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ng； nothing at all to do with Thierry's habits or preferences。〃 She stood up； moving between him and the candle； her vivid face suddenly in shadow。 〃On the other hand； I know nothing of your own habits or tastes。 Would you prefer me to leave？ I can be gone quietly the same way I came in。〃
〃Why should it matter if you are quiet or not？〃 he said； stubbornly holding to his anger。 〃We're in Arbonne aren't we？ In Tavernel at Midsummer。〃
He couldn't read her eyes； with the one flickering candle behind her； but he saw again the impatient motions of her head。 〃e； Blaise； you are cleverer than that。 Discretion is at the heart of all of this。 I am not here to bring shame to anyone； least of all myself。 There is no public duty I owe my lord or my people in which I have been found wanting。 I dare say that； and I know it to be true。 Thierry has my respect and I am quite certain I have his。 The duties I owe myself are different。 What happens alone at night between two people who are adults about it need not impact upon the world in any way that matters。〃
〃Then why bother？ Why bother to be together？ Has your Court of Love ruled on that？〃 He meant to sound sardonic； but it didn't e out that way。
〃Of course it has；〃 she said。 〃We e together to glory in the gift of life the goddess gave us 。。。 or the god； if you prefer。 Sometimes the best things in our lives e to us of a night and are gone in the morning。 Have you never found that？〃
He had found something very near to that； but the morning's ultimate legacy had been lasting pain。 He almost said as much。 There was a silence。 In the shadows； her silhouetted form might almost have been Lucianna's。 He could imagine the same feel to her black hair and remember the light touch that traced a path along 。。。
But no。 Remembering the past was where his anger lay。 This woman had done him no wrong that he knew of； and was； by her own lights； honouring him with her presence here。 He swallowed。
She said； 〃It is all right。 You are tired。 I did not mean to offend you。 I will leave。〃
Blaise could not afterwards have said what sequence of movements brought them together。 As he gathered her in his arms he was aware that he was trembling； he had not touched a woman since Rosala； and that night； too； carried its heavy burden of anger and self…reproach； both during and afterwards。 Even as he lowered his mouth to Ariane's； breathing deeply of the scent that clung to her； Blaise was bracing himself to resist the alluring ways of yet another sophisticated woman of the south。 Lucianna had surely taught him that much； if he had learned nothing from a spring and summer in Portezza he would be a man living an utterly wasted life。 Blaise was prepared； defended。
He was not。 For where Lucianna Delonghi had used love and lovemaking as instruments； weapons in subtle； intricately devised campaigns； a pursuit of pleasure and power through binding men's spirits helplessly to her； Blaise was given a gift that night in Tavernel of a strong soul's love…making； without eluding； fierce as wind； with grace yet at the heart of it and needs of her own； offered honestly and without holding back。
And in the turning； interwoven movements of that night upon his bed in the city palace of Bertran de Talair； Blaise found； for a short while in the darkness after the one candle burned out； an easing of his own twin pains； the old one and the new； and an access to sharing hitherto denied him。 He offered her what he had to give； and even； towards the end； with irony pushed back far away； some of the things he'd learned in Portezza； the skills and patterns of what men and women could do lying with each other when trust and desire came together。 Accepting what he offered； laughing once； breathlessly as if in genuine surprise； Ariane de Carenzu bestowed upon him in turn something rich and rare； as a tree that flowers at night without a leaf； and Blaise was； for all the bitterness that lay within him； yet wise enough and deep enough to accept it as such and let her sense his gratitude。
In the end he slept； holding her in his arms； breathing the scent of her； slaked of hunger and need； returned to his weariness as to a garden； through the thickets and brambles of his history。
He woke some time later； disturbed by a sound outside in the street。 She was still with him； head on his chest； her dark hair spread like a curtain to cover them both。 He moved one hand and stroked it； marvelling。
〃Well；〃 said Ariane。 〃Well； well； well 。。。 〃
He laughed quietly。 She had meant him to laugh。 He shook his head。 〃This has been the longest night I can remember。〃 It was hard to believe how much had happened； in so many different ways； since they had arrived in Tavernel in the afternoon and walked through the thronged streets to The Liensenne。
〃Is it over？〃 Ariane de Carenzu asked in a whisper。 Her hand began moving slowly； fingernails barely brushing his skin。 〃If the songs tell true we have until the lark sings at dawn。〃
He felt desire returning； inexorable as the first beginning of a wave far out at sea。 〃Wait；〃 he said awkwardly。 〃I have a question。〃
〃Oh dear。〃
〃No； nothing terrible or very difficult。 Just something about Arbonne； about people we know。 Something I should have asked about a long time ago。〃
Her hand was still； resting on his thigh。 〃Yes？〃
〃What is it between Talair and Miraval？ The hatred there？〃
It was true； what he'd said； what he'd e to realize earlier tonight： there was something unnatural about the refusal to learn that had carried him through his months here in Arbonne。
Ariane was silent for a moment； then she sighed。 〃That is a terrible question； actually； and a difficult one。 You'll have me chasing my own memories。〃
〃Forgive me； I…〃
〃No； it is all right。 I have been thinking about them all in any case。 The memories are never far away。 They have shaped so much of what we are。〃 She hesitated。 〃Have you at least heard of Aelis de Barbentain； who became Aelis de Miraval？〃
He shook his head。 〃I'm sorry。 No。〃
〃The youngest child of Signe and Guibor。 Heir to Arbonne because her sister Beatritz went to the goddess and the two brothers died of plague quite young。 Wedded to En Urté de Miraval when she was seventeen years old。 My cousin。〃 She hesitated； but only briefly。 〃Bertran's lover； and I think the only real love of his life。〃
There was a silence again。 In it； Blaise heard once more； as if the speaker was actually in the room with them； Bertran's words on a dark stairway in the depths of another night： The god knows； and sweet Rian knows I've tried； but in twenty…three years I've never yet found a woman to equal her。
Blaise cleared his throat。 〃I think； actually； that last will be true。 He said something to me in Baude Castle that would fit 。。。 what you just said。〃
Ariane lifted her head to look at him。 〃He must have been in a strange mood to say anything about it at all。〃
Blaise nodded his head。 〃He was。〃
〃He must have trusted you； too； oddly enough。〃
〃Or known the words would mean nothing to me。〃
〃Perhaps。〃
〃Will you tell me the story？ It's time I began to learn。〃
Ariane sighed again； feeling ambushed almost by this entirely unexpected question。 She had been thirteen that year； a bright； quick； laughing spirit； still a child。 It had taken her a long time to recapture laughter afterwards； and the child in her had been lost forever the night Aelis died。
She was a grown woman now； with plex roles on the world stage and the burdens that came with those： queen of the Court of Love； daughter of one noble house； wedded into another。 She was not a risk…taker by nature； not like Beatritz or Bertran； she thought things through more slowly before she moved。 She would not have devised the scheme they had for this son of Galbert de Garsenc； nor had she approved when she was told of it。 But by now she had made her own decisions about this man whose hard shell of bitterness so clearly served； like armour on a battlefield； to defend something wounded underneath。
So she told him the story； lying beside him after love on a bed in Bertran's palace； travelling back to the rhythm and cadence of her own words into the past as darkness outside slowly gave way to grey dawn。 She told him all of it…quietly spinning the tale of sorrow from that long…ago year…save for one strand of the old weaving； the one thing she never told。 It was not truly hers； that last secret； not hers to offer anyone； even in trust or by way of binding or in great need。
In the end； when she was done and fell silent； they did not make love again。 It was difficult； Ariane had always found； to sustain any desires of her own in the present day when Aelis was remembered。
Elisse of Cauvas was vain； with； perhaps； some reason to be。 She'd a ripe figure and a pleasing voice to go with the long…lashed； laughing eyes that made men feel wittier and more clever in her pany than they normally did。 ing from the town that prided itself on being the birthplace of the first of the troubadours； Anselme himself； she often felt that she'd been destined to be a joglar and follow the life of the road； castle to castle； town to town。 She considered herself miraculously released…and counted her blessings almost every morning when she awoke…from the tedium and premature ageing she associated with the life she might have expected as an artisan's daughter。 Marry the apprentice； survive…if you were fortunate…too many childbirths in too few years； struggle to feed a family and keep a leaking roof intact and the cold lash of the winter wind from ing in through chinks in the walls。
Not for her； that life。 Not now。 With perhaps a single irritating exception she was almost certainly the best…known of the women joglars following the musicians' circuit about Arbonne。 As for that single exception； until very recently the only recognition Lisseut of Vezét ever received seemed to occur because her name was similar to Elisse's！ Jourdain had told an amusing story about that a year ago； and they'd laughed together over it。
The latest touring season had changed things； though； or started to change them。 In two or three towns and a highland castle in the hills near Gotzland she and Jourdain had been asked their opinion of the wonderful music being made by Alain of Rousset and the girl who was his new joglar。 And then； outrageously； Elisse had been asked by a fatuous village reeve； after a performance in a wealthy merchant's home in Seiranne； how the olive trees were faring back home in Vezét。 When she realized what the man's mistake was； who he took her for； she'd been so furious she'd had to abandon the merchant's hall for a time； leaving Jourdain to amuse the guests alone while she regained her posure。
It wouldn't do； she thought； lying in an extremely fortable bed on Midsummer Night； to dwell upon such things； or the unsettling success Lisseut had had with Alain's song earlier that evening…a frankly mediocre piece； Elisse had decided。 Where had Jourdain's wits been； she thought； fighting a returning fury； when that glorious opportunity had arisen？ Why hadn't he been quick enough to propose his own music for Ariane and the dukes； with Elisse to sing it？ Only later； on the river； in the silly games men insisted upon playing； had her own troubadour； her current lover； pushed himself forward…to bee an object of general amusement shortly afterwards； as he splashed into the water downstream。
Though 'current lover' might…it just possibly might…be an inappropriate phrase after tonight。 Elisse stretched herself； cat…like； and let the bedsheet fall away； leaving her mostly uncovered in her nakedness。 She turned her head towards the window； where the man she'd been lying with in the aftermath of love was now sitting on the ledge； picking at her lute。 She didn't really like her lovers leaving her side without a word； as this one had； and she certainly didn't like other people handling the lute 。。。 but for this man she was prepared to make exceptions； as many exceptions and in whatever dimensions as proved necessary。
She'd brought the lute because she hadn't been entirely sure what was wanted from her。 When Marotte； the owner of The Liensenne； had appro