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“Hmm.” Prince Sinaddan studied Joscelin. “What do you say, my silent warrior? You’ve seen more than the Comtesse of the inner workings of Drujani governance. Are you agreed?”

“My lord.” Joscelin inclined his head. He had learned enough of the Akkadian tongue to reply in kind. “The Mahrkagir’s army is in disarray, having ever depended on the fearsome gifts of his Âka-Magi. Their power is broken, their allies have fled, and the people look to the ancient Magi to lead them. I concur with my lady Phèdre. The moment is opportune. You will conquer Drujan more thoroughly with compassion than armies.”

And the Lugal, the new breed of Akkadian despot, mindful of the responsibilities of power, nodded to himself, his neatly tended black beard bobbing. “It is so,” he said, half to himself. “Although my father may not see it. Well, and as he has entrusted me to guard the northern borders, so I may choose. I will dictate terms of a peaceful surrender and send a delegation to this Magus Arshaka. Let us see how he responds.”

A profound wave of relief swept through me. “My lord is wise.”

“We shall see.” Sinaddan allowed himself a smile. “Comtesse, I am mindful of the debt I owe you. You and your consort alone have done what two Akkadian armies could not. Will you not name a reward?”

“Your gratitude is reward enough, my lord,” I said automatically. “For the rest, I ask only reparations for the women of the
zenana
, and mayhap a place of honor among your guard for Uru-Azag and his comrades, to whose bravery we owe our lives.”

“They shall form the core of my personal guard,” Valère L’Envers announced. “Being eunuchs, they may not serve among whole men, yet I think it shall be honor enough. Phèdre nó Delaunay, is there no reward you will claim for yourself?”

There was a touch of impatience in her voice. I daresay the Lugalin of Khebbel-im-Akkad did not care to be indebted to a D’Angeline courtesan, no matter what the circumstance. “An escort to Tyre would not be amiss, my lady.”

“Escort!” Prince Sinaddan laughed. “You’ll have that, and more.”

And with that we were dismissed, our audience concluded.

When it was done, I felt as exhausted as if I’d fought a second war. Truly, politics is a wearying business, fraught with tension and pitfalls, and so many lives at stake on one man’s decision. In our quarters, I went to the dividing door to see if Imriel had been returned to his rooms, but they were still empty. Too tired to move, I simply stood there. Joscelin came up behind me, his good arm resting lightly about my waist. It was enough. As much as I loved him, I couldn’t have borne anything more.

“It’s going to take me a while,” I said quietly.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.” I wished I didn’t feel broken inside.

“Phèdre.” He turned me gently to face him. “I know. You did what you had to do. I would that it had been otherwise, but I don’t blame you for it. What you did … it was a brave and noble thing, truly.”

“Then why do I feel so awful?” I whispered.

Joscelin touched my hair, looking sick. “Do you … do you want to speak of it?”

“Of what happened in Daršanga?” I laid one hand on his chest, keeping him at bay, feeling his heart beating steady and strong beneath it. Tears came to my eyes unbidden. “Oh, Joscelin! Even if I did … could you bear to hear it?”

His answer, when it came, was rough and honest. “I don’t know.”

“So.” I swallowed hard, nodding. “We’ll wait and see.”

Sixty-One

IT WAS Imriel’s scream that awoke us both, shattering slumber-short, sharp and urgent, a cry of imminent danger.

“That’s no nightmare.” Instantaneously alert, Joscelin rolled out of bed and onto his feet, mother-naked, fumbling for a weapon. Struggling into a silk dressing-robe, I followed as he raced into Imriel’s room, illuminated by a faint light from the torch-lit hallway.

On his bed, Imriel knelt, white-faced with stark terror, his hands fixed in rigid claws. A figure clad in loose-fitting black clothes, a dark burnoose concealing its face, retreated toward the outer door, which stood ajar.

With a curse, Joscelin hurled his dagger. It missed, clattering against the door-frame. The figure spun and dashed into the hall, Joscelin hard on its heels. I kindled a lamp with trembling fingers, only then daring to look at Imriel. “Are you all right?”

He nodded, hands unclenching slowly, his narrow chest heaving.

“What happened?” I asked him.

“I woke up and someone was there. I screamed, and-” He mimed striking out with one clawed hand. “Then Joscelin came. Do you think he was trying to kill me?”

I sat down on the edge of Imriel’s bed. “What do you think?”

“Yes.” His face was still white, but he was calmer. “I think so.”

So did I, but I waited until Joscelin returned, grim and empty-handed.

“I lost him,” he said shortly. “Or her. I couldn’t tell. What do you think, Imri? Was it a man or a woman?”

“I don’t know.” The boy sounded miserable. “It was dark.”

“You did well. You did very well.” Joscelin retrieved his dagger and scowled at his left arm in its sling. “I’d have had him, if not for this. It puts off my aim. I can’t move as quickly, either. A three-step lead? I should have had him.”

Imriel shivered, huddling on the bed and hugging his knees. I stroked his hair. “You must have gotten some odd looks,” I said, eyeing Joscelin. Aside from his sling, he was still rather splendidly naked. Imriel peered over his knees and giggled.

“A few.” Joscelin raised his eyebrows. “Come on, you. From now on, you’ll stay in our quarters.”

It took the better part of an hour, but eventually Imriel fell asleep in our bed. Joscelin and I sat up, wrapped in robes and discussing it in low voices.

“It could have been anyone,” he said in disgust. “Man, woman, eunuch; Akkadian, D’Angeline-Jebean, even … I didn’t get a good enough look. He ducked into a side hall, and by the time I’d backtracked, I’d lost him.”

“None of the guards outside saw anything?”

He shook his head. “None would admit it.”

“Either they lied, which means likely it’s an Akkadian conspiracy, or they saw naught out of the ordinary, which still means it was likely an Akkadian. Not a woman; a woman unescorted would draw notice, at this hour.”

“It could be a D’Angeline.” Joscelin’s voice was quiet. “Valère has D’Angeline servants in her entourage, enough to pass unremarked.”

“True.” Neither of us needed state the obvious, which was that Valère L’Envers was Duc Barquiel’s daughter, and the Duc most assuredly would prefer Imriel dead. “Lord Amaury’s men have the run of the Palace as well.”

Joscelin sighed, dragging his free hand through his sleep-tangled hair. “Amaury … surely you don’t suspect Amaury.”

“Amaury, no. But the others …” I stared at the dancing flame of the oil lamp. “How well do you know them? Vigny, de Marigot, Charves … Vigny’s bitter, you said so yourself.” I looked up. “It would be a stroke of genius for someone who wanted the boy dead to get himself placed on the mission to find him.”

“Amaury’s company was hand-picked,” he said. “Valère’s a likelier candidate.”

“I agree.” I thought of Melisande Shahrizai’s description of Lord Amaury Trente in La Serenissima.
A capable man, it is said, and loyal to the Queen, but not, I think, a clever one
. “Nonetheless, we must consider the possibility.”

“So what do we do?”

“Look for scratched faces,” I said. “Imri drew blood; there were traces of it under his nails. If it’s none of Amaury’s men …” I grimaced. “All we have to do is get him to Tyre alive.”

“With the Lugal’s generous escort,” Joscelin observed. “Filled with Elua knows how many would-be assassins.” He glanced toward the bedchamber. “You know… all my life, from the time I was ten, I trained for this, for this very thing-to serve as a personal bodyguard to a member of House Courcel, the finest possible protection against the threat of assassination. And now?” He shrugged, the robe slipping from his bound shoulder. “I’m useless.”

“Not useless,” I said fiercely. “Never that! I’d rather have you one-handed than an entire company of Black Shields!”

He smiled, but his eyes were bleak. “I can’t fight, Phèdre. You’ve seen it as well as I. Until this happened … I didn’t mind, not so much as I thought I might. After Daršanga, if I never have to kill anyone again, it will be too soon. But the boy…” He glanced back toward Imriel. “He needs a Cassiline, not a cripple.”

“Joscelin.” Tears stood in my eyes. “Anyone who wants to kill him will have to go through both of us first. And no one’s done it yet.”

After a moment he nodded, reaching out to brush my cheek. “Go to bed,” he murmured. “I’ll take the first watch and wake you before dawn.”

I slept uneasily and rose when Joscelin, bleary-eyed, awoke me. While they slept, I studied the Jebean scroll which Valère L’Envers had restored to me. I’d learned a good deal more Jeb’ez than I realized, eavesdropping on Kaneka and her companions. I pondered the raiment of the figures, the bejeweled breastplate, the diadem placed upon Melek al’Hakim’s brow after he was anointed. I pondered the two figures escaping from the ruin of the Temple, carrying the cloth-shrouded burden between them on two poles. Slowly, the mysteries I had studied filtered back into my mind, the long hours spent with Eleazar ben Enokh, with the Rebbe before him, the many texts I had perused. I thought on Eleazar’s parting words.
You must make of the self a vessel where there is no self
. What did it mean, if not what I had undergone in Daršanga? Truly, the ways of gods were unknowable.

A breathless laugh broke my concentration and I jerked my head up, startled.

“You see?” Joscelin said to Imriel. “The Lugal himself could ride past her on a tiger, and she’d not notice.”

“I would, too,” I said. I don’t think either of them believed me.

We spent the day in investigation, as best we might; no easy thing, in unfamiliar surroundings. Joscelin, with Imriel at his side, sought out Lord Amaury’s men, examining them for scratches. For my part, I went to the women’s quarters where the
zenana
was housed, hoping to find Uru-Azag. Alas, I was too late-already, Valère had put her plan in motion, and the Akkadians were being fitted for livery and decorative armor suiting their new appointment as the Lugalin’s personal guard.

I spoke to Kaneka instead, valuing her wisdom. “Send him here, little one, if you fear for his safety in your keeping. We are enough still to protect one boy.” She grinned, hefting her axe. “I have not forgotten how to use this!”

“I will, Fedabin,” I said. “Thank you.”

Kaneka shrugged. “The sooner we are gone, the better. My feet itch for home.”

All was merriment in the women’s quarters, aside from the pall my worries cast; Valère and Sinaddan had been generous in their gifts. In that, I could not fault them. New wardrobes, gifts of jewels, visitors coming and going throughout the day, bearing some new tribute. Already the messengers had gone out, and in some cases, among the Persians and Akkadians, negotiations were beginning for their return home.

In Daršanga, someone in the
zenana
would have known had there been an assassination attempt. Here, they were strangers, more so than I, and Nineveh only a way-station. I had no allies, no Rushad to bring me court rumor. The thought, tinged with a nostalgia that was not entirely rooted in sorrow at the memory of Rushad, was unsettling.

Remember this
.

Some things I remembered too well.

After the
zenana
, I called upon Valère L’Envers. There was, I had determined, nothing to be gained in accusing her, nor in reporting the incident-ostensibly, all she could do was to express deep regrets and offer to appoint us guards, which would put her people even closer at hand. That, I wished to avoid at all costs. Still, I wished to see her, and deliver a subtle message.

Valère received me in her private paradise, which Sinaddan had had built for her. It is not so splendid, I am told, as the famous roof-top gardens of Babylon. Mayhap it is so; since I have not seen them, I cannot say. This was splendid enough, a tiny corner of Terre d’Ange recreated within the red-clay walls of Nineveh.

Fertile soil had been imported, and lush green lawn. The cost of the irrigation system alone must have been phenomenal, creating the gentle brook that wound throughout the garden, crossed by quaint, arching bridges. Flowers bloomed in profusion, quickened by the Akkadian spring-violets, roses, sweet alyssum, jumbled and out of season. Valère L’Envers was picnicking with her ladies-in-waiting beneath a cherry tree, luxuriant carpets spread on the petal-bestrewn grass.

“Phèdre nó Delaunay,” she hailed me in Akkadian, lifting a glass of chilled D’Angeline wine. “Pray, come and join us. We are escaping the unpleasantness of the world for an afternoon of leisure.”

“Is the world so unpleasant, my lady?” I inquired, kneeling on a carpet and arranging my skirts about me.

“Have you not found it so?” Valère’s tone was light, but something in it caught my ear. She smiled blandly, gesturing for an attendant to pour a glass of wine for me. “Given your recent experience, I would have thought you to find it unpleasant indeed.”

I sipped my wine. “And which experience would that be, my lady?”

Valère’s lids flickered. “Why, Drujan, of course. Surely you’ve experienced no unpleasantness in Nineveh?”

“No, no.” I shook my head. “Nothing of import. I slept poorly last night, is all. I trust it will not happen again. Poor Joscelin was up half the night.”

At that, one of her ladies laughed behind her hand, and made a speculative comment about Joscelin’s prowess, wondering if his beardless state indicated he was a eunuch. I assured her that his manhood was intact, and another of the women offered that she had heard he had been seen in the hallways of the Palace last night, in such a lack of attire as made it obvious he was indeed very much intact. This gave way to speculation as to why Joscelin Verreuil was roaming the halls mother-naked, the consensus being that with the exception of the Lugalin, all D’Angelines were mad and unpredictable, but nonetheless pleasant to look at, particularly the spectacularly naked ones, a sight doubtless wasted on the Palace guards.