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my tell-tale gaze—but only because I was young, and beautiful, and I rode without care, bearing a dove for Naamah.
    The Great Temple of Naamah in the City is a small struc ture,-but lovely with gardens; even now, with winter's breath in the air, it held warmth and bloomed. I gave my mount over to a stable-lass who met me with lowered eyes, and walked alone to the temple, carrying the birdcage. An acolyte met me at the door.
    "Be welcome," he said, bending in his scarlet surplice to give me the kiss of greeting. His lips were soft, and I knew, in a way, I was home. He looked at me out of eyes the color of rain-washed lupine, eyes that studied my own. "Be wel come, anguissette, and give honor to Naamah."
    I took his arm in one hand, carrying the gilded cage within my other, and entered the Temple of Naamah. Up the long corridor we walked, to the vast statue that awaited us at the end: Naamah, her arms spread wide in greeting and em brace. There, beneath the oculus, we awaited the priest.
    Priestess, it was; I knew her when she emerged, attended by acolytes. Long hair the color of apricots, and green eyes tilted like a cat's; she had been an acolyte herself, when I was dedicated. The priest who had dedicated me had died of the fever during the Bitterest Winter, as so many had done. "Well met, sister," she said in a murmurous voice that nonetheless carried to every corner of the temple, and kissed me in greeting. I gripped her elbow with my free hand, steadying myself; it had been a long time, and the presence of Naamah's Servants was a heady thing. "You wish to re-dedicate yourself?"
    "Yes," I whispered, holding aloft the gilded cage. "Can you tell me if it is Naamah's wish that I do so?"
    "Ah." The priestess fingered the collar of her scarlet robe and turned to gaze up at Naamah's face, welcoming and benign above us. "In the City alone, there are many hun dreds of Naamah's Servants," she said softly. "Three hun dred at least in the Thirteen Houses of the Night Court, and for every one who serves at that level, there are others who aspire to lesser heights. In Namarre, they number in the thousands. No village throughout the land, I daresay, but has one or two called to the Service of Naamah. You would be surprised at how many ask that question. Is it the will of Naamah that I serve her? To each one, I give the same answer: It is your will that matters. No less than any other, the Servants of Naamah keep the covenant of Blessed Elua. Love as thou wilt. Naamah's path is sacred to us, for she chose of her own will to win the freedom and sustenance of Blessed Elua with the gifts of her body. It was her choice, and she does not compel her Servants to follow." With that said, she turned back to give me a long, considering gaze. "To you, I answer differently."
    Her acolytes murmured, drawing near to listen. I set down the birdcage and waited. The priestess smiled and reached out to touch my face, tracing a line along the outer curve of my left eye.
    " 'Mighty Kushiel, of rod and weal/Late of the brazen portals/With blood-tipp'd dart a wound unhealed/Pricks the eyen of chosen mortals,' " she quoted, citing the very verse with which Delaunay had identified my nature. "I cannot chart your course, anguissette; your calling lies beyond Naa mah's purview alone. You are Kushiel's chosen, and he will cast you where he will. Only Elua, whom even the Com panions follow, knows the whole of it. But you are Naamah's Servant as well, and under her protection, and to that I may speak. You ask, is it the will of Naamah that you serve her? I say: Yes." Wrapping her robe about her, the priestess gazed into the distance. "Tens of thousands of Servants of Naamah," she mused aloud, "all following a sacred calling. And yet our stature diminishes across the land. Whores, catamites, trulls ... I have heard these words, spoken with harsh tongues. Not by all, but enough. Too many."
    It was true, for I had heard it myself. Such words had not
    existed in our