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prodigious infatuation for Kaneka and thought her the most splendid creature he’d ever seen. Clearly, he regarded her as a person of great stature. Whether or not it had been true in her native village of Debeho, I cannot say, but it had been true in the zenana , and it was certainly true now. Clad in richly embroidered Akkadian robes, she might have been some visiting ambassadress.
    It was a source of amusement for the other Jebeans, who watched Wali make cow’s-eyes at her around the campfire and laid bets in zenyan as to whether or not Kaneka would acquiesce. Near the end of our journey, she did, laying a hand on Wali’s shoulder and beckoning him to her tent. Trembling with disbelief at his fortune, a broad grin splitting his face, he followed her.
    I was glad of it, though the noise of their love-making kept us up half the night. There is no privacy in a small campsite. From what I had observed, Wali was a good man-simple and kind, with an abiding pride in his felucca. Certainly he was well-made, with pleasant, open features and broad shoulders and arms corded with muscle from handling the sails.
    And Kaneka ...
    Kaneka was smiling in the morning, with the relaxed ease of a woman who has reclaimed ownership of her body’s pleasure. I envied her that. There were jests that day, but they were good-natured and affectionate. When Wali sang a Jebean nursery-rhyme at the top of his lungs, everyone in both boats laughed and clapped, cheering him onward.
    “Phèdre?” Imriel sat beside me in the prow, dangling his legs over the edge.
    “What? Imri, don’t do that, a crocodile will bite off your feet.”
    He drew his legs in and hugged his knees, eyeing me gravely. “Why aren’t you and Joscelin like ...” he nodded at Kaneka and Wali, “... like that?”
    “Ah, Imri.” I smoothed the hair back from his brow. The terrible bruise on his temple was gone, though it had taken forever to fade, yellow traces lingering for weeks after the blow. “You know what I was, in Daršanga.”
    He nodded, not meeting my eyes. “The Mahrkagir’s favorite.”
    “Death’s Whore,” I said wryly. “You can say it. You said it before.”
    “I didn’t know, then.” His head came up, jaw set stubbornly, that look of House Courcel in his confrontational frown. “It was courage. I know that, now.”
    “It wasn’t all courage.” I made my voice gentle. “Imriel, some of the stories ... some of the stories were true. I am an anguissette . Do you know what that means?”
    He looked away and nodded again.
    “There are places inside of us,” I said, picking my words with care, “that are frightening, places no one should go. In Daršanga, I had to go to that place. And ... Imri, it’s hard to find one’s way back. I’m trying. But it’s not easy. Can you understand?”
    “Yes.” He swallowed and picked at the cloth of his breeches before looking up at me, his deep blue eyes brimming with pain. “Do you ever ... do you ever miss it there?”
    Ah, Elua! Answering tears stung my own eyes. Not trusting my voice, I nodded. Yes, I missed it. I woke in the night sometimes from dreams of blood and iron, sick with desire.
    “I don’t,” he whispered. “Only ... sometimes, it was easier, I think.”
    “Yes,” I said, stroking his hair. “I know. But this is better. And it will get better, Imri. For all of us. Elua willing, for Joscelin and me, too.”
    And I listened to Wali’s lusty singing, to Kaneka’s rich laughter, and willed myself to believe it was true.

Sixty-Six
    HOUBA WAS the site of the last great temple of the Upper Nahar, a half-day’s sail from the caravanserai of Majibara. It is perched on a lush, green island in the broad river, graceful palms waving over its narrow columns, tamarisk clustered thick about the foundations.
    We disembarked and joined a line of supplicants awaiting admission to the temple, which did a brisk trade. Outside, under the hot sun, Menekhetans and Jebeans alike mingled in respectful good spirits, sharing gossip and water-skins, glancing curiously at we D’Angelines, which is something so common all of us were used to it, even Imriel.
    Inside it was as cool and airy as a place could be during early summer on the Nahar. I gazed at the frescos on the high walls, following the goddess’ quest to reunite the severed portions of her divine husband Osiris and restore him to eternal life.
    At the far end of the temple stood the great effigy, winged arms outspread, her