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would march on Nineveh within the month. And when Nineveh fell ... they would sweep south between the rivers, and city by city, Khebbel-im-Akkad would be theirs, as it had been in days of old.
    “It is a beginning, îshta,” he told me. “Only a beginning!” His black eyes shone. “From thence ... where to go? The Âka-Magi have travelled, these nine years-to Hellas, to Menekhet, to Ephesus, even Caerdicca Unitas! No one can stand against us. And Terre d’Ange ...” He caressed me, smiling. “Terre d’Ange, I think, will be the greatest prize of all. I have heard stories of your land. It is for this I had the Âka-Magi seek out one of your kind, one without peer, that your gods might know of me and tremble, that I might plant the seeds of death among them, and Angra Mainyu would be mightily pleased.” He laughed, soft and delighted. “They brought me the boy, and I served notice upon his flesh at the end of a lash! I marked him well, beloved. And they heard me, îshta, your gods heard me and knew fear. I thought he would serve at the end-but I was wrong, îshta; so wrong. This is more glorious than I could have imagined. Still, it was well that I waited, for his pain carried the message.” He smiled at me. “You heard it, didn’t you?”
    I thought of my dreams, of Imriel kneeling in the Skotophagotis shadow, if we failed, it would be no more than the truth. I could only pray, for all our sakes, that our desperate gamble succeeded. “Yes, my lord,” I said softly. “Oh, yes. I heard it.”
    “As did your gods.” He laughed again, caressing my cheek with cold, cold fingers. “And the gods of Terre d’Ange have already given their answer, have they not?”
    “Yes, my lord,” I said, shivering. “Truly, they have.”
    Thus, the palace. In the zenana , a grim air prevailed, and our plans continued apace. The lump of opium in Drucilla’s basket grew ever larger. The cook had sworn undying love to Nazneen the Ephesian, and promised to aid her in boiling it to a tincture. I had not seen, before, the effects upon addicts when the drug was withheld; I saw it then. They went through agonies, bellies cramping, sleepless and feverish.
    “Let them be,” Kaneka said when pity weakened my will. “They have endured it before. This time, it is of their choosing. Let them be.”
    I did. And those who held back, those who hoarded their opium, paid a price as great. The Ephesian boy, the last surviving child in the zenana other than Imriel, died of it. Although I cannot be sure of it, I think that the woman who tended him, lovingly blowing smoke into his mouth, suffocated him with a cushion in the dark hours of night. As for her ... I do not know how much opium she consumed. Enough to make her dreams last forever.
    “Fadimah,” Nazneen said in mourning tones, standing over her couch. The dead woman lay slack-faced and still, the boy’s limp form clutched to her breast. “It need not have been so.” And she looked at me, eyes moist under long lids. “No more. This is why I help you. You see? No more.”
    I saw, and nodded. Words were not enough for this death.
    Words. I lack them; I do not have words to describe the courage of the women of the zenana in this time. So many details! It was hard, so hard, to put together a plan of this scope, of this magnitude, against odds so staggering it dries my tongue to think of it, even now. For most of what happened, I can take no credit. Once the wheels were set in motion, it was a valiant few who executed so much of it. Kaneka ... Drucilla ... Nazneen ... even Jolanta. And the others, the countless others. There are women who died, others whose names I never knew-although I remember their faces, every one-who played crucial roles, overseeing the serving of the opium-laced pitchers. A small role, yes, but a vital one.
    Our plans were laid. We could do no more.
    I knew a little of what to expect, for the Mahrkagir told me. “Feasting, îshta, such as you have never seen in Daršanga! And you are to attend it with me. And then the vahmyâcam, and the apprentices shall be dedicated, and the acolytes ...” His lips curved tenderly. “... and the acolytes will present their offerings to Angra Mainyu, and the Âka-Magi will deem them fit or unfit. I will present you, îshta, I will present you as my bride.” There was no irony in it; truly, he saw it thusly. “This is for you,” he said, presenting me with a splendid crimson gown, the edges stiff with gold