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of dice, three single eyes on the sand. “Does it mean that is when I will die?”
    “I’ye, no.” Kaneka’s voice was rough with fear. “It says that is when Lord Death will send for you.” She pointed. “Day, after day; week after week; month upon month. No respite. When will you die?” She shrugged. “Like the rest. When he kills you, or when you can bear it no more.”
    “I see.” I stood. “Thank you, Fedabin; amessaganun. If it please you to teach me Jeb’ez, I would learn it still, though I have nothing to trade.”
    Kaneka scooped up her dice and rose. “You are a fool, little one,” she whispered harshly. “Believe, or not; the dice do not lie, and I have told you what any one of us would shudder to hear. Use the time left you wisely, and make peace with your gods while you may!”
    “My gods.” I looked past her at the watching zenana . “It is they who marked me, Fedabin Kaneka; not for death, but for pain. How shall I make peace with that?”
    To that, she had no answer.

Forty-Five
    AFTER THAT, I was regarded with a certain fearful awe in the zenana .
    It lasted all of a day until it changed.
    It would have happened anyway, I daresay; the Mahrkagir would have sent for me when he did, Kaneka’s prophecy or no, and there would have followed what followed. I am an anguissette . It could not have fallen out differently. The dice had merely ensured that I was already branded a target for fear and speculation. In a community ruled by dread, it is never far from thence to hatred.
    Hiu-Mei, the Mahrkagir’s favorite, had taken a turn for the worse. Drucilla tended her as best she might, but without medications, there was little she could do. It was not the blow to the face, I gathered, but a disease of long standing-a pox, one of the Illyrians swore, that men contract from congress with goats. The Tatar tribesmen whose aid the Mahrkagir courted were known to carry it.
    Whether or not it is true, I cannot say; of a surety, the Ch’in woman was ill, a cause for bitter rejoicing in the zenana . Rejoicing, for any favorite was despised; bitter, for any favorite must be replaced ... and the lot would fall upon one of us.
    They looked at me and muttered about Kaneka’s dice.
    For my part, I felt numb and hollow inside. Blessed Elua’s presence was long gone, and only his purpose remained, drawn with lines as straight and inevitable as the one cast by Kaneka’s dice, leading to the Mahrkagir’s bedchamber.
    There was news, in the zenana ; the Bhodistani woman was dead. One of the Mahrkagir’s men-the wolves of Angra Mainyu, Tizrav had called them-had made a wager that given a choice between the point of a dagger and a morsel of food, the woman would eat. The Mahrkagir had taken the wager. She never flinched as the Drujani dagger pierced her heart.
    It passed for entertainment, in the festal hall, and the Mahrkagir was happy.
    I heard, too, other news; news of the D’Angeline lordling who never smiled, whose beauty shone like a star in the cold, dark halls of Darsanga. In the zenana , Joscelin was already coveted. It afforded me a certain bleak amusement. Otherwise, I felt nothing.
    Rushad stole cat-footed to my couch, bringing a gift hidden in his right hand. “See?” he said, opening it to reveal a single pellet, dark and resinous. “Opium! If you take it by mouth, they say, the effect lasts longer, much longer, and the ... the pain is not so great, it is as if it were happening in a dream.”
    “I see,” I smiled and shook my head, closing his hands over his treasure. “You are kind, Rushad, but it is not needful. Keep it.”
    He looked at me with dismay. “The Mahrkagir has spoken of you. He will send for you tonight; I know it, everyone knows it!”
    “I know.” I frowned, listening to the sounds of the zenana . Someone sighed, someone cried out, the door to the privy closet closed with a bang. I thought I had heard a voice murmuring sleepily in Hellene, Lypiphera . Pain-bearer. It was my imagination, like as not. “I know, Rushad. But I cannot afford the luxury of waking dreams.”
    He went away disheartened. In truth, I was not sure of the wisdom of my choice. Of a surety, I had need of my wits ... and yet. I had no plan; I had not even located Imriel de la Courcel. There was naught I could do. Even if I were able to speak with Joscelin-and I dared not risk it so soon-what would I tell him? That the Akkadian eunuchs despised their master and took bribes willingly? It was