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tongue when Elua and his Companions trod
    the earth, and peers and commoners alike delighted in Naa mah's service. It was different, now, and the customs of Terre d'Ange were tainted by those of other nations. I had not chosen an easy course.
    "How long has it been since an enthroned ruler summoned the Dowayne of Cereus House for counsel?" The priestess' sharp green eyes measured my thoughts. "Four generations or more, I think. Too long. It is not my place to restore the glory of the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, but the glory of Naamah. .. yes. I know who you are, Phèdre no Delaunay." She smiled, unexpectedly. "Comtesse de Montrève. Your story is known, and it is told, a sangoire thread woven deep into the tapestry of war and betrayal that nearly sundered our nation. Because of you, the Scions of Elua and his Companions have returned to the Houses of the Night Court, playing at fashion, grasping at secondhand glory with thoughtless ardor. But you are a peer of the realm, now. Is it Naamah's will that her presence breach the Palace walls to shine once more at the heart of Terre d'Ange? To you I say, yes."
    I met her eyes and held them. "Politics."
    Her smile deepened. "Naamah does not care for politics, nor power. Glory, yes. What does your heart say, sister?"
    I shivered, and had to look away. "My heart is torn," I murmured.
    She touched my face again, gently. "What does Kushiel say?"
    It burned this time, her touch, heating my blood so that it rose in a warm blush. Priests and priestesses, they have that damnable surety about them. I wanted to turn my face against her palm, taste the salt of her skin. "Kushiel's will accords with Naamah's."
    "Then your question is answered." The priestess took her hand away, calm and undisturbed; I nearly fell yearning against her, but kept myself steady. "And I will pose mine again. Is it your wish to be rededicated unto the Service of Naamah?"
    "Yes." I said it strongly this time, and stooped to open the birdcage. I took the trembling dove in my hands and straightened. "It is."
    The acolytes stumbled against one another in confusion, then one bearing a basin of water came forward to offer the aspergillum to the priestess. I stood, the dove's quick- beating heart racing against my palms, as she flicked a few drops of water over me. "By Naamah's sacred river, I bap tize you into her service." So I had stood, scarce more than a child, while Delaunay and Alcuin waited proudly behind me. No one awaited me now. I opened my mouth obediently for the portion of honey-cake, the sip of wine. Sweetness and desire. Elua, but I ached with it! And chrism at the last, oil upon my brow, for grace. When I was a child, I'd no notion of what it meant; now, I prayed I might find it in Naamah's Service.
    It was done, and the priestess and her acolytes stepped aside. I knelt before the altar, the statue of Naamah, holding the dove in closed hands before me. Opaque, those sculpted eyes; we find in her service what we bring to it. "My lady, be kind to your Servant," I whispered, and released the dove.
    I did not watch, this time, as it launched free of my hands and winged its way to the oculus. The priestess and her acolytes did, tracking it smiling. I did not need to watch to know my dove found its way. With bowed head, I knelt until I felt the priestess' hands at my shoulders, bidding me to rise.
    "Welcome back," she said and kissed me; I felt the tip of her tongue dart between my lips and had to keep myself from clutching her wrists as she released me. The priests of Naamah are not quite like any other. Her long green eyes glinted in the slanting light of the temple, wise and knowing. "Welcome back, Servant of Naamah."
    Thus it was done, and I stumbled twice leaving the tem ple, leaning hard on the arm of the acolyte who had admitted me. A dam may hold for a hundred years, but once it de velops a chink, the rushing tide comes after. Thus did I feel, having dammed the terrible force of my desires for a