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his highness the Lugal would be displeased as well. I pray you ensure your men know this.”
    He gave a grim nod. “You may be sure of it, my lady.”
    Mayhap he did, for the next leg of our journey passed without event. I spent the time scavenging paper and ink as unobtrusively as I might, working on various missives by the light of our campfires at night, and during the day, riding among the women of the zenana and conversing with the Ephesians.
    They were the first to leave our company, departing with an honor guard of Akkadians and a wagon-load of royal gifts to make their way over land to Ephesium. We made our farewells, and I watched them go, filled with a dour satisfaction.
    “Do you care to tell me what that expression betokens?” Joscelin asked.
    “Wait till we’ve crossed the Yehordan,” I said.
    Once we had, I told him. Joscelin laughed aloud, and went to fetch Nurad-Sin himself. Veiled and proper, seated within my tent while he stood outside it, I addressed the Akkadian captain again.
    “My lord Captain,” I said to him. “You are aware I have ... concerns ... for Prince Imriel’s safety.”
    Nurad-Sin bowed. “My lady, I am. Before Shamash, I pledge you, I have taken every precaution to ensure that no further incidents occur.”
    “So,” I said, “have I. Each of the Ephesian women with whom we parted company a few days past bears with her a missive, addressed in my name to her majesty Ysandre de la Courcel, Queen of Terre d’Ange. These I have instructed to be given to the D’Angeline ambassador in Ephesium city, and thanks to the Lugal’s generosity, the women of the zenana shall have the means to accomplish this. In these letters, I have chronicled such events as have befallen us thus far, and laid forth my suspicions as to their cause.”
    The Akkadian captain went pale. “My lady, the Lugal esteems you above gold. Surely you do not suspect... ?”
    “No.” I said it with a blandness that would have done Valère L’Envers credit. “Not in the least. While Prince Imriel lives, my suspicions will go unspoken. Should any accident befall him...” I shrugged. “It is my instruction that the letters be sent. Mayhap, my lord Captain, you might see to it that every man among you-every conscript, every veteran, every hostler and cook and water-porter, for I do not expect you to vouch for every one-is aware of this.”
    He gave a deep bow. “My lady, it shall be done.”
    “Well,” said Joscelin when he had gone. “You’ve done what you could.”
    It didn’t feel like enough.

Sixty-Three
    “WHY CAN’T you come home with me?”
    It was inevitable, I suppose ; the only wonder was that Imriel had waited until we were a day’s ride from Tyre to broach the subject. I sighed, trying to find the words.
    “Imri ... I made a promise, a long time ago. It’s not one I can break.”
    He lifted guileless blue eyes to mine. “If he loves you, wouldn’t he understand?”
    “He might,” I said, thinking of Hyacinthe, who had never dreamed that the dark road I would travel would prove so very dark indeed, with so many branching forks. “It doesn’t matter. That’s not the point.”
    Imriel rode for a while in silence, then, “Do you love him more than Joscelin?”
    “No. Imriel, listen. If someone had taken your place in Daršanga, if... if Beryl had gone in your stead,” I said, recalling the name of the eldest girl in the Sanctuary of Elua, the one who had recited the verses about Kushiel’s Dart. “If Beryl had taken your place, and you had the chance to free her, could you go home instead?”
    His black brows, straighter than his mother’s, knit in thought. “No,” he said finally, reluctant. “But...”
    “But what?”
    “ Why do you have to love him so much?”
    I smiled. “Why? I don’t know. I’ve known him since I was, oh, younger than you. Whenever I was upset, or scared, or angry... it was always to Hyacinthe that I ran. There was a time, Imri, when he was my only true friend; a long time.”
    “Was he like me?” he asked. “When he was a boy?”
    I considered him. “No. Not much.”
    “I want to go with you.” The words were so soft I could scarce hear them. “With you and Joscelin, to Jebe-Barkal.”
    “You can’t,” I said. “Imri, we’ve talked about this. You’ve a life awaiting you in Terre d’Ange, and the Queen herself anxious to meet you, to make you a member of her family; of House Courcel, into which you were born.”
    “And people