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was, a good deal more than it sounds. There is little else to build from in Khebbel-im-Akkad, and they have become surpassingly good at it.
    For all that I doubted, our guides had spoken truly; there was a far better system in place for crossing the Tigris, a veritable floating bridge. It was built on the same principle, but much vaster, an immense platform of cedar planks, capable of holding a dozen horses and men at once. A complex system of ropes and pulleys was used to convey it from one shore to another. Why the Akkadians are so reluctant to span running water, I cannot say, but it worked well enough. We made the crossing in three trips and were deposited safe and relatively dry outside the gates of Nineveh.
    “Right,” said Lord Amaury, surveying his bedraggled company. “I think mayhap we should take lodgings for the night before presenting ourselves to the Khalif s son.”
    And with that, I did not disagree.

Thirty-Eight
    ONE THING I will say; Nineveh did not lack for luxury.
    Amaury Trente saw to it that we were lodged in the finest inn, and it was very fine indeed. They had a dozen stablehands alone, and ample space to quarter our mounts. The rooms were generous, sumptuous with woven carpets and pillows, all wrought in intricate designs.
    The only drawback was that the men and women were lodged in separate quarters.
    “It could be worse.” Renée de Rives, stripped down to her shift, flung herself on one of the overstuffed sleeping-pallets, stretching her arms indolently over her head. She looked at me under her lashes with a friendly smile. “And we could always entertain one another, Phèdre.”
    I smiled back at her and demurred. “Though you are kind to ask,” I added.
    “I’m not kind.” Renée rolled onto her side, propping her head on one arm. “I’m dying of curiosity and insatiable desire, and it seems a shame to let these lovely beds go to waste. Is it because of Joscelin?”
    I thought about it, sitting cross-legged on the pallet opposite her. “In part.”
    She made a face. “Phaugh! Why did you have to fall in love with a Cassiline, anyway? We’re all the poorer for it.”
    I laughed. “Well, you may be sure, I didn’t choose to. Did you choose in the matter of Lord Royce? It is always easier if one’s beloved is unwed.”
    “And if I’d met him sooner, he might be.” Renée laughed, too. “It’s not the same, though, Phèdre. Everyone knows Joscelin doesn’t care to share you. Royce, now ... if I had the chance to share your bed, Royce would gladly push me into it! And I would do the same for him.”
    “Well.” I rose, and stooped to kiss her in passing. “Mayhap he’ll get his chance.”
    “Oh, unfair,” she said, but she smiled as she said it, stretching and yawning. “Elua, you can’t blame me for trying. If Joscelin is part of the reason, what’s the rest? You never said.”
    “I didn’t, did I?” I paused in the act of unpacking my trunk, holding up a creased gown and frowning. To be sure, it was a long time since I had engaged in casual dalliance, but I’d never denied its appeal. And if Renée was no one I would choose for a patron, it was hardly that she was undesirable. No, the lack of desire lay within me, a strange sense of waiting withdrawal. It was unusual, in a Servant of Naamah; in an anguissette , unheard-of. “I don’t really know.”
    “Ah, well.” Renée sighed, indolently. “I hope it passes.”
    Unwontedly fearful of what might follow if it did, I said nothing.
    So it was that I spent the night chastely, and in the morning, Lord Amaury sent a letter of introduction to the Palace, addressed to Valère L’Envers, the wife of the Lugal Sinaddan-Shamabarsin. The reply came swiftly, an invitation fair blazing with eagerness. After some weeks in Khebbel-im-Akkad, I was hardly surprised. Luxury or no, Nineveh must seem like direst exile for a D’Angeline noblewoman. Visitors from home would be rare delight.
    Our persons bathed, our attire cleaned and pressed, our horses groomed and gleaming, we rode in style to the Palace of Nineveh. Commoners in the street bowed low as we passed, touching their foreheads to the ground. I could tell the Akkadian nobles, even on foot, because they did not deign to notice us, looking only out of the corners of their eyes. We passed many temples of the lesser gods, and then the great ziggurat of Shamash, with the solar disk mounted at its apex. The god was represented as the Lion of the Sun, his leonine