Kushiel's Avatar

The gauze curtains were twitched apart and a bright black eye peered out, set in a wrinkled visage. “You are the chosen of your gods?” the soft voice inquired. “The one who defeated the bone-priests?”
    I hesitated, unwilling to make that claim.
    “She is, Fedabin.” It was Kaneka who spoke, firmly, bowing to press her brow to the earth. “I have seen it. Though she appears weak, the breath of her strange gods blows hard upon her neck.”
    Another long, assessing pause ensued. I knelt and held myself still, abeyante , in the earliest manner to which I had been trained. ’Twas naught new to me, Kaneka’s revelation. Hyacinthe had spoken the prophecy for me long ago, delivering it to Melisande Shahrizai in the days when he would not dare bespeak my fate. That which yields is not always weak .
    Not always, no. I have learned that much about myself.
    “So be it,” whispered the soft voice of the Queen, the aged hand turning palm-outward, scored with dark lines, ivory bangles clattering. “In the name of Amon-Re, in the blessed names of Isis and Osiris, your request is granted. Such aid as we have will be given. Where the name of Zanadakhete of Meroë holds sway, let these people pass unmolested.”
    I let out my breath in a sigh. It was done.
    Inside, we were met by Ras Lijasu, a grandson of the Queen. He was a handsome young man with his grandmother’s bright inquisitive gaze, his ebony skin set off by splendid attire in cloth-of-gold-shirt and breeches, and the toga-like chamma . I was glad, seeing him, that I’d worn my D’Angeline garb.
    “So!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands. “All the way from Terre d’Ange, you have come! And Grandmother likes you, I am told. Such fun! Muni, where are the passage-tokens for our guests?”
    His attendant comrade grinned and opened a coffer, and the Jebean prince reached in to grasp a handful of gold cords, each strung with an ivory cylinder that bore the seal of Meroë-Isis enthroned and lion-headed Apamedek.
    “With these,” Ras Lijasu said, taking my hand and knotting a corded token about my wrist, “you may wander anywhere in Jebe-Barkal, and declare yourself under the divine protection of Queen Zanadakhete.” Still holding my hand, he smiled into my eyes. “And everyone you meet will be bound to offer you aid, even Ras Lijasu himself, do you ask him; the moon and the stars, do you ask him for it! Do you speak Jeb’ez, dream-spirit?”
    “I do.” I laughed. “Though I am more like to ask for maps and guides than the moon and stars, my lord Ras.”
    He staggered and put a hand to his chest. “She wounds me! Ah, she wounds me, Muni, this one with skin like new cream. What of you, lady?” Lijasu turned his winning smile on Safiya, taking her wrist to bestow a token upon her. “Will you, too, break my heart?”
    Safiya stammered and blushed, unprepared for his attentions; I daresay as a scribe’s daughter, she never expected to return from perdition to find herself the object of her prince’s flirtations. He jested equally with Kaneka, who bore it with amusement, and he treated Joscelin with a warrior’s courtesy, according scarce less to Imriel.
    I liked him; it was impossible not to do so. For all his flirtatious ways, he took his duties seriously. An escort for Safiya was arranged in short order. In the interim, we adjourned to his study to pore over maps.
    “Here, you see,” he said, pointing to a broad plain alongside the Tabara River, “is Debeho; your home, Lady Kaneka,” he added, sparing her a sly glance. “There is a man, a soldier of my guard, who is from the highlands very near there, and it is he I will release from his duties to guide you. And here ...” his finger traced a winding route amid the mountains along the river, stopping shy of a vast inland lake. “Here is where our borders end, and the lands of the descendants of Makeda begin.” Ras Lijasu tapped the map. “There are bandits along the way, my lady of Terre d’Ange, who will not heed the Queen’s seal; highland tribes never brought to heel. Are you sure you must venture thence?”
    “Yes,” I said. “I am.”
    He gave a gusty sigh. “And who knows what welcome the Sabaeans will give you! Well.” He rolled the map and extended it to me. “Take it.”
    I did, with gratitude.
    We went, all of us, joining the procession to see Safiya restored to her family. Her father fell to his knees, weeping; all told, there was a good deal of weeping on both sides. I