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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.
    “Phèdre!” 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 It was a full year out of date, but Favrielle nó Eglantine had designed it, and the slim-fitting lines and the way an extra measure of fabric pooled at the hem were still being copied this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 Montrève 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 raiment 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