Kushiel's Avatar

Eastern Gate, some five months gone by-high summer, it was-a Skotophagotis and three warriors, with a D’Angeline boy in tow. They described him readily: a face like a jewel, set in fear and anger, skin like milk, yes, and blue-black hair that fell in ripples, eyes the hue of twilight.
    I rendered the translation exactly, lest Lord Amaury doubt.
    He didn’t, not really.
    “So,” he said, peering at me between his hair-clutching hands. “It seems I, at least, am bound for Khebbel-im-Akkad, to see how strongly the ties of marriage bind the loyalty of blood. Dare I ask you to accompany me, Comtesse? I would not presume, only ... it is rumored that you have mastered the Akkadian tongue. And I fear I could use your aid.”
    I didn’t answer, not right away. Our hostess Metriche, having heard that we had attended upon Pharaoh, had taken it upon herself to serve us with her own hands, that night. With a good deal of fanfare and many attendants, she brought a rack of lamb to our table, bowing her head and setting it before me. She had heard I’d merited a private audience. I gazed at her averted face, the elaborate gilt cap that covered the bun of her hair. I’d meant to buy one of those, to carry with me or to send to Favrielle nó Eglantine, who would find it of interest.
    Radi Arumi’s Jebean caravan left on the day after tomorrow, and our passage was already booked, a deposit paid for passage as far as Meroë.
    In my vision, Kushiel had held forth the diamond.
    Phèdre ! cried the voice in my dreams ... Hyacinthe’s, or Imriel’s? I was no longer sure. Lypiphera , it said to me, and the voice might have been Nesmut’s, the soft accented Hellene tones. We had found him, Joscelin and I, on the quai; found him, and paid him for one last task, going back once more to the household of Fadil Chouma. I don’t know why. We had the gatekeepers’ testimony. But I needed to hear it, to be sure. “Ask her,” I’d said to Nesmut. “Ask her if her husband knew a Skotophagotis .”
    If Chouma’s widow knew aught of it, she had hidden it well, shaking her head in horror at the very thought. It was his concubine, his third concubine, who hid her scars behind a veil, who fell weeping to the floor, covering her head. I had asked the questions as gently as I could, and Nesmut coaxed the story out of her. Between muffled sobs, she admitted it was so. That was the secret she had kept, even upon questioning at knife-point. Twice, she had seen Chouma speaking with a Skotophagotis . The first time, he had beaten her for it and threatened to kill her if ever she spoke of it. The second time, she had fled in terror from the bone-priest’s shadow, and did not hear what had transpired. But there had been money exchanged, and Imriel was gone. She did not doubt the nature of the bargain.
    I didn’t doubt either, not really.
    Fadil Chouma had a buyer in mind; one, only one, mind ...
    No wonder he’d sought to conceal it. My first guess had been right. It was worth his life to reveal it, in Menekhet. It was worth anyone’s life. Pharaoh had uttered a decree of death for any merchant caught trading with a Drujani.
    Radi Arumi’s Jebean caravan still left on the day after tomorrow.
    Amaury Trente was waiting for an answer.
    I thought of Hyacinthe, and the terrible despair that lurked behind his eyes. How much worse would it become as he endured the slow death of hope? Another six months, another year-how much harder would it become? I thought of the children we had rescued in Amílcar, their stricken, haunted faces. How much worse had Imriel de la Courcel endured? How much longer could he endure it? Without me, Amaury would never have found his trail. And Amaury was bound for the intrigues of Khebbel-im-Akkad, without even the skills of a trusted interpreter. A capable man, but not a clever one; so Melisande had said of him. He would be dependent on Valère L’Envers, who had wed the Khalif s son. I did not think any daughter of Barquiel L’Envers would be eager to see Imriel found. Unlike Amaury Trente, I had the means to compel her aid. And unlike Amaury, I had the means to untangle the thread of truth from a skein of half-truths and evasions.
    In Blessed Elua’s name. I promise. I will do what I can . If I had thought it would come to such a choice, I would never have promised. But it had, and a child’s life was at stake. In my mind’s eye, I saw the shadow of the Skotophagotis and shuddered. Branching paths, Hyacinthe had