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“Someone did,” she said grimly. “It did not end well. Her punishment … well, there may be worse ways to die, but I cannot think of any. Ask someone else, if you want to know it; I do not care to remember. His lordship may be insane, Phèdre, but he’s a trained warrior, and not careless with his life when his priests are not there to protect him.”

Unless it was someone he trusted, I thought; someone he
loved
.

And the surety of it gripped me like a storm, until I had to bow my head in horror and weep, mumbling for Drucilla to leave me, that I needed to lie still against the pain. I lay curled on my bed, staring at the jade dog figurine on my shelf. Once upon a time, the Mahrkagir had been a boy with a dog. I did not know if I could do it. Blessed Elua, I prayed, is this your will? Might even he not be redeemed through love?

I already knew the answer. The boy with the dog had grown into a monster. And as much as it might pain him, as much as his black, black eyes might grow lustrous with tears, he would take the gift of
love
and offer it on the altar of Angra Mainyu. He would make me beg for death and grant it as a final, loving boon, whispering endearments as he ate my heart.

Unless I killed him first.

It terrified me even to think it, so I thought of other things instead, such as how we were to escape if I did it. And to that, I had no answer. If what Rushad had told me was true, the power of the
Skotophagoti
, the Âka-Magi, flowed through the Mahrkagir. Their powers would be broken with his death. Well and good; that left only the whole of the Drujani army.

If we could take Daršanga, I thought, we could hold it, at least for a while. Long enough, mayhap, to commandeer a ship and escape along the coast of the Sea of Khaspar to Khebbel-im-Akkad-or, at the least, to send word via the sea route. I did not doubt that the Lugal Sinaddan would descend upon Drujan in all haste if he knew. I could only pray it did not result in a second bloodbath like the one that had begotten the Mahrkagir.

Taking Daršanga was the only problem.

That, and committing murder.

I sat upon my carpet and watched the
zenana
on an afternoon when Nariman was absent, gauging its mood. They worked together to enjoy the garden, posting watchers, setting up a warning system. Not all, of course-many preferred the escape of opium dreams-but enough. I watched the blue smoke curling from an Ephesian water-pipe, and wondered how much opium was present in the
zenana
, and how much it would take to drug the garrison. I remembered the pellet Rushad had offered me, and wondered if it could be placed in the food, or whether it would dissolve in drink. Kumis, I thought, would mask the taste of anything.

“Watching and listening,” Kaneka called from her couch. “Always watching and listening. You are not practicing your Jeb’ez, little one, though I gave you permission.”

“Yequit’a, Fedabin.” I bowed from the waist. “I was thinking of somewhat else.”

“Your storm-lord?” She laughed, the others laughing with her.

“No, Fedabin Kaneka.” On a whim, or something like it, I told the truth. “I was wondering whether or not opium dissolves in liquid.”

Kaneka’s brows rose. “Why such a thing? Will no one share a pipe with the Mahrkagir’s favorite? Well, then, beg him for one, or eat it in pellets, if you will.”

“It is a thing I wonder, that is all.”

It bothered her; I saw the thoughts flicker behind her frown. “No. It must be brewed in water, to be drunk. The resin of the poppy must boil a long time.”

“Ah,” I said. “Thank you, Fedabin.”

“Come here.” Her tone was peremptory. I rose and went to kneel on the Jebeans’ carpet. Kaneka stared at me with hooded eyes. “You did that,” she said, pointing to the garden door, the posted sentries. “I saw. I watched it happen. The others, they forget. I don’t. Why?”

“For Imri,” I said. “I wanted him to see the sky.”

“That boy.” Her voice deepened. “He does not even like you.”

It was true enough. Having dared two steps forward, coming to see me, Imriel had taken a large step in retreat, unwilling to accept the truth of what I had told him. I shrugged. “It does not matter.”

“It matters in here,” said Achara, one of the Nubians.

“He is only a child,” I said, thinking of Melisande’s words.
Let him live to hate me, then; only let him live
.

Kaneka laughed, harsh and dark. “There are no children here,” she said. “Whose wine were you thinking to lace with opium, little one? Lord Death’s?”

“No.” I smiled at her. “There is a great deal of opium in the
zenana
, Fedabin Kaneka; enough to dull the wits of the entire garrison of Darsanga for a single night. I was only thinking, no more.”

Something behind Kaneka’s eyes closed, rendering her face mask-like. She looked at me without speaking for a long time. “Dangerous thoughts,” she said at length. “And dangerous words.”

“And even more dangerous deeds,” I said softly. “Yes, Fedabin. That is why I say they are only thoughts and no more. It would endanger the entire
zenana
to speak them openly, would it not? And to render them deeds …” I shrugged. “Of a surety, some of us would die. All, if we failed.”

Her hand flashed out to grab a fistful of my hair, yanking my head forward as she leaned down from the couch until our faces were mere inches apart. I could see the red veins lacing the whites of her eyes. “I will not die for your dangerous thoughts, little one, do you hear?” she said, her breath hot against my face. I could smell the sharp sweat of fear on her. “No one here will! Hope kills in this place, and betrayal kills quicker. Only those of us who have learned to live with Death, to keep him at bay one day at a time, endure. Better for us all if you keep your mouth silent on these thoughts!”

“You will die here, Kaneka.” With her face loomed over mine, I somehow managed to say it unflinching. “
When
is the only question that matters. One day, your dice will call your number, and your charms of thread and bone will not avail you.”

Kaneka released me with a Jebean curse. “Not while you live!” she spat. “I do not fear Lord Death’s men, grunting fools. Only him. And while you live, he will summon no other, Death’s Whore! I know this to be true. The dice do not lie.”

“My number,” I said, “has already been called. Whose will be next?”

And with that, I left them, a low buzz of Jeb’ez following me. Amidst the angry reactions, I heard someone-Safiya, I thought-remark thoughtfully that it was known a cook in the
zenana
was enamored of Nazneen the Ephesian, and surely he would boil opium into a tincture for her sake. And then Kaneka ordered her to silence, and they spoke of it no more.

I went to my chamber and sat on my bed, trembling at the risk I had taken. The little jade dog on my shelf stared at me with bulging eyes, reminding me that betrayal from within the
zenana
was the least of my fears. Kaneka spoke truly-in this place, hope could kill, and betrayal quicker.

But if I died in Daršanga, it would be at the hands of love.

I have known love in my lifetime; known what it is to love, and be loved. I had it first from Hyacinthe, my truest friend; from my lord Delaunay, who redeemed me, and from Alcuin, the brother of my childhood. Truly, it is in loss that we learn a thing’s true value.

There are loves I have never known, whose lack I have mourned half-unknowing-for my parents, who sacrificed me on the altar of their own passion, for the children I dared not bear. But I have known the love of good comrades and stalwart companions, of a sovereign whom I admired and revered to the depths of my being.

I have known love in all its cruelty; so I thought, before this. Melisande’s voice haunted my memory.
We are bound together
. When all was said and done, it was true; there was an inextricable link between us. But ah, Elua! There were blasphemies here such as she had never dreamed. Love may be cruel, but even its cruelties can be profaned.

And I have known love that defied all odds.

Thinking of Joscelin, my throat grew tight. His face, taut with despair, swam before my face. His part in this was harder, so much harder than I had reckoned. Already, madness nipped at his heels. I had asked too much of him, and I did not know how much longer he could endure.

All I could do was pray.

Fifty-Two

SPRING CAME to Daršanga.

In the garden of the
zenana
, it brought a few pale seedlings, straggling, weedy things pushing through the crumbling soil in the corners where the scorched, salted earth was less barren. There was a slow-witted girl from the island of Cythera who tended them whenever she had a chance, crooning over them, bringing stagnant water from the pool inside in a tin cup to nourish them. I would have thought it more like to kill them, but they grew all the same, stubborn little shoots inching toward the sun.

Betimes, Imriel would help her, unexpectedly patient, and I remembered the simple-minded acolyte at the Sanctuary of Elua and her gift with animals-Liliane, who bore my mother’s name. Imriel would have known her, of course, nearly all his life. I remembered how our mounts had followed her unbidden. And I remembered too how the
Skotophagotis
had ridden his ill-tempered ass without so much as a halter.

The gifts of Blessed Elua.

The power of Angra Mainyu.

One of these would prevail, here in Daršanga. And I, who bore this knowledge alone, shuddered under the weight of it. Weak and craven, Kaneka had called the gods of Terre d’Ange; last-born, spineless servants. Even Imriel despised them, and Joscelin … I did not know what Joscelin believed, not now. He had been Cassiel’s priest, once. Now he lived the damnation he believed he had accepted when he chose love over duty.

All around me, the palace of Daršanga breathed darkness and hatred, the hunger of Angra Mainyu waking anew to spring and the prospect of new life to destroy. Its numbers were swelling. From all over Drujan and elsewhere, the Âka-Magi returned to the palace, to the Mahrkagir. First there were three, in the festal hall, then five, then eight. The apprentices came too, the scouts in their bone girdles, preparing for their final ordination.

And the Tatar tribesmen came in droves.

Including Jagun of the Kereyit Tatars.

Rushad heard the rumor first, and I prayed it was not true, prayed that Blessed Elua would intercede. ’Twas to no avail. Nariman the Chief Eunuch’s face told the tale, his fat cheeks quivering with pleasure as he smiled, his pointing finger summoning Imriel to the festal hall. “
You
are to attend the Kereyit warlord,” he hissed. “See he is well pleased at the banquet!”

Imriel’s expression went stony. No one wept for him. I didn’t dare.

In the long corridor, he walked like a condemned man going to the gallows, and my heart bled for him. Uru-Azag gave me a sympathetic glance. There was nothing he could do, either.

The festal hall was packed; a full score of us had been summoned. I took my place at the Mahrkagir’s side. By this time, it was well established. He kept me next to him as if I were his Queen, even greeting me with a courtly kiss, his eyes mad and adoring. And at his side, I too presided over hell.

The Kereyit Tatars had a place of honor at one of the front tables. I knew Jagun at a glance by the way the others deferred to him. He was resplendent in fur-trimmed armor, broad-shouldered with a horseman’s bandy legs, and he shouted his approval when Imriel was sent to attend him, banging a tankard of kumis on the table.

At least, I thought, the Tatars are not willfully cruel-not like the Drujani, who followed the creed of Angra Mainyu. And not, Elua be thanked, like the Mahrkagir, for whom night was day and cold was hot and atrocity was an innocent pleasure. Still, they were fierce and savage, and I saw the tears of helpless rage in Imriel’s eyes as Jagun of the Kereyit fondled him, roaring with laughter when he resisted.

“Jagun wants the boy,” the Mahrkagir confided to me, watching it. He laughed. “If he will swear allegiance, all the Kereyit will follow, and the Kirghiz and the Uighur will follow them! We will march upon Nineveh!” His eyes shone. “Khebbel-im-Akkad will fall to us, îshta, and it is only a beginning. We will sweep across the land like a dark wind. You will see.” He smiled at me. “Your fearful gods are impatient to kneel before Angra Mainyu as you are to kneel at my feet. Tell them I am coming, îshta. It will not be long. When Jagun and the Tatars agree, I will come for them, and I will make of their destruction a wondrous ill-deed.”

“So you will give Jagun the boy, my lord?” I made myself ask him.

“Not yet.” He shrugged. “Gashtaham says we cannot move until after the vahmyâcam, anyway. There will be more acolytes, after the offering, and more Âka-Magi will be dedicated, who are worth a thousand warriors each-and something else, he says, something special. I thought I knew, once, but that was before … look, îshta!” He laughed again. “See how your D’Angeline lord Jossalin stares at the boy! I think he is jealous, my Bringer of Omens. I knew he would desire the boy if he saw him!”

“Send him to him, then.” My voice sounded hollow to my ears. I forced myself to smile at the Mahrkagir. “And then Jagun will be jealous. If his blood is heated, he will be quicker to strike a bargain and be done with it.”

“It is a clever thought,” he said in approval. “I may do it, soon. Not yet. I want Jagun to keep his hunger. Certain license I have granted him in this hall, but he is forbidden the final prize. There is time, before the vahmyâcam. Then, after it is done, he may possess the boy in full.” He caressed my cheek with cold fingers. “See how much you have taught me of desire, îshta! I have grown wise in its ways.”

I nodded, closing my eyes against the terrible thrill of his touch. “When is the vahmyâcam, my lord?”

“Oh, that.” The Mahrkagir stroked my breast, teasing the nipple to erectness and squeezing it hard, laughing softly as I bit back a whimper of pleasure. It was still a favorite game of his. “Ten days.”

The hall reeled in my vision as I opened my eyes, hazed in crimson, the pulse of desire beating hard in my blood. I gripped the tabletop hard, nails digging into the wood. One of the Âka-Magi came to speak to the Mahrkagir, who released me. The Âka-Magus looked at me out of the corner of his eye, a pleased smile hovering about his lips.