I was not sure, not until the night he urged the Mahrkagir to share me among his men. If I have notmade it clear, I may say so now; Gashtaham was clever. Sometimes the Mahrkagir listened to him, and sometimes he did not. The priest had a knack of knowing when he was able to exert his will over the ruler of Drujan, and plying it expertly.

It was at one such time that he convinced the Mahrkagir to share me.

I could not hear what he said, not all of it. The priest murmured low into his lord's ear. I caught a word here and there, enough to gather the gist of it. I had grown haughty, over-proud, confident in the Mahrkagir's favoritism; I ruled the zenana like a queen, threatening to invoke my lord's displeasure on any who opposed me.

It was a lie, of course. Nothing had changed in the zenana except that I was viewed by some with wary skepticism instead of outright despite. The spirit of conspiracy that had opened the garden had not died, but it had returned to dormancy, waiting. And I had no plan to reawaken it, nor yet to make use of it.

"No favorite, my lord, but has known herself fit prey at the Mahrkagir's whim for the wolves of Angra Mainyu," the priest said smoothly. "It would be duzhvarshta indeed to shatter this hollow arrogance."

Restless with drink and boredom, the Mahrkagir agreed, a mad gleam in his eyes. "Tonight!" he shouted, banging his cup on the table. "Let it be tonight, then!" Grabbing my wrist, he rose to his feet, bringing me with him, holding my arm above my head as if to display a trophy. My lips formed a protest, but he was already addressing him. "This will be tonight's entertainment! Let the wolves of Angra Mainyu fight amongst themselves, and whosoever among you prevail shall have my lady Phedre!"

They were on their feet, roaring, fierce, filthy warriors in piecemeal armor. It was all Drujani that night, no Tatars among them. I saw, for an instant, the dreadful shock register on Joscelin's face. "My lord, no,"

I whispered, even as the Mahrkagir dragged me by the wrist into the aisle between the tables, pushing me into a forming melee. "No."

After that, it was chaos. A Drujani warrior caught me in his arms, pulling me close and laughing; then another struck him hard atop the head with a dagger-hilt, and someone else grabbed me from behind. I don't know what happened to him. From the corner of my eye, I saw Joscelin borne down by a swarm of Drujani. One of them had leapt from the table atop his shoulders; he'd never even had a chance to draw his sword. I daresay he might have, that night. A pile of leather and steel and limbs writhed on the floor, giving evidence to his struggle. The others pressed close around me and I felt like Imriel, fighting with tooth and claw to keep them off as I was jostled and groped and snatched from one man by the next.

To no avail; a Drujani wielding a broadsword cleared a space around him and then flung down his blade, seizing me and bending me backward over a table, the heel of his hand under my chin. "Do it, Kishpa!" a voice behind him laughed. "We'll ward your back if you'll give us a turn!" The edge of the table pressed hard against my buttocks, and my neck was strained. Someone was holding my arms.

Tears stung my eyes as he pressed himself between my thighs, fumbling at my skirts.

Then came shouting, and the sound of someone else waded into the fray. The pressure left my chin and my limbs were free. I straightened to see Tahmuras in the thick of battle, his morningstar a spiked blur as he whipped it in deadly patterns with effortless skill. Men yelped and dove out of the way. One was already down, the side of his head crushed and bleeding. Behind Tahmuras stood the Mahrkagir, unarmed, calm amid the chaos, his mad eyes watching. No one laid a finger on him; no one would dare.

There was Tahmuras, for one thing-and a few paces away, there was Gashtaham, stroking his staff of office, gathering darkness around him. None of them seemed to care in the least that Drujani were beingmaimed or killed.

And I was still in the middle of it. A tall warrior staggered backward, knocking me half off my feet.

Someone else lurched into my left side, and . . . how it happened, I cannot say. Only that I fetched up hard against Joscelin, who had somehow shaken his attackers and regained his footing.

I knew. Even before I saw, I knew. His hands closed on my upper arms, and I lifted my gaze to his face. Like the Carthaginian looking at the sky, I could have wept.

"Phedre." He spoke quick and low in D'Angeline, his expression betraying nothing. "If I thought I could throw before the Skotophagotis killed me, I would perform the terminus. I don't. Blessed Elua had best make his will known fast, before I go mad here. I don't know how long I can endure this."

Elua's will. It was then that the first terrible inkling of suspicion dawned.

"I need time," I whispered. "I think. . . Please. A little while longer."

Joscelin said nothing, only released me and bowed, looking past me to the Mahrkagir. The fighting had settled. One man dead, and another dying; half a dozen others lay groaning. The Mahrkagir was smiling.

"I changed my mind," he said calmly, taking my hand and leading me back to the head table. "Gashtaham, that was a foolish idea."

Like Joscelin, the priest only made a bow in reply, the girdle of finger-bones rattling at his waist. He had killed his own father and eaten his heart, and there was no annoyance at the Mahrkagir's rebuke in his expression, only the guarded satisfaction of a man who has confirmed a long-held theory. It made my skin crawl to see it, so I looked away. At the far end of the opposite bench, Tahmuras was wiping blood and bits of hair and flesh from his spiked mace. He gave me a long, measuring gaze, and there was hatred in his eyes.

He knew, too.

And he did not welcome the news.

That night, the Mahrkagir was zealous in his attentions and there was something new in his manner, heated and triumphant. With his hands and teeth, he tore at my flesh, leaving his mark on my skin. It was a conquest, not only of me, but of all others who sought to possess me, and his victory was in my yielding. I knew it well, for many of my patrons have been possessive. Whether he knew to name it or not- and I do not think he did-the Mahrkagir of Drujan had discovered the hot pleasures of jealousy that night.

It was what Gashtaham had sought to confirm.

Afterward, in the zenana, I asked Rushad how the vahmyacam was made.

"As for that, lady, I cannot say. Only that the Aka-Magus-in-training makes a dedication of his offering, and they are linked in the sight of Angra Mainyu. After . . ." He hesitated. "It is done alone, in darkness. I have heard it must be done with bare hands, or with an iron knife. And I have heard the victim must be throttled with the girdle of a living Magus. I do not know."

"But the others, the other aka-Magi, are not present?" "For the dedication. For the offering . . ." He shook his head. "No. The pact is made alone. No aid may be given, no support. Only death and darkness."

I nodded. "Thank you, Rushad."

Outside Daranga, spring was coming to Drujan. It was not often that Nariman the Chief Eunuch was absent from the zenana long enough for anyone to venture into the garden, but there were times. I went, when I could, and gauged the rising warmth in the air, the moisture of spring winds, wondering when the northern passes would thaw. And I gauged, too, the height of the garden walls. It was useless as a means of escape, leading only to the pitched roofs of the inner palace. A man with a grappling hook and a rope might be able to scale them, though. I wondered if Joscelin would dare.

Probably.

But I didn't think it was worth the risk.

It would have been a simple enough matter to get a message to him, if there was anyone summoned to the festal hall whom I dared trust. There wasn't, not yet. So I waited, living out endless days in my private hell. Drucilla tended my injuries without comment. Time and again, my flesh healed cleanly, only to be torn and ravaged anew. I grew inured to the pain. Not the nights of iron and blood-no, never that-but the inevitable dull aftermath. Ignoring it, I walked the length and breadth of the zenana, considering escape routes.

Unfortunately, there weren't any.

"You're mad," Drucilla said. "You'll get us all killed!"

"For what? Walking and thinking?" I cocked my head at her. "Drucilla, has anyone ever tried to kill the Mahrkagir?"

"What?" Her face went pale. "You are mad."

"They search us for weapons. Someone must have tried."

"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, Phedre, 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 aka-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 Daranga, 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 Daranga 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 Dar?anga 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, Kanaka." 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 betrayalquicker.

But if I died in Daranga, 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 Daranga.

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 Daranga. 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 choselove over duty.

All around me, the palace of Daranga 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 aka-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,"