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To be sure, she owed me a debt of gratitude; and never let me forget for an instant that it was a most unwelcome debt, no matter how much she prized the end result-which was, indeed, her freedom and her fame. If I had not paid the price of her marque to Eglantine House, she would have toiled in obscurity long into her middle years. Well and so; I do not think it was such a terrible thing to have done!

Nonetheless, Favrielle misliked the burden of gratitude.

“Short notice,” she said in the antechamber of her salon. “What a surprise, Comtesse.” As if I’d not gone to the trouble of making an appointment. “Are you in need of a gown for the Queen’s piquet tournament, or is it some new patron you must now impress?”

“Neither.” I strove to be gracious, ignoring Joscelin’s suppressed laughter. “It’s naught that requires your personal attention. I need two riding outfits, nothing more, fit for long travel.”

“Nothing more.” Favrielle nó Eglantine raised her brows, red-gold, like her mop of curls and the freckles sprinkled across her impish nose. On anyone else, it would have looked charming; Favrielle managed to convey unspeakable disdain. “All the world looks to Terre d’Ange to set the mode of fashion, and all Terre d’Ange looks to the City of Elua. And in the City of Elua, everyone looks to Phèdre nó Delaunay, the Comtesse de Montrève, because they know
I
clothe you, on the road no less than in the ballroom. Do not presume to tell me, Comtesse, what does and does not require my personal attention. So. Where do you travel?”

“La Serenissima and Menekhet,” I said humbly. “And afterward, Jebe-Barkal.”

“Jebe-Barkal!” It took her by surprise, but only for an instant. Favrielle’s green eyes narrowed in thought. “You’ll want somewhat light in weight, then, and none too close-fitting, but sturdy enough to wear. Light colors, too, but naught that will show the stain of travel.” She nodded decisively. “Come. I’ll show you some fabrics.”

Casting a backward glance at Joscelin, I followed Favrielle into the depths of her salon; two floors, it occupied now, an entire building in the clothiers’ district. The building, she owned outright. Her staff of drapers and cutters and embroiderers, seamstresses and tailors, watched us with amusement and an obvious fondness for the irascible mistress of their salon.

In the end, I chose two fabrics-a saffron wool, fine-carded and light as a cloud, and a raw silk of pale celadon green.

“You can wear it,” Favrielle said critically, holding a length of the bolt near my face. “Although it’s not your best color.” She surveyed me, scarred lip curling. “I suppose I’ll need to take your measurements anew?”

“They’ve not changed since you measured me last,” I said with some heat.

“If you say so.” Her eyebrows rose again. I sighed, and let her measure me anew, standing patient as the knotted cord was wrapped around my breast, waist and hips. Favrielle made notations on a piece of foolscap.

“Well?” I asked.

Head averted beneath the tumbled mass of red-gold curls, she hid a smile. “It seems your measurements are unchanged, Comtesse.”

“I told you as much.”

“You did.” Without lifting her head, Favrielle made a rough sketch of riding attire in a series of swift, elegant lines. “This is what I’m thinking, do you see? Conventional, but with a looseness of drape that affords better motion and permits the flow of air. And an overgarment, broad-sleeved and hooded, that will keep off the sun’s glare or the night’s chill. Will it suit?”

“Yes.” I looked at her handiwork and sighed. “Beautifully. How soon can you have it done?”

“Come back in two days for a final fitting.” She sketched a fine border of embroidery, then looked up at me. The indirect light caught the genuine curiosity in her green eyes, showed plainly the scar tissue that twisted her upper lip. If not for that, Favrielle would have been an adept of Eglantine House, a Servant of Naamah in her own right. “Why Jebe-Barkal?”

“Because,” I said. “There is somewhat I must do there. It is a debt I owe a friend.”

“A debt.” She cocked her head, lip curling. “You’re very keen on debts, Comtesse.”

Anger born of long frustration blossomed within me, and I met her gaze with a level stare. “Mock me if you will, but you are of Eglantine House, Favrielle, and trained there nigh to adept status. You know the art of telling tales as well as that of draping cloth; it was you who told me the story of Naamah’s daughter Mara, the first
anguissette
. Do you know the tale of how a Tsingano half-breed called the Prince of Travellers became the Master of the Straits?”

For once, Favrielle nó Eglantine’s regard held something in it that saw me as a fellow mortal being, and not an inconvenience and an unpleasant reminder of an unwanted favor. “I know it,” she said softly. “I have heard it told.”

“Well.” I ran a length of cloth-of-gold between my fingers. “It is not ended. And that is why I must go to Jebe-Barkal.”

“So.” She bent over her drawing, adding an unnecessary fillip of embellishment. “Two days. And,” Favrielle looked up, eyes gleaming, “you might pay a visit to the marquist, Comtesse. You’ve need of a good limning.”

In her own infuriating way, Favrielle was right, of course; ’twas on my list of things to be accomplished ere we departed for La Serenissima. I thought on it with amusement and annoyance as I lay on the limning-table in the marquist’s shop. It was an exquisite torture, the keen, ink-dipped needles piercing my skin, rendering the lines of my marque clean and bold. Whatever claim Kushiel may have on me-and it is a prodigious one-I am Naamah’s Servant too, twice-pledged of my own volition. It would not do to set out on a journey of this magnitude with my marque ill-tended.

When it was finished, I regarded myself in the mirror of the marquist’s well-heated shop, gazing over my shoulder. It was well done. The black-thorn vine designed by Master Robert Tielhard was immaculate against my fair skin, twining the length of my spine, accented by crimson petals. The marquist bowed, honoring the work more than the wearer. I paid him generously nonetheless. The Marquists’ Guild tithes to the Temple of Naamah. A gift to one was a gift to the other.

Naamah, I prayed silently, do not forget your Servant.

There was a good deal more to be done, and much of it dull and prosaic. I met with my factor, Jacques Brenin, to discuss my finances. We agreed on arrangements for the coming year-which is to say, I acceded to his suggestions, which were always good-and he gave me promissory notes for the Banco Tribune in La Serenissima and a money-lending house he knew by repute in Iskandria.

I paid a visit, by day and sober, to Emile in Night’s Doorstep. To him I gave my heartfelt thanks, and a purse of gold coin, which he made to refuse. “No.” I closed his fingers over the purse. “Keep it, Emile. Half for yourself, or the
Didikani
of the City if you wish, and half for Kristof, Oszkar’s son. Let it be known that it is out of gratitude, in honor of Hyacinthe, Anasztaizia’s son. I ask nothing in return but silence.”

“Tsingani do not meddle in
gadje
affairs,” Emile said automatically, then grinned. “Not those who walk the
Lungo Drom
, any mind. So you found the missing prince?”

“I found his trail,” I said. “And I will cross it again, Elua willing. But my duty is done to the best of my ability. It is Hyacinthe’s quest I undertake now.”

Twenty-Six

On THE following day, I was no less idle, meeting with Audine Davul at the City Academy and listening spellbound as she told me aught that she might of Jebe-Barkal. In my ignorance, I had conceived of it solely as a desert land, like unto the Umaiyyat; but there were mountains, she assured me, and valleys dense with foliage, vast inland lakes and one of the most spectacular waterfalls in existence.

Our journey, as best I could guess, would take us through all these terrains and more.

“Show no weakness,” Audine Davul cautioned Joscelin and me alike. “They are a proud folk, and capable of great generosity and great cruelty alike. These descendents of Shalomon of whom you speak-I know nothing of them save what is told in story. But in the north … Jebeans are jealous of their pride. Give every courtesy, and never reveal fear.”

We thanked her, and Joscelin bowed deeply. I tried to imagine him showing fear, and failed. Then I remembered him in the hut in Waldemar Selig’s steading where he had wished to die, enchained, his hands raw with chilblains, lank-haired and wild-eyed.

All things are possible.

Even the worst of things.

I’d made a fair-copy of Audine’s translation of the Jebean scroll upon our return to the City of Elua and had it sent to Eleazar ben Enokh, my favorite Yeshuite scholar. It was upon Eleazar that I intended to call that afternoon-and I will own, it was an encounter I anticipated with some excitement. Ten years of my life I’d given to the pursuit of the Name of God. To be sure, I was a long way from finding it, but I looked forward to hearing Eleazar’s thoughts with a scholar’s arcane passion.

“I’ll send the carriage back for you,” Joscelin promised, dropping a kiss upon my brow. His mouth quirked in a half-smile. “I am eager to hear the shortened version of Rebbe Eleazar’s impressions. I fear the full might of them would be too much for Cassiel’s simple servant to endure.”

“Liar,” I said affectionately. He laughed and took his leave.

Within, I found Eleazar aquiver with excitement, sitting cross-legged on his prayer mats and slapping his bony knees, the translated
Kefra Neghast
on the floor in front of him. “Phèdre nó Delaunay!” he exclaimed. “What a treasure you have found! Come, and let us share our thoughts on this matter.”

I took my place opposite him, kneeling, and opened the original scroll with its painted illustrations, weighting it carefully at the corners. “You think there is merit in it, father?”

“Merit, of a surety. It is a tale, is it not?” He shrugged. “You ask if it is true. Who can say? You must go and see for yourself.”

“But you think it may be so.”

Eleazar ben Enokh paused, then nodded. “I think it may be so, at least in part. Trade and war alike existed between the Habiru nation and Jebe-Barkal in the old days. This Queen, Makeda-” he pointed at the parchment, “-it is not impossible. Shalomon had many wives, including Pharaoh’s daughter. The ring …” He tapped his lower teeth in absent thought. “Folklore says it bore the Name of God, and with it Shalomon commanded demons to build the Temple. What is the grain of truth at the heart of that pearl, eh? Perhaps with the ring of his father’s authority, Melek al’Hakim commanded the architect Khiram, whose father was of the Tribe of Dân. His mother … ah!” His brown eyes glinted. “Perhaps she followed other faiths, yes? And Khiram’s workmen also? Worshipping Asherat-of-the-Sea, and Baal of the high places.”

“Mayhap,” I said slowly. It made sense, though I was reluctant to own it. “Then you think it is a myth, no more?”

“Shalomon’s Ring.” Eleazar’s voice softened, growing kinder. “Forgive me, for your scroll poses answers to mighty questions, and in my joy, I forget they are not the answers you seek. If you ask me, do I believe in my heart that Shalomon’s Ring was inscribed with the Name of God … the answer is no, Phèdre nó Delaunay. I do not believe it. I have sought too long on the paths of prayer to believe the Word is writ on a mere gem.” He leaned forward, touching the diamond of the Companion’s Star on my breast. “Here is etched the sigil of Elua, yes? It commands a mighty boon. But it is a human token, no less and no more, and it is the Queen who must answer to it, and not Blessed Elua himself. This I know to be true. So, I believe, of Shalomon’s Ring.”

I closed my hand over the brooch and stared at the scroll. “Then you do not believe this Melek al’Hakim carried away the Name of God?”

Eleazar shook his head. “I do not say this. There are paths of prayer the Children of Yisra-el have forgotten. It may be that Melek al’Hakim and the Tribe of Dân remember. And there is this,” he added, indicating a line.

‘ … and Melek al’Hakim was anointed by Zadok the priest, Melek-Zadok he became, and with Khiram son of Khiram and his people who were of Dân, and twenty of the Tribe of Levi, that is, Aaron’s line, they did despoil the Temple of Shalomon of its vessels and treasures, and fled amid the strife to Menekhet,’” I read aloud, then sat back on my heels. “What do you make of it, father?”

“Whatever Melek al’Hakim took with him, he had the priesthood’s blessing,” Eleazar said simply. “I do not know. Perhaps it was the Name of God. What other treasure is worth protecting more?”

“The Temple was built to house the Signs of the Covenant,” I said.

“Yes.” Eleazar nodded. “Moishe’s Tablets, Aaron’s Rod, and a jar of manna. So it is written, and it is written that the Ark which held them was taken to the mountains and hidden in the time of Judah Maccabeus.” He shrugged. “Perhaps it is so. If it is, it has passed beyond mortal knowledge. But this object…” He pointed to the Jebean scroll, the original, where two men carried a cloth-covered chest on long poles. “It is shrouded, yes. And yet to my eyes, it looks very like that Ark which is described in the Tanakh. Do you not discern, here, the outline of two cherubim, facing one another?”

I squinted at it. “It may be so.”

“It may.” A grin broke over Eleazar’s homely face, making it for an instant lovely. “Who can say, Phèdre nó Delaunay? It is a mystery, and one that we who follow the teachings of Yeshua ben Yosef have abandoned. Who needs the voice of Adonai speaking between the cherubim when the Mashiach has walked the earth, flesh and blood and somewhat more besides? Who needs the Name of God, when His Son has spoken the Word of redemption and pledged a new covenant?”

I thought of the terrible power and anguish caught behind Hyacinthe’s eyes, of the yawning chasm that had opened in the sea between us and the awesome, wrathful
presence
moving in its depths. “Not all of Adonai’s creatures accepted Yeshua’s covenant with obedience, father. Rahab, who is the Prince of the Deep, did not; and it is Hyacinthe who suffers for it. If there is no power in Elua’s lore nor in Yeshua’s to turn him aside, if the Name of God is the only power to which Rahab must answer, then
I
need it.”