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have gone very differently. I want you to know that.”
    He smiled. It was his own smile. “I didn’t want them to hurt you.”
    “So I gathered.” I raised my eyebrows. “Mind, if you ever try the like again, I’ll have Joscelin sit on you.” It made him laugh. I kissed him again. “It was well done, love. It was a greater gift than I have ever received, and one I pray is never repeated. Now go to sleep, will you? We have to meet the Ras on the morrow.”
    He did sleep, soon enough, his breathing growing slow and even, his limbs going lax. I lay awake for a long time, gazing into the darkness and thinking. I meant to leave Imriel’s bed for my own, but at some point, I passed unknowing from wakefulness into sleep, for the next thing I knew, it was morning and Joscelin was shaking me, Imriel standing behind him, wide-awake and grinning, no trace of the night’s fears reflected in his expression.
    “Phèdre,” Joscelin said, looking amused. “You might want to get up. The tailor is back.”
    So it was that we were arrayed in Jebean finery when we were summoned back to the royal court of Meroë. For Joscelin and Imriel, that meant breeches and chamma of snow-white linen, short cloaks thrown over the top. Joscelin was impatient at it, finding it binding. I had no sympathy for him, for the manner of gown for Jebean women was a tight-wrapped dress worn off the shoulder and secured in place with gold pins, broad bands of color woven in intricate patterns at the borders.
    Ras Lijasu, however, approved.
    “Ah, lady!” he said, clapping his hands and beaming with delight. “What a pleasure, to see you arrayed in the manner of our people! Nathifa, does she not look lovely?”
    “Yes, brother.” The Ras’ sister smiled at us. She looked much like him, with the same flawless ebony skin and round cheeks, only more solemn.
    “My lord is generous,” I said, curtsying.
    “Oh, it is nothing, nothing. Muni, where are those gifts? Where have you got to?” The Ras looked around. “There you are! You shuffle like an old man, Muni. Come, let me have them.” With great ceremony, he bowed and presented a sandalwood coffer to me, opening the lid to show it held six ivory bracelets and six gold, each worked with depictions of the flora and fauna of Jebe-Barkal. “These are from Grandmother, a token of her appreciation. Queen Zanadakhete has heard the report of my men, and she is pleased.”
    “They are very beautiful, my lord. Thank you,” I said.
    “Well, put them on! Nathifa, help her, would you? That is not just any ivory, dream-spirit. It is carved from the tusks of Old Mlima, the oliphaunt who bore my great-great-grandfather to war against the Tigrati insurrection. Muni, stop dawdling. Where is ... ah yes, there.” The Ras lifted a startling object from the cushion his grinning attendant proffered: a great collar made entire from a lion’s mane. This he draped about Joscelin’s shoulders, standing on his toes to reach. “There!” He beheld it with satisfaction. “A fit token for a mighty warrior. Tifari Amu told me how you stood against the Shamsun, and I have heard other stories come out of Khebbel-im-Akkad with you.”
    I looked at Joscelin and tried not to laugh as he executed a solemn Cassiline bow, his face framed in tawny fur.
    “Very nice!” The Ras applauded. “Very good. And for the young lord ...” He produced a belt and dagger-sheath worked with tooled gold. “Rhinoceros hide, my little man! It will never wear or rot. And see,” he added, stretching out the length of the belt, “there is room to grow.” He nodded approvingly as Imriel buckled it in place. “You will use that for many years, I think. Well, good, that’s done! Come, sup with us, and tell us of Saba.”
    And we did, seated on cushions around low tables, dining on morsels of spiced chicken, melon and rolled balls of millet flavored with lemon and sesame, with honey-mead and citron-water in abundance. The servants were deft without being particularly deferential, and I had the impression everyone in the royal palace was quite fond of their young ruler. For all his chatter, Ras Lijasu listened attentively, and when he interrupted, his questions were perceptive.
    “So change begins with the women, eh?” He glanced at his sister. “That won’t surprise Grandmother, will it?”
    “No.” Nathifa’s eyes gleamed merrily, making her resemblance to her brother even more pronounced. “Queen Zanadakhete was quite taken