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my heart.
    Unless I killed him first.
    It terrified me even to think it, so I thought of other things instead, such as how we were to escape if I did it. And to that, I had no answer. If what Rushad had told me was true, the power of the Skotophagoti , the Âka-Magi, flowed through the Mahrkagir. Their powers would be broken with his death. Well and good; that left only the whole of the Drujani army.
    If we could take Daršanga, I thought, we could hold it, at least for a while. Long enough, mayhap, to commandeer a ship and escape along the coast of the Sea of Khaspar to Khebbel-im-Akkad-or, at the least, to send word via the sea route. I did not doubt that the Lugal Sinaddan would descend upon Drujan in all haste if he knew. I could only pray it did not result in a second bloodbath like the one that had begotten the Mahrkagir.
    Taking Daršanga was the only problem.
    That, and committing murder.
    I sat upon my carpet and watched the zenana on an afternoon when Nariman was absent, gauging its mood. They worked together to enjoy the garden, posting watchers, setting up a warning system. Not all, of course-many preferred the escape of opium dreams-but enough. I watched the blue smoke curling from an Ephesian water-pipe, and wondered how much opium was present in the zenana , and how much it would take to drug the garrison. I remembered the pellet Rushad had offered me, and wondered if it could be placed in the food, or whether it would dissolve in drink. Kumis, I thought, would mask the taste of anything.
    “Watching and listening,” Kaneka called from her couch. “Always watching and listening. You are not practicing your Jeb’ez, little one, though I gave you permission.”
    “Yequit’a, Fedabin.” I bowed from the waist. “I was thinking of somewhat else.”
    “Your storm-lord?” She laughed, the others laughing with her.
    “No, Fedabin Kaneka.” On a whim, or something like it, I told the truth. “I was wondering whether or not opium dissolves in liquid.”
    Kaneka’s brows rose. “Why such a thing? Will no one share a pipe with the Mahrkagir’s favorite? Well, then, beg him for one, or eat it in pellets, if you will.”
    “It is a thing I wonder, that is all.”
    It bothered her; I saw the thoughts flicker behind her frown. “No. It must be brewed in water, to be drunk. The resin of the poppy must boil a long time.”
    “Ah,” I said. “Thank you, Fedabin.”
    “Come here.” Her tone was peremptory. I rose and went to kneel on the Jebeans’ carpet. Kaneka stared at me with hooded eyes. “You did that,” she said, pointing to the garden door, the posted sentries. “I saw. I watched it happen. The others, they forget. I don’t. Why?”
    “For Imri,” I said. “I wanted him to see the sky.”
    “That boy.” Her voice deepened. “He does not even like you.”
    It was true enough. Having dared two steps forward, coming to see me, Imriel had taken a large step in retreat, unwilling to accept the truth of what I had told him. I shrugged. “It does not matter.”
    “It matters in here,” said Achara, one of the Nubians.
    “He is only a child,” I said, thinking of Melisande’s words. Let him live to hate me, then; only let him live .
    Kaneka laughed, harsh and dark. “There are no children here,” she said. “Whose wine were you thinking to lace with opium, little one? Lord Death’s?”
    “No.” I smiled at her. “There is a great deal of opium in the zenana , Fedabin Kaneka; enough to dull the wits of the entire garrison of Darsanga for a single night. I was only thinking, no more.”
    Something behind Kaneka’s eyes closed, rendering her face mask-like. She looked at me without speaking for a long time. “Dangerous thoughts,” she said at length. “And dangerous words.”
    “And even more dangerous deeds,” I said softly. “Yes, Fedabin. That is why I say they are only thoughts and no more. It would endanger the entire zenana to speak them openly, would it not? And to render them deeds ...” I shrugged. “Of a surety, some of us would die. All, if we failed.”
    Her hand flashed out to grab a fistful of my hair, yanking my head forward as she leaned down from the couch until our faces were mere inches apart. I could see the red veins lacing the whites of her eyes. “I will not die for your dangerous thoughts, little one, do you hear?” she said, her breath hot against my face. I could smell the sharp sweat of fear on her. “No one here will! Hope kills in this