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of childhood. And I ... I had been ten when my lord Delaunay took me from Cereus House, beginning the long apprenticeship that had made me what I was.
    Imriel had Daršanga.
    Remember this .
    Twice, he had nightmares, awakening the entire camp with those terrible, piercing screams. The Drujani handlers nearly bolted in terror, and the Magi cringed in fearful reflex, recalling the iron chains of Angra Mainyu. Joscelin, wild-eyed, was on his feet in an instant, sword bare in his right hand, staring about for danger. The Akkadians and the women of the zenana only grumbled. I took Imriel in my arms, soothing him until he awoke and knew me. After that, the tears, and I held him while he shook with them, narrow shoulders heaving. Joscelin sat with his sword across his knees, watching wearily.
    We did not speak of what had happened in Daršanga. It was too soon, too vast. Let us get out of this alive, I had said. What was to become of us afterward, I could not say. There was love, still; that much, I knew. My heart ached at the sight of him. And Joscelin ... I heard it in his voice, saw it in his wounded gaze, felt it in his touch. Love, broken and damaged, mayhap beyond repair. I prayed it was not so. In the evenings, I watched his halting, faltering exercises, and knew fear. He had survived, and the arm would heal. Whether or not his skills would ever be the same was another matter. Some things, once broken, can never be made whole again.
    I prayed we were not one of them.
    Halfway through the journey, I found the jade dog, the Mahrkagir’s gift, stowed in the bottom of my packs. I sat on the floor of my tent in shock, staring at it. I remembered the Mahrkagir’s pleasure in making me gifts, his boyish delight. I thought I had left them all behind. I remembered the nights of anguished pleasure, the exquisite, rending pain and the sound of my own voice begging. And I remembered his eyes, black and shining and mad, filled with adoration, his heart beating steadily beneath my hand as I positioned the hairpin.
    “I thought ... I thought you would want it.” It was Imriel, sidling through the tent-flap, wary and unsure. “I didn’t know.”
    “Yes.” I longed to hurl it from me. Instead I closed my hand on it, smooth and polished, the jade cool to the touch. “You were right. Thank you, Imri.”
    I had killed a man, murdered his trust, taken his life. If I had to do it again, I would. I believe that. Still, I could not forget.
    Should not forget.
    For the others, it was different. They had not chosen their fates, and the shadow of blood-guilt did not lie heavy on their souls. Despite it all, despite the suffering and the madness, the scores of losses, the further we got from Daršanga, the higher their spirits rose. It gladdened my heart to see it, even though I envied them. Uru-Azag and the Akkadians had found in the battle some measure of their lost pride. If they were returning home less than men, still, they were more than slaves.
    And the women ...
    At first, I think, a good many did not dare believe. By the time we reached the mountains, guarded fear gave way to hope, and thence to cautious rejoicing. Our company fractured into groups by country, echoing the divisions in the zenana , the zenyan argot fading as women began to speak of home in their own tongues, those who had family and loved ones remembering, speculating on whether or not they would be welcomed back.
    Kaneka was one who had no doubts. Fierce and glowing, she took to freedom like a caged hawk to the sky, carrying her purloined battle-axe at her saddle and her dagger stuck through a sash round her waist.
    “So, little one,” she said to me the day we entered the mountains, our passage slowed by the wagons. “You will go to Jebe-Barkal after all, eh?”
    “It seems I will.”
    “Maybe I will go with you.” She grinned, showing her white teeth. “Come with me to Debeho. My grandmother, may she still live, will tell you many tales of the Melehakim.”
    “I have a guide to Meroë promised in Iskandria,” I said.
    “Iskandria.” Kaneka waved a dismissive hand. “A caravan guide. He will rob you blind, little one. Better to travel the Great River to Majibara, and hire there. With me you will not be robbed.”
    Our pace was slow enough that a few Akkadians had dismounted to hunt along the way, shooting at rock partridge and the occasional startled hare. I watched Uru-Azag teaching Imriel to draw an Akkadian bow. “Do you mean it,