"Forgive me," I said, nearly stammering. "My lady . . . ?" "Drucilla." She sat down on the far end of my couch uninvited, fixing me with a disconcertingly level grey-blue gaze. "It will do. You are D'Angeline." "Yes." I sat upright, running my hands over my face. "Phedre no Delaunay."

"Phedre." Drucilla nodded once. "That's an ill-luck name." "So it seems," I said, eyeing her. She bore it with composure, only flinching a little and tucking her hands into the folds of her shawl. I saw before she did that the fourth and fifth fingers were missing the furthest joint on both hands. "Are you wounded, my lady?"

"No." She shook her head. "I have come from seeing Hiu-Mei, who is newly returned from his lordship's attentions. She is his favorite. In a fit of anger, he struck her face with a- ' Seeing me blanch, she switched mid-sentence. "It is not my blood. I was a physician, once. I do what I can to tend to the living."

"Ah." I swallowed. "Truly, it is admirable, my lady." "It keeps despair at bay," Drucilla said matter-of-factly. "One clings to what one knows, until. . . well." She glanced at her hidden hands. "Until one can cling no longer. They are speaking of you. I was curious."

I remembered the words that had awakened me. "Because I have not wept?"

"That, and other things. A guard said that you were not taken; you were brought. Others have been, but never one such as you. And now there is a D'Angeline lordling among the Mahrkagir's men, a leopard among wolves. There was a quarrel, last night in the festal hall."

My heart leapt in my breast. I schooled my voice to hardness, asking, "Is he dead?"

"No," the Tiberian woman said. "One of his lordship's Drujani soldiers is."

I looked away, hiding a profound relief. "You wonder that I do not weep. I spent my tears a long time ago. He told me my kinsmen would never cross the border into Drujan. I believe it, now."

"You'll weep," Drucilla said quietly.

It was truer than she knew. "What will become of me?" I asked.

She shrugged. "His lordship the Mahrkagir will send for you, when he is ready. It may be days, or weeks. Months, even. In your case . . . well. I do not think he will forget."

My blood ran like ice, and beneath it, somewhere, the awful stir of desire. "And then?"

"You will weep, and perhaps wish to die." It passed for compassion, in this place. "If you do not, if you survive . . . there are ways. Some few of us share what skills we have. And there are others, other . . .

patrons, Drujani warlords and others, his lordship's guests." With a sweeping gesture, she indicated those women who enjoyed small luxuries. "It is another way to keep despair at bay. Not my way, but I have heard you bear the marque of one dedicated to your goddess of pleasure."

I nodded, understanding. "How is it arranged?"

"His lordship sometimes chooses to share his concubines among his allies. If they hunger for more . . ."

She shrugged again. "The Akkadian attendants take bribes, sometimes. They have little loyalty for this service." She told me why, then. Well and good; so the zenana was not impermeable, and I might hope to gain favor in the form of scented oils or dice or sweetmeats-or better yet, raw opium-if I chose to make myself available to any number of Drujani warlords. I kept my mouth closed, and listened to all that Drucilla had to tell me, which was a good deal.

I daresay it was a relief to her, who had not surrendered fully to despair, to speak to someone who had not yet abandoned all hope. Later I learned that she took it upon herself always to speak to newcomers to the zenana. Most of them-of us-were victims of the slave-trade or conquests of war; some few were even tribute-gifts. Drucilla was an exception. Adventurous and independent, she had travelled from her homeland to see the sights of Hellas; falling in love with the country, she had set up shop as a physician in Piraeus. It was there that a Skotophagotis and a company of Drujani had taken fancy to the notion of a female chirurgeon as they set sail for Ephesium. And they had simply taken her.

It appalled me more than I could say, that the incursions of the Skotophagoti had grown so bold, that we had known naught of it in Terre d'Ange. Drucilla had cried out for aid. The Hellenes had turned a deaf ear. The Ephesian ship's captain had ignored her cries, though she pounded on the door of her cabin until her hands bled.

"Though they have bled more, since," she added with a crooked smile.

"The Mahrkagir?" I asked.

Drucilla nodded and looked away, knotting the folds of her shawl. "He wonders what I will do, when I have no fingers left to administer to the ailing. Fortunately, he does not remember to wonder it often. He is quite mad, you know."

"I know." I did. "Do you know why?"

"Perhaps." She bowed her head, loose locks of brown hair hiding her face. "He survived the purge, after the rebellion; Hoshdar Ahzad, do you know of it?" I merely nodded, not wanting to distract her flow of words. "He was an illegitimate son, bastard-born; his mother was a common street-whore, whom his father brought into the zenana and raised to concubine status." Drucilla raised her head, pointing toward a far wall, where the Skaldi lad Erich slumped. "It happened there. I had the story from Rushad . . . you know Rushad? One cannot be sure, speaking in zenyan, but he knows; he had it from his old Akkadian master, who commanded here years ago, until the second rebellion . . ."

A simple story, when all was said and done. The Mahrkagir, a boy of four or five, had survived the slaughter, struck a blow on the head and left for dead. Bleeding from a gash to the temple, eyes fixed wide, he had watched as the women and children of the zenana-lesser wives, concubines, his own half-brothers and -sisters-were ravished and slain, until the now-stagnant pool turned crimson with blood.

The corpses were stacked like cordwood, the Akkadian chronicler had said; in the zenana, they were stacked atop the still-breathing body of a boy of four or five, until they blotted out his vision. It was the giant, Tahmuras-then a strapping lad of fourteen, left alive by the Akkadians, who desired strong limbs to clean up after their massacre- who excavated him, removing corpses one by one, tearing him free from the womb of death.

"He protected him," Drucilla said. "He protects him still, night and day. It was the people who named him, so they say; the folk of Dar?anga." "The Conqueror of Death," I murmured.

Drucilla nodded. "No one knew what his mother called him, and he had no words, not after that. It was the blow to the head, I think. Ever afterward, his eyes remained dilated, and he cannot bear the light. It is said he remembers nothing, before his second birth. Only death. And he is mad. Wholly and completely mad. Of that, I am certain."

I could not speak for the awful pity that stopped my mouth. I swallowed, willing it to subside. "There is another boy," I said, my voice croaking. "A D'Angeline boy ..."

"Imri." Drucilla folded her maimed hands in her lap, looking sidelong at me. "You asked after him. I have heard it."

"You know him." Relief flooded me.

"He speaks Caerdicci. He was gently reared, once."

I thought of Brother Selbert and the sanctuary of Elua, nestled in the mountains of Siovale, where it seemed no harm could befall anyone. "Is he ... well?" I asked.

"He is alive, and unmaimed." Her mouth hardened. "In this place, that passes for well."

I tried not to sound too eager. "I would speak with him, if it is possible."

"Not until Nariman relents," she said bluntly. "It may be days. He is Chief Eunuch here, and Imri's punishment is his province. I don't advise you to cross him. It is said that it was Nariman who opened the gates of the zenana, thirty years ago, to the Akkadian forces. It amuses his lordship to leave him in office.

I cannot think why." Drucilla rose from my couch, stretching aching joints with a sigh. "Phedre no Delaunay, do not expect too much of the boy. It is a comfort to have the companionship of one's homeland, but he has been a long time without it and cruelly treated in the bargain. I do what I may, but he does not welcome pity."

"No." I thought of Melisande's face when I had told her the news, the awful knowledge, the blazing fury in her eyes. "I don't suppose he would."

Drucilla left me, then, continuing on her rounds of the zenana; I watched, and saw that she was greeted with respect by some; by others, with indifference or disdain. She laid a hand on the shoulder of one of the three fasting Bhodistani. I could not hear what they said, but she merely nodded, sorrow in her mien, and went onward. She stooped to speak to the Skaldi lad, who turned his face to the wall. Nothing to be done there.

Someone scratched at the latticed door to the zenana-a Drujani soldier. A deathly quiet fell over the tepidarium. Nariman, the Chief Eunuch, conferred and stepped forward with a pair of Akkadian attendants. His keen gaze swept the room, and I saw many dozens of women suddenly try to make themselves invisible.

To no avail; Nariman pointed-there, there and there, and six women and one boy gained expressions of despair. One went wailing, and beyond the door, I saw the Drujani grin. The boy was Menekhetan, slight and stumbling; in silent anguish, I thought of Nesmut. The women whose couches he shared wept openly, covering their heads and rending their clothing. No matter what, I thought, where battle prevails, women must grieve.

One of the Bhodistani had been chosen, a lovely woman clad in silks of crimson and orange. The warm hue of her skin and her long black hair reminded me eerily of my mother; there is Bhodistani blood, they say, in the veins of Jasmine House. The Akkadians stood by, waiting, almost respectful. Her legs gave way beneath her as she sought to stand, and one of the eunuchs caught her gently. Her companions, languid with the nearness of death, reached out to kiss her hand, tears in their eyes. Wavering on her feet, she gave them a lucid smile.

Blessed Elua, I thought, let me go as gracefully when my time to die is come.

And regarded the thought with horror.

Then they were gone, and the zenana buzzed with relief. They had gone, I knew from what Drucilla had told me, to the festal hall-to the Mahrkagir's entertainment. Some would return, depending on the lord's mood and that of his men. Some would not. I did not think the Bhodistani woman would, who had set her mind to die. I was not sure of the others, nor the boy.

Too restless to remain still, I got up and wandered the zenana. Since I had naught else to do, I sat for a while beside the Skaldi lad, Erich. "What is your tribe?" I asked him in his own tongue. "Where is your steading?" Wrapped in his own private misery, he rolled on his side, facing the wall and ignoring me. So I sang to him in Skaldic, the hearth-songs of his mothers and sisters, the songs I had learned when I was a slave-when I was first a slave, for what else was I now?-in Gunter Arnlaugson's steading, whence Melisande had sold me. I sang to him until I saw his broad shoulders shake with silent tears, and felt abashed. "Your friend Rushad is missing you," I whispered to him, then. "He does not wish you to die."

Erich the Skaldi made no reply or acknowledgment.

The effort made, I went upon my way, musing upon the strangeness of it all. It might have been day or night; I could not say. The rhythms of the Mahrkagir's whims dictated life in the zenana. If the attendants had not brought food at regular intervals, if they had not interrupted to fetch women and boys for the lord's amusement. . . who could say? There had been a garden, once, where the women of the Drujani prince might disport themselves-now it was barred, the rich soil tilled with salt, dead and barren, and strong timbers blocked the door, shutting out any glimpse of sky. The windows were shuttered. Day, night... it mattered naught. We lived here by lamplight, and the Mahrkagir's whim.

And I sang the songs of my captivity, the songs with which I had once bought passage across the deadly Strait, to a Skaldi lad, blood of my enemies, who was unmanned by the man to whom I'd prevailed upon Joscelin to sell me.

Truly, 'twas strange.

At the carpeted island of the Jebeans and Nubians, I paused. The tall woman who was chiefest among them stared up at me, hostile and demanding. A frayed cloth of intricate pattern sheathed her body, and she wore long pins of ivory thrust in her black woolen hair.

"Selam," I said respectfully, greeting her in Jeb'ez, bowing with my palms together.

She stared a minute longer, then laughed long and hard, saying something I could not understand to the others. "You think to speak Jeb'ez?" she asked me, then, in rude argot. "Yequit'a," I said; "excuse me," adding in my best grasp of zenyan, "Only a little. I would learn more if you teach me."

All of them laughed at that, and not kindly. "You have opium?"

asked the tall woman, reclining on her couch. "Gems? Kumis? Sweetmeats, maybe?"

"No." I shook my head. "Forgive me, Fedabin," I said, according her the title the scroll granted to the Queen of Saba, "wise woman." "I will not bother you."

"Wait." Her voice stopped me as I turned to leave. I stood as she regarded me, a trace of curiosity emerging in her mask of indifference. "Why do you wish to know this, little one? You come here to die, gebanum? Understand? It is only when that matters, and how much you suffer in between."

"I understand, Fedabin." I inclined my head to her. "I would still learn."

Another of the women leaned over, whispering to the tall one; Kaneka, she called her. Kaneka listened with half-lidded eyes, then nodded, swinging herself upright. "Safiya has a thought," she announced. "For your courtesy, I make you a gift, a gift of knowledge." With one hand, she opened a woven pouch strung on a thong about her neck, shaking three unusual dice into her other palm. "You kneel, there," she said, pointing to the carpet. "And learn."

I knelt waiting. With great ceremony, one of the women brought out a tray of fine-combed sand, shaking it carefully until it was smooth, setting it down before me. Kaneka knelt opposite, her face as impassive as a warrior's, drawing a small circle in the sand with one finger.

"Days," she said, and drew another, larger, to enclose it. "Weeks." Glancing at me to make certain I understood, she drew the outermost concentric circle. "Months." Taking my wrist, she turned my hand over and placed the dice in it. "Hold them until they take on your heat."

The dice were amber, six-pointed, with eight facing sides, each one etched with a number of dots. I closed my hand on them. The Jebeans and Nubians had drawn around, watching intently; even a few other women had gathered.

"You see!" Kaneka raised her voice, addressing them. "In Daranga, Death is a man, and Lord Death is always waiting here in the zenana. How long will he wait to summon you to his bedchamber? How eager is he to plant his iron rod inside you? If it be three days, will it be five weeks until he summons you again?

If it be five weeks, will it be two months? It is," she said, looking at me once more, "the only question that matters."

Clutched in my palm, the octohedronal dice had grown warm. I gave them to her. Kaneka shook them in cupped hands over the tray, muttering a lengthy prayer in Jeb'ez. Opening both hands with a flourish, she cast the dice onto the sand.

Flawed amber glinted dully in the lamplight as they fell, one by one, within the concentric rings, forming a line as straight as an arrow- each face showing a single dot.

The taste of fear flooded my mouth.

Someone gasped; a number of women drew back. Kaneka stared at me, the whites of her eyes showing yellow around her dark irises. "You are marked for Death, little one. And soon." I gazed at the unwinking line of dice, three single eyes on the sand. "Does it mean that is when I will die?"

"I'ye, no." Kaneka's voice was rough with fear. "It says that is when Lord Death will send for you." She pointed. "Day, after day; week after week; month upon month. No respite. When will you die?" She shrugged. "Like the rest. When he kills you, or when you can bear it no more."

"I see." I stood. "Thank you, Fedabin; amessaganun. If it please you to teach me Jeb'ez, I would learn it still, though I have nothing to trade."

Kaneka scooped up her dice and rose. "You are a fool, little one," she whispered harshly. "Believe, or not; the dice do not lie, and I have told you what any one of us would shudder to hear. Use the time left you wisely, and make peace with your gods while you may!"

"My gods." I looked past her at the watching zenana. "It is they who marked me, Fedabin Kaneka; not for death, but for pain. How shall I make peace with that?"

To that, she had no answer.

FORTY-FIVE.

AFTER THAT, I was regarded with a certain fearful awe in the zenana.

It lasted all of a day until it changed.

It would have happened anyway, I daresay; the Mahrkagir would have sent for me when he did, Kaneka's prophecy or no, and there would have followed what followed. I am an anguissette. It could not have fallen out differently. The dice had merely ensured that I was already branded a target for fear and speculation. In a community ruled by dread, it is never far from thence to hatred.

Hiu-Mei, the Mahrkagir's favorite, had taken a turn for the worse. Drucilla tended her as best she might, but without medications, there was little she could do. It was not the blow to the face, I gathered, but a disease of long standing-a pox, one of the Illyrians swore, that men contract from congress with goats.

The Tatar tribesmen whose aid the Mahrkagir courted were known to carry it.

Whether or not it is true, I cannot say; of a surety, the Ch'in woman was ill, a cause for bitter rejoicing in the zenana. Rejoicing, for any favorite was despised; bitter, for any favorite must be replaced . . . and the lot would fall upon one of us.

They looked at me and muttered about Kaneka's dice.

For my part, I felt numb and hollow inside. Blessed Elua's presence was long gone, and only his purpose remained, drawn with lines as straight and inevitable as the one cast by Kaneka's dice, leading to the Mahrkagir's bedchamber.

There was news, in the zenana; the Bhodistani woman was dead. One of the Mahrkagir's men-the wolves of Angra Mainyu, Tizrav had called them-had made a wager that given a choice between the point of a dagger and a morsel of food, the woman would eat. The Mahrkagir had taken the wager. Shenever flinched as the Drujani dagger pierced her heart.

It passed for entertainment, in the festal hall, and the Mahrkagir was happy.

I heard, too, other news; news of the D'Angeline lordling who never smiled, whose beauty shone like a star in the cold, dark halls of Dar-?anga. In the zenana, Joscelin was already coveted. It afforded me a certain bleak amusement. Otherwise, I felt nothing.

Rushad stole cat-footed to my couch, bringing a gift hidden in his right hand. "See?" he said, opening it to reveal a single pellet, dark and resinous. "Opium! If you take it by mouth, they say, the effect lasts longer, much longer, and the . . . the pain is not so great, it is as if it were happening in a dream."

"I see," I smiled and shook my head, closing his hands over his treasure. "You are kind, Rushad, but it is not needful. Keep it."

He looked at me with dismay. "The Mahrkagir has spoken of you. He will send for you tonight; I know it, everyone knows it!"

"I know." I frowned, listening to the sounds of the zenana. Someone sighed, someone cried out, the door to the privy closet closed with a bang. I thought I had heard a voice murmuring sleepily in Hellene, Lypiphera. Pain-bearer. It was my imagination, like as not. "I know, Rushad. But I cannot afford the luxury of waking dreams."

He went away disheartened. In truth, I was not sure of the wisdom of my choice. Of a surety, I had need of my wits . . . and yet. I had no plan; I had not even located Imriel de la Courcel. There was naught I could do. Even if I were able to speak with Joscelin-and I dared not risk it so soon-what would I tell him? That the Akkadian eunuchs despised their master and took bribes willingly? It was something, but not much. No more than he could learn on his own. Mayhap it would have been wiser to meet the Mahrkagir wrapped in a cocoon of dreams.

Or not.

I watched a Carthaginian woman draw lovingly at the mouthpiece of a water-pipe, limbs disposed in languor. Those who entered the world of dreams emerged only by force. It seemed a kindness, yes. Until the Mahrkagir takes it away. Then they will suffer fresh torments and wish anew to die.

I would have reason enough. No need to seek further.

So I waited in hollow despair, until the latticed doors opened and Nariman the Chief Eunuch conferred with the Drujani guards. The hushed and waiting silence fell as he returned. His pursed red lips quivered, and there was malice in his gaze as one plump hand rose, pointing first at me.

Even though I had expected it, my heart skipped a beat.

No one wept for me, as they had for the others summoned last night. Well and so; I was Phedre no Delaunay de Montreve, and I needed no one's pity. I rose from my couch with dignity, inclining my head to the Akkadian escorts. "Khannat," I murmured in their tongue, taking one's arm; thank you. I felt his body stiffen, rigid with unnamed emotion, and then he bowed his head once, briefly.