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I.”
    “Oh, they’ve said well enough.” He reached out to take the hand of the woman seated at his side; scarce more than a girl, really. “Do you not agree, my darling Clytemne?”
    The Pharaoh’s second wife and current Queen giggled. “It is true, then! My ladies said as much. Tell me ...” She leaned forward, wide-eyed and curious. “Do you bathe in the milk of wild asses to make your skin so fair? I have heard it is so.”
    “No, my lady.” I curtsied to her, keeping my expression serious. Well and so; this audience was not entirely what I had expected. Across from me, I could see Joscelin biting his lip and studying the floor. “I use a salve of wool-fat, from the first shearing, rendered with an attar of rose. It gives a marvelous suppleness. I am certain Lord Amaury could procure it if my lady wishes.”
    “Oh, yes!” Queen Clytemne clapped her hands together. Ptolemy Dikaios looked amused and indulgent. Amaury Trente looked dumbstruck, and hid it poorly. “Of a surety,” the young Queen continued eagerly, “you recommend tincture of nightshade to give your eyes such luster, is it not so?”
    “No, my lady.” I shook my head and smiled gently at her. “It makes the eyes ill able to bear light, and I fear I would find myself blinded by your majesty’s brilliance.”
    “Oh!” Clytemne blushed, pleased by the compliment, pink color lending a moment’s beauty to her sallow cheeks. “But your eyes…” She leaned closer to peer at me. “Oh! You have the strangest flaw, Lady Phèdre, a spot of crimson-”
    “It is the mark of Kushiel’s Dart,” Raife Laniol, Ambassador de Penfars, said smoothly, stepping forward to bow. “Or so we say, in Terre d’Ange.”
    “ Mighty Kushiel, of rod and weal, late of the brazen portals, with blood-tipp’d dart a wound unhealed, pricks the eyen of chosen mortals .” The words were spoken in Hellene, but their source was pure D’Angeline. I saw Joscelin’s head raise unbidden, his hands crossing unthinking to hover over the hilts of his absent daggers. Ptolemy Dikaios was smiling broadly. “Come, my lord de Penfars,” he chided the Ambassador. “You are a scholar. Tiberium may lay its claims, but all the world knows the finest library is in Iskandria. For a thousand years, Menekhet has survived by its wits. Did you truly think I would entertain a D’Angeline delegation without learning all I might? Did you suppose me ignorant of the identity of your guests, who have dined with my dear General Hermodorus?” Ignoring us for a moment, he turned to his young bride. “Clytemne, my darling, you have seen the flower of D’Angeline beauty. Now leave us to discussion.”
    With a show of reluctance, she climbed down from her throne, an escort awaiting her. “You won’t forget the salve?” she asked me hopefully in parting.
    I looked pointedly at Amaury Trente, who started before executing a florid bow. “It will be my honor to execute the request personally, your majesty.”
    And then we were alone with Ptolemy Dikaios, Pharaoh of Menekhet, whose intellect I feared I had greatly underestimated. He steepled his fingers, clad in a glittering array of rings, over his belly and regarded us. “She had a desire to behold you, my lady, and learn the secrets of D’Angeline beauty. We are grateful for your indulgence.”
    “It is my honor, my lord.”
    He waved one bejeweled hand. “Clytemne is a silly girl, but her heart is good, and she brings to our marriage an allegiance with the island of Cythera which I could ill afford to lose. For my part, I am well-pleased. Tell me, is there aught I may offer in kind?”
    I have served Naamah for many years, and I know a laden question when I hear one. I knew it now. And I have studied the arts of covertcy for nearly as long, and knew to read the shadings of tone, the unspoken language of the body. I know who you are , said the silent features of Ptolemy Dikaios, and what you do. I know what you seek, and what you may ask. Do you dare ?
    And I wondered how he knew and I bethought myself of Melisande Shahrizai, who had managed access, in her Serenissiman exile, to Hellene translations of Habiru texts, to rare Jebean manuscripts. Melisande, who had been on a moment’s notice prepared to escape to Iskandria and pursue her missing son. It had not occurred to me, until now, to wonder why she was so certain of finding aid in the city. And it had not occurred to me to wonder from whom. Melisande was never one to