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Fedabin?”
    “What do you think?” Kaneka touched the leather bag at her throat that held her amber dice. “Your luck ... your madness. I owe my freedom to it.”
    “And others owe their deaths,” I said.
    She shrugged. “Did you kill them? No. Anyway, I am alive. It is enough. You may take my offer or not, I do not care. I am grateful nonetheless.”
    I looked at her and nodded. “I’ll take it.”

Fifty-Nine
    ON THE third week of our slow journey, Tizrav son of Tizmaht found us in the mountains. He was waiting at a campsite off the old royal road, busily skinning a fallow deer. I heard the commotion at the head of the caravan and rode to investigate, Joscelin a few paces behind me.
    “Lady.” The mercenary greeted me in Persian, grinning behind his greasy eyepatch, his hands messy with blood. “Lordling. You have returned.”
    “Tizrav!” I was so glad to see him, I nearly kissed him. “Did the Lugal send you? Or Lord Amaury? Are they near?”
    “Amaury.” He eased a skinning knife a few more inches beneath the deer’s hide and separated it with an expert jerk. “He’s the one offered a reward. They saw the fires light from Demseen Fort, and the cursed Akkadians are still too scared to go and see. Your Lord Amaury offered gold to anyone who would. That’s me.”
    “You know this man?” Uru-Azag looked down his aquiline nose at Tizrav.
    “He is the Lugal’s most trusted guide,” I said, stretching the truth considerably.
    “The Lugal’s going to have someone’s hide when he finds out the Drujani let you march through with a passel of women and eunuchs, and his men too scared to cross the border,” Tizrav said, shifting the flayed carcass. “What happened?”
    “It’s a long story,” I said. “We were granted safe passage. Tizrav, how far are we from the border?”
    “At your pace? Two days, maybe three.” He eyed Imriel behind me, watching the operation in morbid fascination over my shoulder. “I see you got that boy you wanted.”
    “Yes. Is the border guarded?”
    “By Drujani?” He shrugged. “You could march an army across it untouched, and like as not the Lugal will, when he hears of it. I figured I’d wait. Sinaddan didn’t promise gold, not like your Lord Amaury did.”
    Someone overheard his words, and they passed through the company, translated into a dozen tongues. Cheering arose at the mention of an invading army. I raised my hand. “ No !” The word came out sharp and forceful, quelling the cheers. I took a deep breath, shifting my mount to address them all, speaking in zenyan. “Drujan wishes to sue for peace, and I gave my word I would deliver the message. Let no one here gainsay it. Is it understood?”
    It was, reluctantly.
    “And you, son of Tizmaht,” I said to the mercenary. “Will you bide your tongue until I have spoken?”
    Tizrav gave his crooked shrug. “War, peace; what is it to me? There’s more profit in the former, and less risk of dying in the latter. I’ll keep silent if you wish it. My father, he’d be glad to see the Sacred Fires lit, devout fool that he was. I reckon I can owe you that much.”
    And so we made for the border.
    On the second day, Tizrav rode ahead to alert the garrison at Demseen Fort of our arrival. Mercenary or no, he’d seen us safely to Daršanga, and I trusted him to keep his word. In that, I was not wrong.
    Slowly, creeping along the mountain roads, our company followed.
    After so long, it seemed unreal, the grey fortress on the horizon, flying the Lion of the Sun banner of the Shamabarsin, the ancient House of Ur. Some of the Akkadians, Uru-Azag among them, broke down and wept. The reluctant Magi who had accompanied us dug in their heels, deserting us, taking the Drujani hostlers and bearers with them. No one moved to detain them, and the stones rattled with their passage.
    Horns rang out from the turrets, clarion calls echoing over the crags. We had been seen.
    The garrison turned out to meet us.
    Foremost among them was Lord Amaury Trente, disbelief and joy writ large on his features. “Phèdre!” He embraced me, kissed me on both cheeks, then took my shoulders in his hands and shook me. “Name of Elua, I swear ... Joscelin Verreuil, you mad Cassiline ...” He embraced Joscelin awkwardly, mindful of his bound arm. “And you-Catching sight of Imriel lurking warily between us, he paused and executed a courtly bow, his voice unwontedly gentle. “You must be Imriel de la Courcel. My lord prince,