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place, and betrayal kills quicker. Only those of us who have learned to live with Death, to keep him at bay one day at a time, endure. Better for us all if you keep your mouth silent on these thoughts!”
    “You will die here, Kaneka.” With her face loomed over mine, I somehow managed to say it unflinching. “ When is the only question that matters. One day, your dice will call your number, and your charms of thread and bone will not avail you.”
    Kaneka released me with a Jebean curse. “Not while you live!” she spat. “I do not fear Lord Death’s men, grunting fools. Only him. And while you live, he will summon no other, Death’s Whore! I know this to be true. The dice do not lie.”
    “My number,” I said, “has already been called. Whose will be next?”
    And with that, I left them, a low buzz of Jeb’ez following me. Amidst the angry reactions, I heard someone-Safiya, I thought-remark thoughtfully that it was known a cook in the zenana was enamored of Nazneen the Ephesian, and surely he would boil opium into a tincture for her sake. And then Kaneka ordered her to silence, and they spoke of it no more.
    I went to my chamber and sat on my bed, trembling at the risk I had taken. The little jade dog on my shelf stared at me with bulging eyes, reminding me that betrayal from within the zenana was the least of my fears. Kaneka spoke truly-in this place, hope could kill, and betrayal quicker.
    But if I died in Daršanga, it would be at the hands of love.
    I have known love in my lifetime; known what it is to love, and be loved. I had it first from Hyacinthe, my truest friend; from my lord Delaunay, who redeemed me, and from Alcuin, the brother of my childhood. Truly, it is in loss that we learn a thing’s true value.
    There are loves I have never known, whose lack I have mourned half-unknowing-for my parents, who sacrificed me on the altar of their own passion, for the children I dared not bear. But I have known the love of good comrades and stalwart companions, of a sovereign whom I admired and revered to the depths of my being.
    I have known love in all its cruelty; so I thought, before this. Melisande’s voice haunted my memory. We are bound together . When all was said and done, it was true; there was an inextricable link between us. But ah, Elua! There were blasphemies here such as she had never dreamed. Love may be cruel, but even its cruelties can be profaned.
    And I have known love that defied all odds.
    Thinking of Joscelin, my throat grew tight. His face, taut with despair, swam before my face. His part in this was harder, so much harder than I had reckoned. Already, madness nipped at his heels. I had asked too much of him, and I did not know how much longer he could endure.
    All I could do was pray.

Fifty-Two
    SPRING CAME to Daršanga.
    In the garden of the zenana , it brought a few pale seedlings, straggling, weedy things pushing through the crumbling soil in the corners where the scorched, salted earth was less barren. There was a slow-witted girl from the island of Cythera who tended them whenever she had a chance, crooning over them, bringing stagnant water from the pool inside in a tin cup to nourish them. I would have thought it more like to kill them, but they grew all the same, stubborn little shoots inching toward the sun.
    Betimes, Imriel would help her, unexpectedly patient, and I remembered the simple-minded acolyte at the Sanctuary of Elua and her gift with animals-Liliane, who bore my mother’s name. Imriel would have known her, of course, nearly all his life. I remembered how our mounts had followed her unbidden. And I remembered too how the Skotophagotis had ridden his ill-tempered ass without so much as a halter.
    The gifts of Blessed Elua.
    The power of Angra Mainyu.
    One of these would prevail, here in Daršanga. And I, who bore this knowledge alone, shuddered under the weight of it. Weak and craven, Kaneka had called the gods of Terre d’Ange; last-born, spineless servants. Even Imriel despised them, and Joscelin ... I did not know what Joscelin believed, not now. He had been Cassiel’s priest, once. Now he lived the damnation he believed he had accepted when he chose love over duty.
    All around me, the palace of Daršanga breathed darkness and hatred, the hunger of Angra Mainyu waking anew to spring and the prospect of new life to destroy. Its numbers were swelling. From all over Drujan and elsewhere, the Âka-Magi returned to the palace, to the Mahrkagir. First