"What does that mean? Will you make me choose between Guy and my sister?"

He lifted his head. "Then you are betrothed."

"You swore Navona would keep my sister safe."

"You are betrothed. You are. You are. Monteverde bitch." It was not an execration; it was like an endearment with him. He swung away and walked on, passing her, a moonlit shadow.

Cara went behind him, keeping distance. The faint path led across a water meadow and up onto higher ground, where she could look back and see the sheen of the river beyond the dark priory. Night dew made her shiver.

"So—will your Englishman remain with the princess, that you may go home with us?" Allegreto asked.

She didn't answer, but walked on behind him. He hiked himself over a stile and waited on the other side until she climbed it.

"You should see that he asks her for a place soon." Allegreto wove around a black patch of bushes. "You heard her say tomorrow she leaves—it won't be that swift, but as soon as she can have my father upon a ship without his suspicion, she will. We can't hold the green man long."

"Who is to set him free?" Cara had a sudden ghastly thought. "Mary, what if some mistake is made, and he's left down there after we're gone?"

Allegreto turned to face her, so suddenly that she almost fell over her skirt. "I would not let that happen!" he said fiercely. "And if you care so much, then stay here with your precious Guy and see to it yourself!" He snorted. "But I wouldn't put it past the two of you to drop the key down some gong-pit, so I guess I'd better do the thing."

He pivoted and strode on along the path, ducking a branch.

"You'll stay here?" she asked, trailing him.

"I'm to miss the departure and catch up in Calais. I think I'll let my father give me a good whore," he said bitterly, "and have her teach me about pleasure until I can't crawl out of the bed to travel." He took Cara's arm and propelled her in front of him. "There's the lodge. Her father had all this enclosed for a hunting chase, and there's none but a parker who likes good Bordeaux. The princess gifted him with a tun of it, so you need not expect he'll ask questions." He pushed Cara ahead. "The guide will see you back to her. Farewell."

He was walking away before she realized the finality of his tone. She turned and gazed after him.

"Farewell, Allegreto," she called softly.

He did not pause. He vanished in the dark.

* * *

"I know you can hear me."

It was Allegreto's voice again. Ruck had all of his body now. His stomach revolted, and he shook in every limb. It was a Purgatory he had never conceived, but no less appalling for that. He thirsted. He could not get his breath, and these insistent demons plagued him. He swallowed, trying to lift his hands, but one was weighted down with iron and the other would not do as he expected, moving aimlessly at the end of his arm.

"Open your eyes, green man, if you can hear me," the Allegreto-demon said.

He remembered that he had a name. "Ruadrik," he muttered. He stared bleakly at Allegreto, trying to see the shade of a monstrosity behind his comely face.

The demon smiled a wicked smile. "Ruadrik, then, if you'll have it so. Listen to me, Ruadrik. Try to remember this. You have food and drink here. There's a pail, if you need it. I'll return in the morning. Remember. Don't lose your head. Do you hear me?"

Ruck tried to lift his hand, to catch and strangle him, but he could not.

"Wink your eyes if you hear me," the fiend ordered. Ruck closed his eyes. When he had eyes to open again, the demon was gone.

* * *

"He was waking, my lady," Cara said very softly.

Melanthe laid her forehead down on the pillow. She had been waiting at the window, waiting and waiting. She had not thought Cara would ever come.

It might have killed him, the poison they had used, a grain too much, a drop of wine too little—but Gian's would have done it with mortal certainty.

"He spoke, but made no sense, my lady," Cara said. "Allegreto sent word to you that he's weak, but will be well by morning."

Melanthe lifted her head. The night air flowed in the open window. She put her hands on her cheeks to cool them.

"My lady—" Cara said. "I wish to tell you—when I spoke—when I said I was betrothed. I had no right to make a contract without your leave. Forgive me!"

Her words seemed distant to Melanthe. She flicked her hand in dismissal. "Later. I cannot think of that now."

"My lady. Please! I have no wish to marry Allegreto."

Melanthe made an effort to turn her mind to Cara's distress. "After all he's done for you? Poor Allegreto. You do have your claws in his heart."

"I never meant to do so, my lady! He frightens me. And—I fear for Guy."

"Such a tragic face. Guy? That Englishman from Torbec, I suppose. He's beneath you. He hasn't a florin to his name. Silly girl, his lord lives in a pigsty. You may believe me, for I saw it."

"My lady—I love him."

Melanthe gave one short laugh. "Truly, this is what comes of letting foolish female creatures sit at windows and look out upon the street, is it not? We dream stupid dreams, and fall in love with any unsuitable man who walks past."

Cara bowed her head. "Yes, my lady."

"I spoke to you once of love."

"Yes, my lady."

Melanthe pulled the window closed. She could see the reflection of candles in the glass, and a wavering darkness that was herself. "What did I say of it?" she whispered. "I have forgotten what I said."

"My lady, you said to me that great love is ruinous, my lady."

"And so it is." She put her hands over her hot cheeks again, watching the obscure movement in the glass. "So it is."

"My lady—if it would please you—if Guy might find a place in your retinue when we return—"

"God's death, do you care no more for your betrothed than to lead him into the viper's nest?" Melanthe turned angrily on the girl's brown-eyed innocence. "And what of Allegreto? Is he to sing a gleeful carol at your wedding?"

"My lady, it was Allegreto who proposed it"—Cara made a courtesy—"that Guy find a place with you, so that I might go home."

Melanthe gazed at her. She could not see in the soft face anything but a tame doe's stupid trust. "Do not press Allegreto too far." She rose, flinging the pillow aside. "No, if you must have this Englishman, then you'll both remain here. And count your blessings."

Cara bowed. She went to Melanthe's bed and began to turn down the sheets. The manor bells tolled matins.

"I'll go to the chapel," Melanthe said. "In faith, I cannot sleep!"

* * *

She would have preferred to go to the garden, or the mews, but Gian had spies on her in the household, and she did not dare arouse any curiosity. As well accustom herself to altar and roodscreen—it would be the whole scope of her life soon enough.

She thought perhaps she would surprise everyone and be a fiercely austere nun. The ladies who retired as religious and still kept high estate had always seemed pathetic to her—acting out a play without stage or spectators. No, she would give everything to the church, and fast, and have visions. And they would all be of a man who had loved her once.

He hated her now. She had done all she could to drive him to it. She had a conversation in her head with him about it, to explain to him. She had poisoned him, yes, but it was to spare him. She imprisoned him, but it was to keep him safe until she and Gian were gone. If she denied him as her husband, broke her vow and murdered his heart, it was so that she did not have to live knowing that he did not.

She could not kill Gian instead, she told him. She had thought on it long and deep. She knew of wives who had slain their husbands—one had been flayed alive, but the others had only paid fines. But it was no easy task, not with Gian, who had eluded the best of killers, and if she failed once, there would be no magistrate to sentence her, for she would not live so long. Allegreto would not aid her in it, nay, but oppose her.

And if she succeeded—she would be theirs. She would belong to the Devil wholly.

She told these things to Ruck. But it was not a conversation. He never answered. In her mind he stared at her with unyielding silence. He would not understand. Could not. Her deliberate dishonor was beyond his comprehension, as the black depth of Allegreto's love was beyond Cara's.

They knew themselves—she and Allegreto. They knew how close the Devil had them. She could almost pity Allegreto, who still held to his own mysterious honor by a thin thread. If he had wished to rid himself of Guy as a rival, he would have done it, and yet this subtle suggestion of his that Cara and her lover return to Italy boded of darker intentions, or else foolish hopes. He was not so old, Allegreto, that he might not have hopes, but Melanthe would not allow Cara to drive him beyond endurance. She and Guy must stay in England, far away from him.

In return for such a kind favor from Melanthe, Allegreto would make certain that Ruck hated her. He would say all the things that Melanthe did not have the strength to say herself, kill pride and hope and future. And Ruck would go home to live in his enchanted valley, where Melanthe had never been meant to go.

They were old allies, she and Allegreto, strange friends and familiar enemies.

* * *

"This is your last lesson, green man. Have you learned it?"