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now.” He dismissed my suggestion with a curt wave of his hand. The conversation lulled as he seemed to collect himself. “The business at hand is more important.”
    “Well, Your Majesty,” I said, “this seems to be a serious affair.”
    Philippe nodded brusquely, his square chin jutting forward. He moved to the edge of his chair, leaning toward me with an air of intensity. His elbows rested on his knees and his strong hands dangled between his legs, their jeweled rings snapping in the reflection of the candlelight. “There are links to these events—the note warning me about a family member, Constance’s attention to the chalice at St. Denis, and the murder of my varlet. She is up to something and I’ll warrant her son knows nothing about it. I want your help, Alaïs. We need to smoke out any treachery at our court. Those meetings were so secret someone had to die for them.”

.3.
    P ARIS
The Palace of Philippe Auguste
    I left my brother’s chambers that morning with the promise that I would help him discover the secrets that lay behind the mysterious actions of our aunt, Constance. In truth, I knew not how I would do this, but I had confidence that an opportunity would present itself where I might inquire of her, without raising suspicion, about her son and his lands. Perhaps I could make a casual comment about receiving a letter from Joanna, and convey her best wishes to her good-mother (though not the part where my friend instructed me to keep Constance safely in Paris to ensure Raymond’s continued good humor!).
    Several days passed uneventfully, and my aunt was nowhere to be seen. I was beginning to believe I would have to create an excuse to visit her chambers, when certain events pushed all thought of Constance and the murder from my mind.
    The following Friday the court came alive. It was the day before the last tourney of autumn, a grand event that drew knights and nobles from far and wide. The castle had been humming for days with preparations for the many visitors. It was on that morning that I had one of my rare premonitions, a “visitation” as William called my visions. My sleep had been fitfull all night, and toward dawn I started suddenly, sitting upright as if to defend myself. My active dreams had returned, those vivid pageants that came to me from time to time with warnings lodged in their peculiar images. This time I had seen gryphons flying about a room, and an elderly man who insisted that I help capture them and restore them to the glass bowl.
    I sat still for a moment, remaining under the spell of those fabulous creatures. I considered whence they might have come, how I had encountered them before. But I could not remember.
    Suddenly, without warning, a flash of light flooded the room. I was aware of a throbbing in my head, and felt my palms dampen with fear. I was frightened, wished to flee yet was powerless to resist. I dared not even lie back against my pillows.
    The outline of a room was revealed, dimly at first as if there were a lifting fog. I felt the warm air of the south wafting over me and slowly, emerging from the brightness, an oval of thirteen standing men took form. Ten were dressed alike in scarlet robes with wide-brimmed hats of the same color perched on their heads while the other three wore only white. Two figures stood at the head of the oval, like the clasp on a necklace. All faces were turned toward them. In front of each man was a lighted taper, standing in a black wrought-iron holder reaching up from the floor. These candles were like sentinels, forming an inner ring to the circle. The flames licked the air with a smoky hunger.
    I peered at the leaders, fascinated in spite of myself. One stood tall with his white hair flowing away from his bronze face, the aristocratic nose marking him as the figure from my gryphon dream. He was wearing the papal tiara, a white, beehive-shaped crown trimmedin gold and jewels, so tall that it would diminish a lesser man. But it