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Yevuneh, who bore her sorrow with gentle grace.
    “At three links of gold?” Joscelin raised his brows. “We’re entitled.”
    “You could have bought the house for one of your daggers,” I noted.
    “True.” He closed the lid of the trunk. “Our welcome doesn’t bode well. I don’t imagine they’re going to tell us the Name of God and send us on our way.”
    “No,” I said. “I don’t suppose they are.”
    I slept poorly that night and dreamed for the first time in many months-the old dream, the one that had awoken me in our home in the City of Elua, trembling and weeping. Once again I stood at the prow of a ship, clutching the railing in vain as the child Hyacinthe stood on the receding shore, arms outstretched, calling my name over and over, desperate and pleading. Only this time, his cries grew louder as the expanse of water broadened, rising and rising to a shriek of pure, unrelenting terror. In the dream, I clapped my hands over my ears, unable to bear it, and sank to the ship’s floor.
    And even that did not lessen it. ’Twas so deafening that it wrenched me to wakefulness, and only then did I realize the sound of my dream was real.
    “Imriel,” I murmured, making my way to his pallet in the darkness. Behind me, Joscelin kindled a lamp. “It’s all right, it’s just a nightmare.”
    He came out of it with a start, his body curled and rigid, tears making damp tracks on his cheeks. “I dreamed ... I dreamed I was in Daršanga, and you were leaving me. Riding away without looking back. And Nariman laughed, and he led me away to the Mahrkagir ...”
    “Hush.” I stroked him gently, until I felt his shuddering ease, his rigid limbs loosen. “It was a dream, only a dream. I’m not leaving you anywhere.”
    After a while, he fell into a dreamless sleep. When I gauged it safe, I went to gaze out the window, which afforded a glimpse of the distant lake. The moon was nearly full in a clear sky, and it glimmered on the dark waters.
    “There are over forty islands,” Joscelin said behind me. “If that’s even where it’s hid. One of Hanoch’s men said as much.”
    “I know.” Someone was stirring downstairs; Imriel’s screams had awoken the household. I should go tell Yevuneh all was well, I thought, but instead I gazed at the lake and wondered.
    “Do you think we could find the right one?” Joscelin asked. “If it came to it?”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “But if it comes to it, we’ll have to try.”
    In the morning, the three of us broke our fast with Yevuneh, waiting for word from the Sanhedrin of Elders as to when we might present our case. Whether or no we’d paid dear for the lodgings, she was a kind hostess and gladder of our company than ever her brother had been.
    “Tell me again where this land of yours lies,” she said, having difficulty compassing the thought. With Joscelin’s aid, I turned the dining-table into a map. Saba, she knew, and Jebe-Barkal, as well as Menekhet and the Umaiyyat and Khebbel-im-Akkad; Hellas, she knew by repute. As for the rest, I might have been speaking Skaldic.
    “If this is Iskandria, my lady,” I said, indicating a pot of honey, “and here lies the ocean ...” I swept my hand over an expanse of table, “here, this is Hellas, and here the nation-states of Caerdicca Unitas begin, and beyond, here, is Terre d’Ange.” I placed a dried fig to mark the spot.
    “So far!” she marveled. “Why would you come so far, child?”
    “To find the Tribe of Dân,” I ventured. “It is said they hold the key to great wisdom.”
    Yevuneh looked away. “We did, once,” she said softly, then shook her head. “You have come a long way in error, if it is wisdom you seek. Do they not tell in Jebe-Barkal how we broke the Covenant of Wisdom?”
    “I have heard a story,” I said. “I have not heard the Melehakim tell their own story.”
    “The Melehakim.” She smiled at that, gentle creases forming at the sides of her mouth. “Do they call us that, still?”
    “Some do,” I said, thinking of Shoanete.
    “Ah, we’ve not named ourselves thusly for many generations. We lost the right of it, I fear.” Her gaze fell upon Imriel, who was devouring the dried fig that had marked Terre d’Ange. “What do you want to know, child? For a kiss from that dear boy, I will tell you a story.”
    I translated her words to Imriel, who understood Habiru a little, owing to its similarity to Akkadian, but not enough, yet, to follow a conversation.