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Queen, but not, I think, a clever one . “Nonetheless, we must consider the possibility.”
    “So what do we do?”
    “Look for scratched faces,” I said. “Imri drew blood; there were traces of it under his nails. If it’s none of Amaury’s men ...” I grimaced. “All we have to do is get him to Tyre alive.”
    “With the Lugal’s generous escort,” Joscelin observed. “Filled with Elua knows how many would-be assassins.” He glanced toward the bedchamber. “You know... all my life, from the time I was ten, I trained for this, for this very thing-to serve as a personal bodyguard to a member of House Courcel, the finest possible protection against the threat of assassination. And now?” He shrugged, the robe slipping from his bound shoulder. “I’m useless.”
    “Not useless,” I said fiercely. “Never that! I’d rather have you one-handed than an entire company of Black Shields!”
    He smiled, but his eyes were bleak. “I can’t fight, Phèdre. You’ve seen it as well as I. Until this happened ... I didn’t mind, not so much as I thought I might. After Daršanga, if I never have to kill anyone again, it will be too soon. But the boy...” He glanced back toward Imriel. “He needs a Cassiline, not a cripple.”
    “Joscelin.” Tears stood in my eyes. “Anyone who wants to kill him will have to go through both of us first. And no one’s done it yet.”
    After a moment he nodded, reaching out to brush my cheek. “Go to bed,” he murmured. “I’ll take the first watch and wake you before dawn.”
    I slept uneasily and rose when Joscelin, bleary-eyed, awoke me. While they slept, I studied the Jebean scroll which Valère L’Envers had restored to me. I’d learned a good deal more Jeb’ez than I realized, eavesdropping on Kaneka and her companions. I pondered the raiment of the figures, the bejeweled breastplate, the diadem placed upon Melek al’Hakim’s brow after he was anointed. I pondered the two figures escaping from the ruin of the Temple, carrying the cloth-shrouded burden between them on two poles. Slowly, the mysteries I had studied filtered back into my mind, the long hours spent with Eleazar ben Enokh, with the Rebbe before him, the many texts I had perused. I thought on Eleazar’s parting words. You must make of the self a vessel where there is no self . What did it mean, if not what I had undergone in Daršanga? Truly, the ways of gods were unknowable.
    A breathless laugh broke my concentration and I jerked my head up, startled.
    “You see?” Joscelin said to Imriel. “The Lugal himself could ride past her on a tiger, and she’d not notice.”
    “I would, too,” I said. I don’t think either of them believed me.
    We spent the day in investigation, as best we might; no easy thing, in unfamiliar surroundings. Joscelin, with Imriel at his side, sought out Lord Amaury’s men, examining them for scratches. For my part, I went to the women’s quarters where the zenana was housed, hoping to find Uru-Azag. Alas, I was too late-already, Valère had put her plan in motion, and the Akkadians were being fitted for livery and decorative armor suiting their new appointment as the Lugalin’s personal guard.
    I spoke to Kaneka instead, valuing her wisdom. “Send him here, little one, if you fear for his safety in your keeping. We are enough still to protect one boy.” She grinned, hefting her axe. “I have not forgotten how to use this!”
    “I will, Fedabin,” I said. “Thank you.”
    Kaneka shrugged. “The sooner we are gone, the better. My feet itch for home.”
    All was merriment in the women’s quarters, aside from the pall my worries cast; Valère and Sinaddan had been generous in their gifts. In that, I could not fault them. New wardrobes, gifts of jewels, visitors coming and going throughout the day, bearing some new tribute. Already the messengers had gone out, and in some cases, among the Persians and Akkadians, negotiations were beginning for their return home.
    In Daršanga, someone in the zenana would have known had there been an assassination attempt. Here, they were strangers, more so than I, and Nineveh only a way-station. I had no allies, no Rushad to bring me court rumor. The thought, tinged with a nostalgia that was not entirely rooted in sorrow at the memory of Rushad, was unsettling.
    Remember this .
    Some things I remembered too well.
    After the zenana , I called upon Valère L’Envers. There was, I had determined, nothing to be gained in