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who want me dead.” His mouth was set in a hard, unchildish line.
    “Yes,” I said. “And that. But Lord Amaury won’t let that happen, and neither will Queen Ysandre. And when it comes to it, they’re a great deal more qualified for the job than I.”
    Imriel gave me a look that went clear to the bone. “But you are the only one who is my friend, my true friend.”
    We made camp that night a few miles outside Tyre, and it was Joscelin who broached the subject while Imriel slept, sitting cross-legged on his blankets before the opening of our tent and massaging his arm with the Eisandine chirurgeon’s balm. The bindings and splint had at last come off, and despite his best efforts squeezing rocks and the like, his left arm was pallid and puny, his grip on his dagger feeble at best.
    “It’s a long way,” he said quietly. “And we’ve been a long time from home. Phèdre ... I’m not saying we shouldn’t go, eventually. But... look at me. I’ll not be much use, if there’s trouble. And you ... Elua, love! If ever there was a time you needed to heal, it’s now.”
    “I’m fine,” I said.
    Joscelin merely looked at me.
    “All right,” I said. “I’m not fine. But I’m well enough to travel, and so are you. Joscelin ... there’s a part of me, a big part, that would like nothing better than to see Imriel restored safely, to deliver a warning in person to Ysandre, to go home . But if we do?” I shuddered. “I’m not sure I can face leaving it again. And I can’t live knowing that there’s somewhat I might do to win Hyacinthe’s freedom. Mayhap ...” I swallowed. “Mayhap it would be best if you went with Imriel.”
    He flinched. “You don’t mean it.”
    “I don’t know.” I put my head in my hands. “It’s-it’s like you said, it’s what you trained all your life to do. Not trail around after luckless whores on half-mad quests.”
    “Phèdre.” There was a sound in his voice almost like laughter, although with no levity in it. “If you can’t go home while Hyacinthe remains cursed, how can you possibly imagine I could endure letting you go to Jebe-Barkal alone?”
    “So you’ll go?”
    “I swore it to damnation and beyond.” He flexed his left hand, testing the muscles. “This would be the beyond.”
    Our arrival in Tyre was auspicious. The skies were a bright, hard blue above and a good steady wind blew southwesterly. The Lugal’s couriers had been there ahead of us, arranging for our varied transports. ’Twas no difficulty for those of us bound for Menekhet, as trade ships travelled regularly, but the longer journeys-Hellas, Illyria, Caerdicca Unitas, Carthage, Aragonia, Terre d’Ange-required special commissions.
    His highness Sinaddan-Shamabarsin had been the soul of generosity. The ships were ready and waiting, the finest money could buy, captains and crew hailing the women of the Mahrkagir’s zenana as noble-born passengers.
    It was a considerable shock, albeit a pleasant one, to some, especially those who had been slave-born. By some means they did not fully comprehend, the horrible dross of their lives, the degradations of Darsanga, had been converted to status. I was glad, for they deserved it. I hoped it would enable some of them to find happiness, or at least contentment. There are many things wealth cannot buy, and most of those are enumerated by philosophers who have never woken wondering if this day would be their last. It pleased me to know that the survivors of Daršanga would, at the least, not have to worry about buying bread.
    For the rest, it was up to them. The living must carry on for the dead.
    Rushad ... Drucilla ... Erich. There was no ship bound for Skaldia. I never even learned his story, never knew how he came to be a Drujani captive. All I had done was hold his hand, and sing him songs as he died. I hoped he’d gotten his answers from All-Father Odhinn. It was no longer in my heart to hate or fear the Skaldi.
    There were tears aplenty upon parting, and if I dared now leave no written trail, I left a good many instructions, whispered in the ears of a dozen women-safeguards, hedged bets, messages for a half-dozen D’Angeline ambassadors. It was the last great conspiracy of the zenana of Daršanga, and every one of them undertook it willingly.
    Our ship, set to leave at midday on the morrow, would be the last to leave; the D’Angeline ship would sail at dawn. We passed one last night together in a fine Tyrean inn, which the Lugal had