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Joscelin disarmed with reluctance, handing over his daggers and his sword. These the guardsmen took, and we were driven around the Palace to a side entrance, one I had entered before. Servants unloaded our trunks, and where they were taken, I could not say, for we were ushered to the self-same reception-chamber I had visited twice before. This time, not even the silent fan-bearers were present.

And here we were left.

For how long? Hours, it seemed. Outside the high windows, dusk fell and the shadows grew long and blue, thickening to darkness. Imriel took out the flint-striker that Bizan had given him and kindled the oil lamps. The frescoed walls leapt to life and glowed, depicting the deeds of the Ptolemaic Dynasty. A servant entered with a tray containing a pitcher of steeped hibiscus-water, set it on the table and departed without a word.

“What do you think?” Joscelin asked in a low voice.

“I think Ptolemy Dikaios is repaying us for forcing his hand,” I replying, pouring a cup and tasting it. “If he wanted us dead, he’d have no need of poison.”

“I meant the waiting.”

I shrugged. “He is Pharaoh, Joscelin. We wait on his pleasure. He means us to know it.”

It was another hour before Ptolemy Dikaios arrived, by which time we were tired and hungry. Four guards escorted him into the reception-chamber and waited while we made full obeisance, kneeling and bowing low, then standing with downcast eyes. Imriel followed Joscelin and me, lingering a half-step behind us. I could see the lamplight gleaming from the jewels that bedecked Pharaoh’s robes. He waited until his guards had left to address us.

“I rather think we’re beyond standing on ceremony, Phèdre nó Delaunay.”

I looked up to meet his clever gaze. “As you will, my lord Pharaoh.”

He walked over to the low table and smelled the pitcher. “What, no beer? I trust you were well fed, at least.”

“No, my lord,” I said, watching him. “We have not eaten.”

Ptolemy Dikaios made a tsking sound. “My servants misunderstood. I beg your pardon. Well, it will have to be remedied later. Messire Verreuil, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

“My lord.” Joscelin gave his Cassiline bow.

“And you.” Pharaoh turned to Imriel and made a courtly half-bow. “I trust I have the pleasure of meeting Prince Imriel de la Courcel?”

I am given to understand that her son stands third in line for the D’Angeline throne
.

Imriel glanced uncertainly at me. I nodded. “My lord Pharaoh,” he murmured in schoolboy Hellene, returning Pharaoh’s bow.

“A beautiful boy,” Ptolemy Dikaios said to me.

“Yes, my lord,” I said politely. “My lord, if you will forgive me for being importunate, it is incumbent upon us to report to the household of Comte Raife Laniol, Ambassador de Penfars. Is it your intention to see us delivered there?”

“In gilded chains, perhaps?” Pharaoh chuckled at the notion. “Paraded through the streets of Iskandria, with the rescued D’Angeline Prince carried in a jeweled litter? Yes, that would look well for me, wouldn’t it? And I daresay your ambassador would be glad of it. He feels you made a fool of him in more ways than one.”

I felt myself blanch, but kept my voice steady. “It is Pharaoh’s privilege. Is it his will?”

Ptolemy Dikaios rubbed his chin. “I’ve not decided. Somehow I suspect your Queen would not be as pleased, after the attempt on the boy’s life in Nineveh. Doubtless she would prefer not to have his identity shouted throughout the city, especially given the large Akkadian presence and the fact that no ships are due to sail to Terre d’Ange until spring.” He smiled at my expression. “Ah, now, I’ve my own informants in Khebbel-im-Akkad, my dear. You needn’t look surprised.”

“Ships can be obtained,” I said. “My lord Pharaoh, if you will not deliver us to the embassy, I must ask you to let us go.”

“To de Penfars?” He raised his brows. “He
will
clap you in chains, you know. He’s of a mind that the Queen should charge you with treason for the abduction of a member of the Royal House.”

“It was my decision-” Joscelin began, even as Imriel said hotly, “No one abducted-”

“Enough.” Pharaoh raised one hand, jeweled rings gleaming. “It is not my affair to sit in judgement on your guilt.”

“With all due respect, my lord,” I said, “nor is it your place to detain us. We are D’Angeline citizens, and whatever else we have done, we have broken no Menekhetan law.”

“Always thinking,” he said with amusement, “always arguing, Phèdre nó Delaunay. Do you bargain with your own sovereign thusly?”

“No, my lord.” I held his gaze. “But Ysandre de la Courcel does not play such games as you.”

He laughed. “She might, if she ruled Menekhet and not Terre d’Ange. Those of us whose power rests precariously upon our wits learn to play them early. But you wrong me this time, Lady Phèdre. It is no game I play, but an act of kindness on behalf of an old, dear friend. And where you go when you leave my Palace is entirely up to you, although I might add that there is a very fine trade-ship sailing on the morrow for La Serenissima, and I happen to know there are berths open.”

“My lord?”

Ptolemy Dikaios took a sealed letter from the folds of his robe. “The last time you were here, you gave to me letters I would deny receiving from your hand. This time, I have one such for you,” he said, and tossed it onto the table.

I didn’t need to see the seal. I knew the handwriting.

It was Melisande Shahrizai’s.

Eighty-Four

YOU
WROTE
to
Melisande
?” Joscelin’s tone was outraged. “You didn’t tell me
that
.’”

“You didn’t need to know,” I murmured, reading the contents of the letter. Although the parchment was unscented, I swore I could smell her fragrance. The thought of it, combined with hunger and weariness, made me dizzy. And despite it all, her words set my mind to working.

Joscelin took a deep breath and clenched his jaw, mindful of Pharaoh’s presence. “What does she want?” he asked, tight-lipped.

I passed him the letter. “To see Imriel.”

Imri, looking pale, said nothing.

“Well.” Joscelin scanned the few lines and tossed the letter back on the table, shaking his head. “Even if it were possible … Elua. But it’s not, not with the two of us already standing to be accused of treason.”

“No one knows we’re here?” I asked Ptolemy Dikaios.

“No,” he said. “Not unless your Ambassador de Penfars has had sense to place informants among the Menekhetans, which he has not.”

“
Phèdre
.”

“Imri,” I said, ignoring Joscelin. “I have an idea. And if it works … if it works, it will do a great service for Terre d’Ange. Are you willing to help me?”

Imriel nodded, tears in his eyes. “What do I have to do?”

“See your mother,” I said gently. “That’s all.”

“Will it keep you and Joscelin from being accused of treason?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “But it might protect Queen Ysandre and your young cousins, her daughters, from an untimely death.”

He swallowed. “I’ll do it. Only because you ask.”

Joscelin put his head in his hands. “Phèdre. What are you planning?”

“To strike a bargain with Melisande Shahrizai,” I said, turning to Pharaoh. “My lord, I think we will be some hours discussing this. Do you grant us leave to go?”

Ptolemy Dikaios nodded at the door. “You will be escorted to quarters within the Palace and awakened at dawn. You will give your decision to the guard posted at your door, a trusted captain of mine. He will escort you to a covered carriage, containing your belongings. And there you will either be driven to the harbor or the D’Angeline embassy, according to your choice. If it is the latter, I will enjoy de Penfars’ groveling thanks. If it is the former …”

“I understand,” I said. “No word of it will ever leave these walls.”

“Even so.” The Pharaoh of Menekhet reached over to pat Imriel’s cheek with his bejeweled hand. “Pity,” he said. “I was hoping the young prince would owe me a favor for this, but it seems his gratitude lies elsewhere.”

Imriel bared his teeth, eyes glittering with a fury I remembered from Daršanga.

“Imri,” I murmured.

Pharaoh snatched his hand back. “Does he bite?” he inquired dryly.

“He might,” I said. “His mother does. But I rather suspect you knew that already, my lord Pharaoh.”

Thus our final audience with Ptolemy Dikaios, whose cunning made my skin prickle. We were escorted from his presence to generous quarters, wherein we found our trunks undisturbed and apologetic servants brought us a meal of cold bean-cakes and warmed-over lamb stew. And I had guessed aright, for Joscelin and I went sleepless throughout the night, arguing the matter in low voices while Imriel slept, fitful and restless. And all of the points Joscelin made were good and valid, foremost among them that we could easily be walking into a trap.

“We’re not,” I told him.

“How can you be sure?”

For that, I had no answer save one.

I have no right to see him, and no right to ask it of you. This I know. I can say only that I am willing to place myself in your debt for this, and swear in Kushiel’s name that no harm will come to you, nor to him
.

I knew Melisande Shahrizai.

Joscelin capitulated in the end, although he looked sick at it. “Youknow this is like to go unrewarded,” he said. “If it even works.”

“Yes,” I said. “I know.”

“Melisande doesn’t have the power to threaten Ysandre’s life.” He sounded uncertain. “Not any more.”

I raised my eyebrows. “She has enough to convince the Pharaoh of Menekhet to play messenger-boy, and Elua knows how many agents searching for Imriel before she summoned us. Do you remember what she said to Ysandre in La Serenissima?”

“Yes,” Joscelin said. “I remember.”

“‘I have always understood, if you have not, that we played a game,’” I said, quoting the words from memory. “‘Do you take my son, we become enemies. Believe me, your majesty, you do not want me as an enemy.’”

“I remember.”

“He’s third in line for the throne, Joscelin.”

He glanced over at Imriel’s sleeping form. “And you think you can keep him there. With a promise. From Melisande Shahrizai.”

I nodded.

Joscelin sighed. “Tell me at least that this is some prompting of Kushiel’s, or Blessed Elua, or the Name of God stirring within you.”

“I wish I could,” I whispered. “Oh, Joscelin! We’re already up to our necks in trouble with Ysandre. As far as she knows, we might be dead in Jebe-Barkal right now, slain by bandits and Imriel with us. Will it really make it so much worse if we return by way of La Serenissima and not Iskandria? For better or for worse, Melisande loves her son, and that’s the only cord that will bind her. We only have the chance to try it once.”

“Why?” he asked. “Why only once, why now?”

I told him the card I meant to play.

He sighed and rubbed aching temples. “All right. All right. We may as well be hung for a cow as a calf at this point. Ah, Elua, like as not it will be faster, if we’re not killed or abducted in the process. I hope Ricciardo Stregazza has kept our horses fit and ready for travel.”

“You see?” I said. “We would have had to go to La Serenissima anyway.”

One of the Palace slaves awoke us at dawn, and I gave word to the guard on duty outside our doors. He nodded impassively and strode away, returning in short order with porters to bear our belongings back to the covered carriage. No one in the Palace acknowledged our presence as we left. It was a strange feeling. We had to hurry to catch the ship, which was nearly ready to sail by the time we reached the harbor.

“La Serenissima?” one of the guards shouted to a sailor onboard.

“Aye!”

“Hold for three passengers!”

They waited while we were hustled aboard the ship, our trunks loaded. Joscelin snatched his weapons from the guard’s hands, slinging his baldric over one shoulder and settling his belt about his waist.

“Come on, then, hurry,” the ship’s captain said in Caerdicci, hands on his hips. “We’re out to catch the last of the autumn winds.”

“Autumn,” I murmured. “It’s autumn?”

“Aye. Nearly winter.” He eyed me strangely, as well he might, for I wore one of my Jebean gowns, pinned at the breast, with bracelets of ivory and gold encircling both wrists. I’d meant to have clothing made in Iskandria, or begged some of Juliette Laniol, the Ambassador’s wife. “You’re D’Angeline, my lady?”

“She is the Comtesse Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève of Terre d’Ange,” Joscelin informed him, adjusting his baldric.

“Well, she’s like to take a chill on the open sea in that attire,” the captain said. He eyed me again. “Not that I’m like to complain. Stand by to weigh anchor!”

And with that, we were off.

Eighty-Five

IT TOOK the last of our trader’s coin to pay our passage aboard the ship, and the berth was small. By the time we were out of sight of land, the winds turned chilly, and I was forced to barter with one of the Serenissiman sailors for a thick cloak of coarse-spun wool. He’d have given it to me for a kiss-which Joscelin failed to note, being incapacitated with his customary battle with seasickness-but I paid him instead with the crystal beads salvaged from one of my ruined gowns, which was more than the cloak was worth.

At least aboard the ship there was a good deal of time to talk, for we had a good deal of talking to be done, and much of it to Imriel. Ultimately, my plan rested on his decision, and I meant to be certain it was wholly his.

“Why is Queen Ysandre so angry at you?” he wanted to know. “Because of me? But it was my fault-I followed you.”

“I know,” I said. “But we could have returned you. And that was our choice.” And I explained to him once again the long history of his family, House Courcel, and the blood-quarrels that had divided it, and how Ysandre wished to make an end of it by bringing him into the fold. “It’s a noble purpose, Imri. You’ll like her. You’ll like her very much. I do. There is no one I admire more.”

He frowned, sitting cross-legged on deck in his Jebean breeches and
chamma
. It was still warm in the sun if one sat out of the wind. “Valère L’Envers wants me dead.”