The charioteer cursed in Menekhetan and flicked his whip.

And the skotophagotis bowed his head and stepped out of the way, sunlight gleaming from the yellowed bone that cupped his own skull. In a trice, it was over, and the charioteer plunging on his way, Nesmut tugging at my hand and muttering, "Do not look, do not look, my lady, do not cross his shadow."

It meant nothing at the time, though. That came later.

Lord Amaury Trente was in a foul mood that night when we dined at Metriche's inn, and for that, I could not blame him. There was no movement in the search for Imriel de la Courcel, and negotiations must carry on apace, lest we lose credibility with the Menekhetans. I'd scarce spoken to Denise Fleurais, who was the nearest thing I had to a friend among his delegates, these three days past. Ysandre would make no bad bargain on Drustan's behalf; that was sacrosanct.

To be sure, gossip had spread since our visit to the baths, and there was speculation in Iskandria that I would offer my gifts to Pharaoh to sweeten the deal; the offer, it was murmured, would not beunwelcome.

Joscelin had heard it by now, and what he thought of it, I could not say. I daresay he knew why, after our talk, though we did not speak further of it. I kept my own counsel. Not a single one of Nesmut's elaborate web of contacts could confirm Imri was in the Palace, and I had no intention of bringing my price to the bargaining-table if he was not.

"He wants to meet you, Phedre." Lord Amaury hoisted his cup of beer and regarded it with disfavor.

"Elua, what I wouldn't give for a glass of Namarrese red! We should have brought an extra keg. Any mind ... it seems word has come to Pharaoh's ear, and he told Ambassador de Penfars today that he wishes to lay eyes on this treasure of D'Angeline womanhood. Especially since General Hermodorus has seen you."

I picked at the fish on my plate, separating tender flesh from a myriad of bones. "Well and so, he may meet me. If the ruler of Menekhet summons me before the throne, I can hardly ignore it."

"And if he asks more?" Amaury asked. "Comte Raife thinks he might. He has heard, it seems, something of Naamah's service."

At the far end of the table, Denise Fleurais coughed discreetly. I ignored it and met Amaury's eyes. "I am a free D'Angeline, and under no obligation to Ptolemy Dikaios. Does Ambassador de Penfars counsel that I should grant his request? Does he think Pharaoh will be struck dumb at my beauty and offer up the boy of his own volition?"

"No." Lord Amaury looked miserable. "But we're running out of options, my lady. And he thought. . .

you are skilled in the arts of covertcy. Men talk, in moments of passion . . . Elua, I don't know! I thought, when you arrived . . ." He shrugged. "I thought we would have found him by now."

"So did I, my lord," I murmured. "So did I."

Amaury sighed and drained his cup, staring into its empty bottom until an attentive servant stepped up to refill it. I pushed away my plate of fish and glanced at Joscelin, who returned my gaze with an unreadable expression. The other delegates, less affected, laughed and conversed amid a merry clatter of cutlery.

Someone, a minor lordling, was telling a tale of the day's events to an audience rapt with horror.

". . . dragged forty yards or better," he was saying. "By the time they cut the reins from his waist, his own mother wouldn't have recognized him."

"You should send a letter of introduction," Amaury announced in an abrupt tone, raising his head. "That much, at least. Raife Laniol's a fool not to have advised it sooner."

". . . matched chestnuts, the sweetest pair you've seen, with an arch to their necks to make a woman weep, I tell you, and the one with its foreleg dangling, I nearly wept myself. . ."

"Of course," I said absentmindedly, listening, "if you think it best. My lord Amaury, what are they talking about?"

"What?" Amaury Trente stared at me a moment, uncomprehending.

"Oh, that. A man was killed at the chariot-races, I believe. One of the charioteers. A terrible accident." "Did he wear green ribbons?" My voice was unsteady.

"Green ribbons?" Amaury frowned, and asked; the question wended its way down the table and came back, the answer bedecked with a good deal of unnecessary detail. Yes, the charioteer had worn green ribbons, tied about his upper arms. Or at least he had, before. He'd gotten tangled in his reins and dragged, after the chariot had upset. Who could say what color his ribbons had been, once they were soaked with blood?

Either way, the man was dead.

It was then that a feather of foreboding touched me.

"My lord Amaury," I asked. "Who are these priests the locals name Eaters-of-Darkness? "

No one, it transpired, knew for sure; some had never encountered one and others, like me, had assumed they were Menekhetan priests, servants of Serapis, lord of the dead. I listened to them all, and learned little, beginning to wonder. Joscelin had seen the same thing I had. He listened too, and I saw on his face a steadily growing expression of disquiet that echoed what I felt. Somewhere, in these events, an unseen pattern was tightening upon us.

That night, I had another dream.

This time, it was different. I did not dream of the ship and the isle, but of Canopic Street, flat and bright-washed in the midday sun, dust lying heavy on the flagstones. A lone figure knelt in the center of it, a boy, his head bowed. A collar of iron weighted his neck, outsized and cruel, and his hair fell in black curls over his shoulders.

"Skotophagotis!" said a voice I knew to be Nesmut's.

I took a step forward, my feet as heavy as lead. A black shadow fell across the flagstones, fell across the kneeling boy. He lifted his head. A black bar of shadow lay over his face, cast by an unseen staff. He knelt unmoving, and I saw that a chain ran from the iron collar to his shackled wrists. Above the staff-shadow, his eyes were as blue as sapphires.

"Lypiphera," he said to me in Hyacinthe's voice.

I woke up shaking and weeping, with Joscelin's arms around me and his voice, warm and alive, murmuring soothing things in my ear. He held me until it passed. My anxious heart slowed and my breathing grew calm. I freed myself from his arms, then, and went to stand before the open window, letting the night breeze dry my sweat-dampened skin.

"How long have you been having nightmares?" Joscelin asked behind me.

"Since the City," I murmured. "I dreamt of Hyacinthe, before it all began."

"You should have told me."

"I know." I turned around to look at him sitting up in the bed, his beautiful face somber with concern. "It doesn't matter, though, not really. I had nightmares before, too; before La Serenissima. I'm no seer. They never tell me anything I don't already know. Only things I don't want to admit." "And what did this one tell you?" he asked, grave as a child. Joscelin would never laugh at my dreams, whether I told him or no. We had been together too long. I shivered and wrapped my arms about myself.

"I don't know," I whispered. "But I saw that priest's shadow."

"Skotophagotis." He said the word and fell silent a moment. "Phedre, come to bed. I think this is a conversation better held in daylight."

I agreed wholeheartedly, crawling back into bed and into his arms. With my head on Joscelin's shoulder, I fell asleep at last. His eyes were still open when I did, staring awake at the ceiling, and what private darkness he saw, I could not say.

In the morning, we did not speak of it until Nesmut came.

He came at the tail-end of the breakfast hour, as was his wont, sauntering into Metriche's dining-hall.

Taking a seat at our table-it was only Joscelin and me, Lord Amaury's delegation having departed already-Nesmut helped himself to a serving of bean-cake, amply spooning jellied figs atop it. He had, I noted, a new tunic, white cotton with a fine brown stripe, the fabric still crisp. Nesmut had prospered in our service. I felt guilty terminating it.

Nonetheless, there was the dream.

"Nesmut," I said, making my voice firm. He looked at me wide-eyed his mouth full of bean-cake. "I have come to a decision. Our bargain is ended. I don't want you risking yourself or others in searching the Palace of Pharaohs."

"No more," I said implacably. "Swear it. Swear it by Serapis."

Joscelin raised his eyebrows and shifted, showing the hilt of his sword to better advantage.

"I swear it," Nesmut muttered. With a sullen look, he raised his hand and rattled off an oath in Menekhetan. "The gracious lady is happy? You wish me to go?"

"Wait," Joscelin said mildly. He leaned forward. "Nesmut, my lady Phedre fears to put you in danger; you, or anyone. It does not mean we have no need of your wisdom. Tell us this, if you may, and heed my lady's tender sensibilities well. Who is that man you call Eater-of-Darkness?"

Nesmut shuddered and glanced around, then lowered his voice in the bright morning light. "Gracious lord, it is a danger to name them! They are shades, priests of a kingdom that died and lives, Persis-that-was. In Iskandria, and all across the world, they go where they will. Akkadians hate them like the plague, so it is said, but even they fear to cross a Skotophagotis' shadow. Many have tried, and died for it."

"Like the charioteer," I said.

Nesmut nodded vigorously and reached for another bean-cake, forgetting his fear. "The gracious lady has heard, yes. We saw it, and he died, died before sunset. He was a fool from the countryside, andknew no better."

"Persis-that-was?" Joscelin frowned. "You mean they are descendents of the Persians?"

"No." Nesmut chewed and swallowed, pouring a glass of water. "That is, yes, gracious lord, they are of the ancient bloodlines, but there are many Persians in Khebbel-im-Akkad. The Skotophagoti. . ." he dropped his voice again, ". . . are of the kingdom that died and lives."

Joscelin raised his eyebrows at me and I shook my head. I knew something of Akkadian history through my studies with Eleazar ben Enoch, and a good deal of the language, but nothing of a kingdom that died and lives. Of Persis itself, I knew little, for that once-mighty empire was overthrown by Ahzimandias and the resurgent House of Ur some five hundred years gone by. The Akkadians were not merciful, doing their best to obliterate the remnants of Persian culture.

There is, of course, one story that lives in D'Angeline memory. It was the King of Persis who imprisoned Blessed Elua when he first wandered the earth . . . and it was Naamah who freed him, offering the king a single night of pleasure if he would release Elua. It is why we revere Naamah, and enter her service in homage.

I was disquieted by the thought.

"Nesmut," I began, but I never finished my question, for at that moment, Lord Amaury Trente entered the dining-hall, flanked by a pair of delegates, looking distractedly about the room.

"Phedre!" he exclaimed, spotting me and hurrying over. "My lady, I'm glad you're still here. Pharaoh has sent word through Ambassador de Penfars. You are summoned to an audience," he said, adding, "Now."

THIRTY-FIVE.

ONE DOES not ignore a summons from a sitting regent in his own capital city, free D'Angeline or no. I changed my attire, donning the one suitable gown I had brought, a deep rose-hued silk bedecked with crystal beadwork. It was a full year out of date, but Favrielle no Eglantine had designed it, and the slim-fitting lines and the way an extra measure of fabric pooled at the hem were still being copied this year.

I'd brought it because it packed light.

"Very nice," Joscelin said in a neutral voice, watching me braid my hair into a coronet.

"He is Pharaoh of Menekhet, Joscelin." I fixed the braids in place with jeweled hairpins, turning my head to see them glitter in the room's dull bronze mirror. "Should I present myself before him in riding garb?"

Joscelin shrugged and made no reply. He had changed into a doublet and breeches of dove-grey velvet, the crest of Montreve worked small on the breast. If he'd worn his hair in a club at the neck, he could have passed for a Cassiline Brother.

I eyed him with resignation. "You'll not be able to take your blades into Pharaoh's presence, you know."

"I know. I'll leave them when asked." It would have to do. I sighed and kissed him before applying carmine to my lips with a delicate brush.

Mayhap it gave him dour amusement that I needs must dress my beauty in its finest rainment to meet a foreign sovereign, but he'd never been described as a treasure of D'Angeline womanhood, either.

Whatever else transpired, trade negotiations with Menekhet were like to continue, and thanks to the Lady Denise's idea, I had a level of credibility to meet.

The Ambassador had sent his carriage, and Comte Raife Laniol greeted us himself in his courtyard, accompanied by his wife. He was a tall man with brown hair turning to silver, courtly and well-spoken.

He was, I was told, an excellent Hellene scholar; well and so, I could admire that, though I thought him a fool for failing to learn Menekhetan. It is a scholar's weakness, to run narrow and deep. I rather liked his wife, Juliette, who had a grave loveliness that lit unexpectedly when she smiled.

"Comtesse," she murmured, giving me the kiss of greeting. "It is an honor to meet you. We would have had you to dine, you and messire Verreuil, only I feared to disturb your travails."

I assured her that it would be a pleasure, and then her husband held open the door of the carriage and we reboarded once more, all of us pressed close in the small space. Amaury Trente looked anxious, as well he might; although he said naught of it, I know he regarded the inspired plans to which I was prone with a degree of trepidation.

For my part, I felt only an unwarranted calm. I listened to Raife Laniol instruct us on the protocol of the presence, committing it to memory. We were to pause at the door to the throne-room, then follow three steps behind the Chamberlain upon being announced, preceded by the Ambassador and his wife. We were to make a full kneeling obeisance, and then stand with our eyes cast down until Pharaoh addressed us. Upon leaving, we were to wait for the Chamberlain to pass, and follow three steps behind, departing in the order of arrival.

There was more, too. I waited until he was finished. "My lord Ambassador, what do you know of these priests the Iskandrians call Skowphagoti?"

Comte Raife blinked, perplexed. His wife whispered in his ear. "Oh yes," he said, expression clearing.

"It is some native superstition, I am told. Menekhet is like any place, full of its soothsayers and harbingers. Do they concern you?"

"They might," I said. "Where are they from? I was told Persis."

"Persis!" He laughed. "Someone has been filling your ears with nonsense."

"You have never heard of a kingdom that died and lives?"

"Ah." Comte Raife gave me a benevolent look. "It is Khebbel-im-Akkad you're thinking of, my dear. I am given to understand that the name itself means ..."

"Akkad-that-is-reborn," I said. "Yes, my lord, I know it. This is something different."

He shook his head, bemused. "I think not, my lady."

And then there was no more time for conversation, for we had reached the Palace of Pharaohs. It is a gorgeous structure, to be sure, sheathed in white marble and jutting out into the harbor. Pharaoh's guards knew the Ambassador by sight, but they took no chances, peering into the carriage and confirming ouridentities, matching them against a list on a waxen tablet. Our entrance was authorized and we were waved through the gate.

Inside, the Palace was open and airy, with high ceilings and innumerable windows positioned to catch the sea breeze. Clearly, it was meant to be defended from without and not within. We were ushered into an antechamber where we were served a cooling drink of steeped hibiscus petals, and stoic slaves worked fans of massive palm fronds. Presently the Chamberlain came for us, accompanied by a pair of attendants. He was a tall, gaunt man with a slight stoop, and no trace of humor in his mien.

"My lord Ambassador," he greeted Raife Laniol in Hellene.

Comte Raife bowed. "My lord Chamberlain. You know Lord Amaury Trente, and his companions, Lord Nicolas Vigny and the Baron de Chalais. May I present the Comtesse Phedre no Delaunay de Montreve, and her consort Joscelin Verreuil?"

The Chamberlain's eyelids flickered. It is not done, in Menekhet, for women to take consorts as we do in Terre d'Ange-not openly, at least. "Pharaoh will be pleased," was all he said. "My lord Verreuil, will you consent to leave your weapons in our keeping?"

Joscelin gave a Cassiline bow in response, removing his daggers from their sheathes and unbuckling his baldric with practiced ease. One of the Chamberlain's attendants stepped forward, opening a length of the best Menekhetan linen to accept his weapons. The unadorned steel, oiled leather and worn hilts looked plain and utilitarian against the fine white cloth.

"Those blades once saved her majesty's life," Comte Raife said. "Guard them well, my lord Chamberlain."

So, I thought, he is not entirely unsuited to diplomacy. The Chamberlain glanced at Joscelin with a measure of increased respect. "It shall be done," he said, bowing briefly. "Now, if you will follow, Pharaoh is waiting."

We followed, Comte Raife and his wife three steps behind the Chamberlain, Amaury Trente and the delegates, and Joscelin and me at the rear. I kept my eyes downcast, walking at a measured pace, feeling the vastness of the throne-room echo on my ears. The air moved, fanned by slaves, scented with camphor and sandalwood. By the faint creak of armor, I guessed there were guards present, a dozen or more. I heard our names announced, and caught a glimpse of Comte Raife and Juliette making their obeisance, then Lord Amaury and his delegates. A male voice addressed them in pleasant tones, and another, a woman's, young and piping.

And then it was our turn. Approaching the throne, I sank to my knees, feeling the marble cool through the silk of my dress, bowing deeply and rising, keeping my gaze on the floor, conscious of Joscelin doing the same.

"Lady Phedre." It was Pharaoh's voice that addressed me. I met his eyes. Despite his gilt-encrusted robes, Ptolemy Dikaios, Pharaoh of Menekhet, was only a man, of middle years, the gold diadem of his office set atop thinning hair. He smiled at me. "So this is the treasure of Terre d'Ange."

"My lord Pharaoh." I inclined my head. "Others have said it, not I."