Ammas stood up and offered his hand. The Princess Carala seemed bemused for a moment, but cottoned on quickly enough, rising and offering her own slender fingers in a decidedly imperious gesture. Rather than correct her or kiss her hand as she seemed to expect, he merely took her hand and offered a slight bow. With a small flourish he donned his hat, indicating she should sit again.

"Regarding your treatment, how much do you want to know?"

The Princess shook her head. "I do not understand. Should I not know everything?"

"You might regret knowing everything. I might uncover disturbing things, family secrets or the like. In your case, certain intimate details about your werewolf paramour."

"Please don't call him that." Her ashamed anger was nearly a visible thing, and Ammas felt a stab of guilt. No, that had been a most injudicious word. His father would have been appalled.

"I apologize. Your assailant."

"I don't care. In fact I should like to know as much about him as I can. How he chanced upon me is something I should very much like to discover."

That makes two of us. "Then I shall inform you of all I learn until you tell me otherwise. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Before I begin your treatment, I must diagnose. I must make sure, as I said, that you are truthful and not mad." A trifle stiffly, she nodded. "The treatments necessary for these ailments can be very taxing. They can even kill or maim, if the afflicted is not truly suffering the malady she suspects."

"Why in the name of the gods did you not just tell me that?"

Ammas shrugged with an ironic smile. "You had not hired me yet. It's a trade secret."

The princess shook her head and poured herself a fresh mug of water. "Madness. You cursewrights must all have been mad."

"It may well be, your highness."

Her eyes flashed at him, and to his surprise he saw a touch of humor in them. "Very well. Madman. What about your diagnosis?"

Ammas shifted in his seat uncomfortably. This was never an easy discussion, not with nobles. And this was the most highborn client he had ever served, even before his fellowship was extinguished.

"The diagnosis is somewhat invasive."

"You have to cut me? To look inside, like a chirurgeon?"

"No. But I must conduct a physical examination of you, and I must make certain tests which might offend your dignity."

Carala had grown even paler than usual. "I see." Again her teeth worried her lip. "Is it like when a Madrenite checks for a pox, or to see that my womb is healthy?"

Ammas considered. "Not that intimate, your highness, but moreso than when a physic checks you for ague." He paused a moment. The most humiliating aspect for a person being treated for the wolf's blood was one he was dreading to describe to this client in particular, and so for the moment he broached something less invasive. "You will need to strip down to your smallclothes."

"Why?" The haughtiness was back, but this time he didn't blame her.

"I must examine where this creature bit you."

The pale cheeks had become a furious blush, but she only nodded. "I -- that makes sense." Deep apprehension dawned on her features. "Will you need to touch me?"

"Not with my bare hands. There is an instrument I would use. It might sting a little, but it shouldn't be too painful. But there are other things we should attend first. If you'd care to accompany me?" Ammas rose and offered one hand.

Carala smiled and took his hand, only realizing what she had done once she was on her feet. Silently she looked away, drawing her hand back, cheeks flushing brilliantly. Ammas stifled an urge to laugh. With a certain courtliness of his own, he guided her to where his lunar charts were stored.

There were eight chapels on this floor of the temple, and except for the one Ammas had fashioned into his bedroom each one was devoted to a different aspect of his trade. Over the last five years he had accumulated enough such gear that he required real organization, enough that he sometimes fancied he was nearly as well-outfitted as the cursewrights had been in their heyday. For the last few months he often caught himself wondering how he had ever operated without an apprentice.

The chapel to which he he led Carala now was the smallest one, more suited to solitary meditation than group prayer or rituals. The confines were decidedly cramped due to the creaking shelves of rolled charts and sky-watching glasses carefully stored in battered cases. Atop the smallest shelf stood his astrolabe, a warped and nonfunctional device he had scavenged from a junkshop across the Straits near Q'Sivaris. Ammas had been trying to replace it for years, but they were rare things to find in the average merchant's stall. Carala seemed fascinated with it, reaching out a curious hand before hastily pulling it back, a sheepish look on her face.

Ammas laughed. She looked more like Casimir than he would have believed. "It's all right, your highness. The damn thing is broken anyway."

The princess smiled politely, though her cheeks were still flushed -- how easily those pale cheeks colored! -- but merely shook her head. "Thank you, Master Cursewright, but I'm fine."

Ammas nodded and rummaged through the charts til he found the one he wanted. With a nod he led Carala back into the temple proper, toward the chancel where the altar stood. Unrolling the chart he approached the altar and laid it out atop it, inviting the princess to examine it alongside him.

"Why, this is a complete lunar manifest!" she exclaimed, her eyes scanning the repeated images of Saya, Xai, and their celestial companions illustrated in brilliant inks and powdered metals across the stiff parchment. There was a scholar's excitement in her voice that Ammas could not help but answer.

"Yes," he said with a soft smile. "One of my mentors left our trade to become an astrologer. This was a gift from her when I was issued my notice of Imperial consent to practice as a cursewright." That was tucked away somewhere in the temple too, though Ammas hadn't looked at it in years. He didn't much care to see the Emperor's seal and signature. "A less accurate one is inadvisable to use for assessing your condition."

Carala seemed to hear little of this, so fascinated was she by the chart. Ammas allowed her a few minutes of studying before pointedly clearing his throat. With a start Carala looked up, gave that sheepish smile again, and stepped aside. Ammas bent close to the chart, running a fingertip along the shape of the white moon Saya.

"You say you were bitten on the twenty-third day of last month?"

"Yes. Just before the first day of autumn."

Ammas grunted and drew his finger from Summersend to a few cycles prior to it. "But you first engaged in congress with your assailant two weeks prior."

Carala blushed but maintained her steady look at the chart and how Ammas consulted it. "Yes."

"Exactly two weeks?"

"May I ask why this matters, Master Cursewright?"

"Because it is important to know as precisely as possible when you were infected. Based on your story I don't believe your infection stemmed from Tacen's bite."