In Talinara the Cathedral bells tolled the Sorrows, all day and all night. Not all the Imperial family had gathered, but more of the Emperor's children had reunited for the funeral rites of Yvelle Nessir than had been seen since the Princess Carala had come of age. Silenio, Carala, and Sarai walked three abreast up the aisle to pay their respects at the casket before the altar, followed by a train of the Prince's most trusted soldiers, including those who had been with him at Gallowsport. Behind them wandered the Prince Vetilius, his ruddy moon face vacant and smiling, as if this were a typical Graceday ceremony. Though missives had been sent to Perseun notifying him of his mother's death, the Emperor insisted the rites be held even before there had been time for a messenger to return from the Sultan's court. The others had sent their apologies for their absences, and various members of their retinues to represent them. Carala wondered if some of her siblings knew there was more to their mother's death than was being told to the court.

The Emperor was little seen at the ceremony. Courtiers and guardsman had escorted him from the Chalcedony Palace to the towering spires of the Cathedral of the Graces in a somber black litter before the priests had opened its doors to the common public, and there he had spent an hour alone with the Empress-Consort's body. By the time the priests had begun admitting the Imperial family and the lesser nobility, Somilius Deyn had retreated to the litter, and if not for the shadowy bulk she could occasionally glimpse through its screens, Carala might have thought he had returned to the Palace without waiting for the rites to conclude. It wouldn't have surprised her. After all that had happened since she had fled Talinara, nothing about her father surprised her.

Three days before Yvelle's funeral, before Carala had even been in Talinara a full day, the Emperor had summoned her to a private audience with himself, Varallo Thray, and Galena Orthis. Already she and Denisius had spoken with him in the throne room, giving what details they felt they could. They had been furnished a cure for the wolf's blood sickness by a cursewright who had already left the bounds of the Anointed Realms; no, they did not know what the source of his cure was; no, they didn't believe he had anything to do with whatever had happened in Leusenia (the Emperor provided no details and did not seem interested in hearing any); yes, the cursewright had proven to their satisfaction that Carala no longer suffered from the wolf's blood.

The Emperor had smiled and dismissed them, releasing Denisius to his rooms at the Scholar's Rest and Carala to the care of her sister Sarai and her handmaidens. Carala's handmaidens were nowhere to be found; every last one of them had been shipped off to other corners of the Anointed Realms in the week after her disappearance. She had barely settled into Sarai's apartments before a courtier had arrived with another summons from the Emperor, this one for her alone.

"It is so very good to have you back, dear Carala, very good indeed," her father had said, gazing at her shrewdly from the Malachite Throne. Ceaselessly Carala's gaze drifted to the empty chair at his side, a pain aching in her heart every time she saw it. "But there are certain matters we must discuss away from the ears of Lord Marhollow and his man, I am sure you understand. And dear Silenio, of course, we do not wish to trouble him with these matters, do we?"

"No, father," she had replied, forcing herself to meet his gaze. Though she had faced many terrible things since Tacen had bitten her, they all seemed to pale compared to her father's smiling, swollen face; the secrets she now knew lurked behind those hazel eyes so like her own.

"Of course not. Let Mother Orthis inspect you, my dear Carala. I believe you feel yourself cleansed of the wolf's blood, oh yes, but we must be sure, must we not?"

Reluctantly Carala nodded. Galena Orthis, the same priestess who had anointed her and all her siblings, living and dead, into the care of the Graces; the same priestess who had smiled and embraced her at her own coming of age ceremony; the same woman who would have wed her and Denisius had things gone differently -- she was all these things, but she was also the one who had performed the rite on her mother and condemned her to the wolf's blood. Although she submitted to her father's wishes, she could not restrain a shudder of disgust as Galena laid one withered hand on her shoulder and pressed a flat bar of silver against her face.

Of course she knew how to test one for the wolf's blood. Undoubtedly she had stolen this fragment of cursewright lore from the innumerable volumes hoarded under the Grand Curia, all while Ammas's father lay crippled only a few yards away. Carala feared her father noticed the shudder: he noticed everything.

But when Galena Orthis pronounced her cured he seemed perfectly satisfied. "Excellent, truly excellent. But this does leave us with many questions, does it not, Varallo?"

Varallo Thray nodded, surveying Carala with a piercing, curious stare. "It does, your Majesty."

"Yes, yes, it does. First among them: just whom may we thank for curing you so skilfully? You and good Lord Marhollow mentioned a cursewright. I am sure you spent more than a few hours in this cursewright's presence?"

"Yes, father," Carala replied, still meeting his gaze, willing herself to remember that she had faced down far worse monsters than her father in the last few months.

"And in all that time, surely you heard this person's name?"

"I . . . I do not remember, father. I do not think he used his real name in any case."

The Emperor sighed in exasperation. Swiftly Varallo Thray interrupted. "The Emperor certainly knows you feel protective of this cursewright, your highness. Whatever his edicts, I do not believe he has any intention of harming him, not after rendering the Throne such an exquisite service. Do I have the right of it, your Majesty?"

"Indeed you do, Varallo," the Emperor said, not shifting his gaze from his daughter. "Come, Carala, there is no need for this reticence. I know more than you may think, and I know there are not many cursewrights you might have gone to. I know you were gone long enough to go to Munazyr and back. I ask you this: were you treated by Ammas Mourthia?" Smiling crookedly he turned an eye toward Varallo Thray. "That is Varallo's belief, after all, but of course good Varallo is biased toward the Mourthias. Old friends with them, I would even say."

"Acquaintances at best, your Majesty," answered Varallo Thray with a thin smile.

Ammas had not insisted she conceal his identity from her father -- he had seemed completely uninterested in the topic, in fact -- but Carala felt her heartbeat treble with anxiety nonetheless. Still, she supposed it would be pointless to lie. Clearly they knew whom she had traveled with . . . but of course they had their own secrets to keep. It would not do to admit to her that every person in this room knew exactly where the wolf's blood had come from and why Yvelle Nessir had died.

"I was, father. I made my way to Munazyr and found him. The cure was difficult, but he managed it."

"A remarkable feat for someone suffering as you were," Varallo Thray murmured.

The Emperor chuckled. "Indeed, I always knew you were one of my most willful children. I am so very pleased it came to your benefit, very pleased, dear Carala. And Ammas Mourthia charged you an exorbitant rate, I am sure? No doubt it has been a long time since he was favored with such an illustrious client."

Carala shook her head, refusing to look away from her father's smirking face. "He asked only for a bracelet I wore. And in the end he refused even that."

The Emperor's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. "Did he indeed? That is most unlike any cursewright I ever knew. Greedier than the moneychangers of Tol Daether, most of them. Why, dear Carala? Did you perhaps work out a different method of payment?"

Under her father's words and smirking leer Carala's cheeks flushed the color of a brick, but still she would not look away. "I do not know all his reasons, father," she said with a touch of acidity. "I fear I do not know enough about cursewrights to guess why they would do anything at all."

Somilius Deyn was not always displeased when his children dared to show him a bit of their teeth, but his laugh took Carala by surprise. "Oh, dear Carala, that has ever been true. And perhaps Ammas has gone mad over these many years, yes? He was ever a glory seeker, even as a boy, and curing you would bring him no small glory, if he lived to enjoy it. You did not stay in Munazyr, though? You found your way to Silenio in Gallowsport?"

"We did, yes," she replied hesitantly.

"How curious," the Emperor mused. "Tell me, dear Carala, in your time with Ammas Mourthia, did he ever mention his father? I imagine he must have been quite emotional upon visiting his boyhood home. You did know he was from Gallowsport, I am sure?"

"He mentioned his father," Carala allowed, "but only to say he was executed for treason."

"Treason against me," the Emperor said, still smiling, his eyes hard, like two chips of polished stone gleaming in his bloated face.

"Treason against you, father, yes," Carala answered, and though she still met that stony gaze she could feel her legs trembling under her skirts. How she wanted to scream at the grotesque figure on the Throne; how she wanted to claw at him with everything she knew about him; how she wanted to laugh and mock him for letting all his secrets come unraveled only to have them patched up by a man he had condemned to death. Had the wolf's blood still run in her veins, she might have done it. But wolf's blood or not she still possessed her own strength, and perhaps that was all she needed.

The Emperor sank back, folding his stubby hands against his breast. "It seems much of what happened while you were under Ammas Mourthia's care shall remain a mystery, dear Carala. But you are well and whole, and that is enough. I am sure you are quite exhausted, and of course you will want to see your sister and brothers before poor Yvelle is laid to rest. Such a toll mourning takes on us, don't you think, Varallo?"

"It is certainly a tragedy, your Majesty. You have my sympathy, Carala."

Carala looked at Varallo Thray without expression. The Grand Chancellor only smiled.

"Go to your rest, dear Carala. I should speak with Lord Marhollow. I fear a wedding is out of the question, what with all the loose talk concerning your misadventures, and with the mood in the capital at the moment, but I shall leave the decision up to Denisius. I am sure your sister Sarai will be most pleased, yes, pleased indeed, should things go as I suspect."

"I would prefer not to marry, father."

"And if your preferences mattered at all, Carala, I might listen to them. But you should take your rest. Varallo, call the Gallis boy here. Perhaps we can work out something with one of my nieces."