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him against her ...”
    “I know, my lord,” I said. “Believe me, I do. I am doing what I can to learn if the rumor is true.”
    “And if it is ... ?” It was the Lady Denise Fleurais who dared to ask it.
    I looked squarely at her. “We will do whatever is needful. Naamah’s Servants have always known that there are ways into any palace, and what was stolen, may be stolen back. If Pharaoh has not admitted the gain, he cannot acknowledge the loss.”
    “How would you-” Lord Amaury began to ask, then cut his words short. “No, never mind. We will speak of it later, if it comes to it.”
    “Thank you, my lord.” I inclined my head to him.
    Amaury sighed and fixed his brooding gaze upon Joscelin and I. “I’ll speak to Raife Laniol again tomorrow and see if he thinks this rumor may have merit. Say what you will, Comtesse, but trouble seems to follow you like a lover, you and messire Cassiline here.”
    Neither of us disagreed.
    It was not until we were in bed that night that Joscelin spoke of it.
    “What if it comes to it, Phèdre?” he asked, leaning on one elbow and gazing down at me. “Would you accept an assignation if needs be to gain access to Pharaoh’s seraglio? Is it worth so much to you to see Melisande’s son safe?”
    I played with a lock of his hair, avoiding his shadowed gaze. I had not told him, yet, that I had made her a promise. With all that lay between us, all of us, it was too hard to say. “There need not be an assignation made in truth. It may be only a matter of convincing Pharaoh’s attendants one such exists. I’d try that route first.”
    “And if more is required?” he asked softly.
    “I don’t know.” I met his gaze, then. I had to. “Joscelin, he’s a child . You saw the ones we rescued in Amílcar. This will be worse, much worse. Does it matter whose son he is? Naamah lay down in the stews of Bhodistan with common men when Blessed Elua hungered. Should I-” my voice broke, “-should I scruple at less?”
    He was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “No.”
    “It would fall to you to get him out whole and safe,” I said. “By whatever means.”
    Joscelin smiled. “Do you doubt me?”
    “No,” I said fervently, wrapping both arms about his neck. I didn’t, either. He had come for me on La Dolorosa, the prison-fortress no one could assail. Joscelin had done it, crawling beneath the underside of a bridge. If it came to it, freeing Imriel de la Courcel from Pharaoh’s Palace was as naught to that. “Not for an instant.”
    “Then we are agreed.” He lowered his head to kiss me. I held him hard, praying it was so.

Thirty-Three
    NESMUT CAME in the morning and informed us that the word had been spread and his contacts were keeping a sharp lookout in the Palace of Pharaohs. A friend of his mother’s-the laundress-had a daughter who was responsible for polishing silver and gilt fretwork lamps within the Palace, and thought she might be able to secure an assignment within the concubines’ quarters. Nesmut was bubbling over with excitement, scarce able to contain himself.
    I cautioned him again in the strongest language I could muster, watching his eyes glaze even as he nodded obedience. Joscelin added his warnings to mine with a different emphasis, touching the hilts of his daggers and reminding Nesmut that we would know who to blame if our search was discovered. I daresay the lad took his words more seriously, looking warily at Joscelin.
    It would have been amusing, had I not been so worried; like as not, Joscelin would sooner cut off his own hand than harm the lad, but Nesmut had no way of knowing it. And I must own, Joscelin could look quite dangerous when he had a mind to. Ten years as my consort hadn’t dulled the edge of that implacable Cassiline discipline.
    We sent Nesmut on his way with a bulging purse of coin; mostly coppers, and a few silver obols. He left at a trot, grinning broadly and fingering his jangling purse. I shook my head, feeling heavy-hearted, and went to pen a letter of introduction to General Hermodorus and his wife.
    Afterward, since there was naught I could accomplish elsewhere, I accompanied the Lady Denise Fleurais on an excursion to the baths.
    There are a good many bath-houses in Iskandria, and this one was recommended by our hostess Metriche as a suitable one, frequented by women of the middle aristocracy. It was built in the Tiberian style, with separate pools of water-cool, tepid and steaming hot.
    ’Twas a