Kushiel's Avatar

something, but not much. No more than he could learn on his own. Mayhap it would have been wiser to meet the Mahrkagir wrapped in a cocoon of dreams.
    Or not.
    I watched a Carthaginian woman draw lovingly at the mouthpiece of a water-pipe, limbs disposed in languor. Those who entered the world of dreams emerged only by force. It seemed a kindness, yes. Until the Mahrkagir takes it away. Then they will suffer fresh torments and wish anew to die .
    I would have reason enough. No need to seek further.
    So I waited in hollow despair, until the latticed doors opened and Nariman the Chief Eunuch conferred with the Drujani guards. The hushed and waiting silence fell as he returned. His pursed red lips quivered, and there was malice in his gaze as one plump hand rose, pointing first at me.
    Even though I had expected it, my heart skipped a beat.
    No one wept for me, as they had for the others summoned last night. Well and so; I was Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève, and I needed no one’s pity. I rose from my couch with dignity, inclining my head to the Akkadian escorts. “Khannat,” I murmured in their tongue, taking one’s arm; thank you. I felt his body stiffen, rigid with unnamed emotion, and then he bowed his head once, briefly.
    Five others were chosen, and a boy, the little Menekhetan who’d been summoned last night. He was still alive, his eyes more sunken and hollow than any child’s ought to be. This time, the Menekhetan women on his carpeted island merely keened, low and agonized.
    Thus were we summoned.
    Our Drujani guards affected a careless demeanor, clanking in armor, talking over us as we ascended the narrow stair. I heard beneath their tone an undercurrent of excitement and knew why. I was something new; something different. My Akkadian escort’s eyes gleamed in the darkness, mouth fixed in a grimace. At the top of the stair, we waited, while each one of us was searched for weapons.
    Naamah, I thought, the prayer coming unbidden as I awaited my turn. Gracious lady, mistress of my soul, I have consented to this; consented, as you did, once upon a time. For love of Blessed Elua, you lay down with the Great King of Persis. Because Elua has asked it of me, I do the same, though Persis is fallen and the king who remains in this isolated corner of it styles himself the Lord of Death. My lady Naamah, if you have a care for your faithful Servant, ward me well in this place.
    For an instant-only an instant-I thought I smelled attar of roses, and heard a sound like the quick, fluttering wings of a dove taking flight. And then it was my turn, and the hard hands of a Drujani guard patted me down, lingering on my body, his face leering before me.
    It is an anguissette’s nightmare. I kept my chin aloft, and betrayed no sign.
    “Go on,” he said to the others in Persian, jerking his head. “He’s waiting.”
    And so we went, down the darkened hallways, a single torch lighting our way. Two of the other women wept and dragged their feet; one of the eunuchs-not my escort, but another-cursed and struck one across the back. The others walked with leaden steps. The Menekhetan boy straggled, his ambling path sending him wandering from one side of the hall to the other. The Drujani guards pushed him and laughed, making jests about wagering on where his next staggering step would fall.
    “Enough!” I said fiercely, unable to curb my tongue. “Can you not see he is injured?”
    “Shut up.” The one with the torch thrust it toward my face, laughing when I flinched. “He entertained a few of the Shahryar’s friends, is all. You’ll be lucky if you can walk, you will, when his lordship’s done with you!”
    Shahryar; sovereign lord. Nariman had said it, too. They acknowledged him that in Drujan, the bastard-born son of Hoshdar Ahzad. I kept my mouth closed, fearing further retribution. With a sidelong glance at me, my Akkadian escort stepped to the boy’s side, guiding him gently.
    We were nearing the festal hall.
    I could see it; the dull glow of a fireplace at one end and a few torches in between, much as the audience hall had been. It was different, though. That had been empty, subdued. We heard the roar from halfway down the hall. There were men here, many men, and drink flowing. I did not understand, at first, what it must be.
    And then I saw the vaulted ceiling, rising to a sealed dome, and the low well beneath it, capped with rubble, and I knew. Men, elderly men, with white beards and filthy robes, waited