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curved her lips. “And what will you give me for it?”
    “Nothing.” I shook my head. “You asked the question, not I.”
    She glanced over her shoulder, only now becoming aware of the incredulous stares of her countrywomen, of much of the zenana . Our conversation had gone on too long, far too long, to be the denunciation of me that they had expected-indeed, Kaneka had sat at my carpet and heeded my story, had laughed . I saw her shoulders stiffen and her nostrils flare. “I do not need to ask! Everyone knows. The gods of Terre d’Ange are weak and craven, the last-born. While the elder gods seek ways to resist Lord Death, the spineless servants of Terre d’Ange send him tribute!”
    There were shouts and clapping from the couches of the Jebeans. Kaneka had risen to her feet to glower at me in threadbare majesty. I remained kneeling, hands folded in my lap, and raised my brows at her. “So says the Mahrkagir, Fedabin. Do you accept his words as truth?”
    Her anger held a moment longer, then passed; Kaneka sighed, her expression rueful. “Death’s Whore,” she murmured. “You spoke truly, little one, when first we met. Whatever else they are, your gods are cruel.”
    And with that, I did not disagree.

Fifty
    IT BEGAN when I got Erich the Skaldi to remove the boards from the garden door.
    Not all of them, only the lowest two, making an opening large enough for an agile adult to squirm through. It was on a day when Nariman the Chief Eunuch was gone for several hours, meeting with the Treasurer of Daršanga to discuss the zenana ’s accounts. Little enough though we were given, there was still the matter of the kitchen’s supplies and staff, water-bearers, servants who emptied the privy closet’s chamberpots.
    Imriel was haunting the door’s alcove, as usual, worrying splinters from the thick boards. I watched the Akkadian eunuch Uru-Azag observe him impassively.
    “Greetings, Uru-Azag,” I said to him. “Tell me, what would happen if the boy were to succeed, now, while Nariman is not present?”
    He turned the same impassive face on me. “He will not, lady.”
    “Nonetheless,” I said. “If he did?”
    The Akkadian shrugged and looked away. “The garden walls are high, and there is no door leading out. The windows of Daršanga are shuttered. No one would see.”
    “So he would not be punished,” I said.
    Uru-Azag’s eyes glittered. Of anyone in the zenana , the Akkadians despised me the least, despising themselves more. Most of their companions, the soldiers of Zaggisi-Sin, had died-properly, in battle, albeit in the grip of a madness they could not comprehend. Those who remained, the attendants of the zenana , had chosen survival and paid the price of their manhood. “For a glimpse of sky?” he asked. “No. Not while Nariman is not present.”
    “Khannat,” I said, inclining my head. “Thank you.” And I went to see Erich.
    Usually, I spoke gently to him in Skaldic, cajoling. This time, I merely stood over him without speaking. For a long while, he ignored me. I waited until he bestirred himself and looked up at me, blue-grey eyes blinking through his lank hair. In the alcove, Imriel crouched and watched, wary as an animal.
    “Help him,” I said to Erich.
    I didn’t think he would ... and then I heard a sound, as he did. It was Rushad, on the far side of the zenana , stuffing his knuckles against his mouth to stifle an outcry as the Skaldi rose. He moved slowly, Erich did. For how long-weeks? months?-he had risen only to use the privy, and that seldom more than once a day. Hours of immobility had stiffened his joints. For all that, he was a young man, and strong.
    There was a silence in the zenana as he mounted the short stair. I held my breath. At a single word, it would be over. Someone would betray us; someone would fetch Nariman. And then we would be punished, all of us-Erich, Imriel and me, mayhap the Akkadians, too.
    No one spoke. I felt curiosity prickling on my skin, a stirring of interest, life .
    For the first time, I remembered something of Blessed Elua’s golden presence.
    The iron nails screeched as Erich set to and heaved, muscles straining across his shoulders, the tendons in his arms standing out. The lowest board came loose, clattering on the tiled step. A breath of cold air swept through, fresh and clean, smelling of the sea. I fought an urge to laugh, or weep. Erich leaned his head against the rough planks, resting, drawing in the air in great gulps. Imriel,