He raised his brows. "You think Ysandre's that angry?"

"No. I don't know. She'll have taken the betrayal harder, coming from the two of us." I thought about it.

"We've broken no law in Menekhet. But certainly she would be within her rights to ask Pharaoh for the favor."

"And risk exposing Imriel?"

"Probably not," I conceded.

"I don't think so, either. So," he said. "If we're to be hauled back in disgrace, like as not a delegation awaits us at the embassy."

"Like as not." I looked at him. "I'm sorry."

Joscelin shrugged. "I made the decision first, Phedre. Have you thought of what you'll say to Ysandre?"

"Yes," I said and swallowed hard.

"She owes you a boon," he said. "The Companion's Star?" I nodded.

"Aught within her power and right to grant," Joscelin mused. "It is that, although she'll not like it, not one bit. 'Tis your decision to make, love. Is it worth it, to lose the goodwill of the Queen forever?"

I turned to watch Imriel; we both did. Under Inherit's guidance, he held the tiller with both hands, white-knuckled, eyes bright with excitement in his sun-tanned face. Catching sight of us, he grinned with pride.

"Yes," I said. "It's worth it."

In a scant handful of days, we reached the end of the broad, stately river to enter the myriad waterways south of the city. The vegetation was lusher than ever after the rains, the odor moist and rank. Here our course slowed and it took the better part of a day to navigate the swampy delta. The air was unmoving, the felucca's sail hanging slack. We drifted slowly on the sluggish current. Inherit used a long pole to facilitate our passage, humming cheerfully and pointing out black-headed ibis and egrets with their snowy crests, describing how they differed from their brethren further upstream.

"To the market wharf, Kyria?" he asked in a mix of Menekhetan and Hellene when we drew within sight of the city, clusters of palms bowing over the buildings. "You can hire a carriage there, but if you get out before we reach the wharf, there is no toll to pay."

"No," I said. "Take us to the wharf, Inherit."

He complied, poling briskly, then springing to attend the sail as a little breeze arose. I watched the city of Iskandria take shape around us, the familiar landmark of the great lighthouse visible at a distance, the wide, gracious streets and elegant buildings. It was gilded in the evening light, and I could smell the odors that had seemed so exotic upon our first arrival, the scent of oranges and strong spices in the air, and meat grilling for the evening meal.

The market wharf was a busy place, the canal laden with small craft; farmers selling the season's first produce, loading the remnants for departure; fishermen and hunters of waterfowl returning with their catch. There were few travellers such as ourselves, for most went by caravan or caught the larger barges at the port south of the city. We had to wait and jockey for position before we could secure a place and disembark. The tax-collector strolled over as Joscelin and Inherit unloaded our goods, paying us scant attention as he inspected our trunks.

"You speak Menekhetan?" he asked, holding up one of my Jebean gowns.

"A little, only," I said. "Hellene?"

"Do you take me for a farmer or a fisherman? Yes, I speak Hellene." He gave me a brusque nod. "Are these for trade, Kyria, or personal. . . Serapis!" The tax-collector's face turned pale as he regarded me for the first time.

"My lord?" I asked, puzzled.

He grabbed my wrist, leaning close. "Kyria, are you . . . Nesmut's friend?"

I drew back, seeing Imriel fetch Joscelin. "And if I am?" "Forgive me." The tax-collector released my wrist and bowed, watching out of the corner of his eye as Joscelin approached, hands resting lightly on his dagger-hilts. "I have been charged with a message for you, Kyria. All of us have, who ward the passages of the city. 'A D'Angeline woman of surpassing beauty, dark of hair and fair of face, with a mark as red as hibiscus in her left eye.' "

"Nesmut said that?" I asked.

"No, Kyria." He shook his head. "That was only what I was told to ask. My orders come from Pharaoh."

"And what," I asked, "is Pharaoh's message?"

"He wants to see you," said the tax-collector. "Immediately."

Immediately proved to be a relative term; it took time to settle our accounts with Inherit, and it took time for Joscelin and me to argue the matter to our satisfaction, while Imriel sat on a trunk and watched.

In the end, of course, it was a foregone conclusion; a request from Pharaoh in the city of Iskandria amounted to a command. The tax-collector sent word to the Palace of Pharaohs through discreet channels that "Nesmut's friend" had arrived; a covered carriage with a pair of royal guards arrived in short order.

All the while, we stood in plain sight in the marketplace, surrounded by curious denizens. In any other city, I daresay word of our arrival would have reached the D'Angeline embassy before we departed-but this was Iskandria, and those surrounding us were fishers, farmers and hunters, and commonfolk of the city. And Ambassador de Penfars had never bothered to court the Menekhetans, only those of Hellene lineage.

His loss, I thought, and hoped it was not ours.

Our goods were loaded into the carriage, and we ourselves embarked, sitting apprehensively with the curtains drawn.

"Phedre?" Imriel's voice was worried. "Are we in trouble?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so, love. Ptolemy Dikaios is ... well, not a friend, but an ally, of sorts. I don't think he would harm us. There's no profit in it."

"Likely he wishes to turn us over to Ambassador de Penfars himself," Joscelin said quietly. "If he lost stature for letting us slip through Iskandria before, this will restore it."

"Oh." Imriel continued to look worried. I didn't blame him.

At the gates, the Pharaoh's guard searched our things, taking considerable interest in the immense, bejeweled necklace at the bottom of my trunk.

"It is a gift," I told them. "From Queen Zanadakhete of Jebe-Barkal to her majesty Queen Ysandre de la Courcel of Terre d'Ange. And neither one, I daresay, would be pleased to find it gone astray in Pharaoh's palace."

"You will get your things back, Kyria," one of them replied. "Do not fear. Kyrios, your weapons,please."

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, Phedre no 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."

"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, Phedre no 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 Phedre. 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, jiot 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 "

"Phedre."

"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. "Phedre. 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 theharbor 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 Daranga.

"Imri," I murmured.

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