Mavros’ brows shot upward. “Well, well!”
    I laughed softly in the darkness. Among the Thirteen Houses, Jasmine catered to sensuality, pure and simple. Phèdre’s mother had been an adept of Jasmine House. Ti-Philippe had once said there were adepts there would leave you limp as a dishrag, half drowned in the sweat of desire.
    “Well, well,” Mavros repeated.
    “It’s just a rumor,” Julien said. “It may not be true.”
    I believed it. I had caught a glimpse of what lay beneath Sidonie’s surface. It wasn’t brittle and it wasn’t cool. And I half wished we were headed for Jasmine House. It was a mortifying thought, but I wanted to study the adepts and guess which one she’d chosen, which one bore the memory of her naked skin against his. But then came the sound of one of the outriders answering the gatekeeper’s query, and we passed through the gates and arrived at our destination.
    Alyssum House had a deep courtyard lined by tall cypress trees. It had twin entrances with high pointed arches, both deeply recessed.
    “Which one—” I began to ask. No sooner had the words left my lips than a pair of adepts emerged; a woman, robed and veiled, and a man, clad in a long surcoat with a high collar. He bowed to Colette without