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Tifari Amu and Bizan, both resplendent in their full soldiers’ regalia. “You will want to have a care with that gift.”
    “What is it?” I asked.
    She shrugged. “Look and see.”
    I opened the coffer and beheld a glittering necklace wrought of gold and gems. The pendant bore an image of the kneeling Isis, her winged arms outspread, a massive emerald between the prongs of the horns that crowned her.
    Bizan let out a low whistle.
    I closed the coffer. “You want us to carry this two thousand miles to Queen Ysandre?”
    “From a Queen, fit for a Queen. Why not?” Nathifa smiled and touched my brow with one finger. “You are carrying something more valuable in here, are you not?”
    “Yes.” I held her gaze.
    “This ...” Nathifa tapped the coffer. “This is only rocks and metal, wrought in a pleasing form. If you can carry the other, this should be no trouble.”
    “We will try,” I told her.
    “I know,” she said, and smiled again. “Do not fear for Saba, lady. My brother thinks like a man, but he can charm the birds from the sky when he chooses. We have kept the Covenant of Wisdom, here. We will see that it is his charm he wields, and not a sword.”
    “The gods grant it may be so,” I said.
    “It shall be,” Nathifa promised. Joscelin, the lion’s mane tickling his nose, sneezed mightily.

Eighty-Two
    THAT EVENING, we said our farewells to Tifari and Bizan.
    “Have a care with Kaneka,” I said to our highland guide after embracing him. “She is a strong woman, with a strong will.”
    “I know.” He favored me with one of his rare smiles. “It is what draws me to her.”
    “She is also very handy with an axe,” I warned him.
    He nodded. He was a handsome man, Tifari Amu, with his cinnamon skin and his dark, patient eyes. “I heard the story, my lady Phèdre. I listened to what was said, and to what was not. I understand a little bit of her courage. I hold it in all honor.”
    “Good,” I said, gripping his upper arms. “I am glad of it.”
    Bizan made Imriel a gift of his fire-striking kit upon parting, a curved bit of iron and a chunk of flint shaped to fit one’s hand, sealed in a watertight pouch with a compartment for tinder. “You were a good companion. You remember how I taught you to lay a fire?”
    Imriel nodded, wide-eyed, clutching the pouch to him. “Thank you, Bizan.”
    “Here, it ties on your fine new belt, like so.” Bizan suited actions to words, then ruffled Imriel’s hair. Imri not only endured it, but flushed with pride. “There. A proper soldier of the Queen’s Guard you’d make, boy.”
    They refused all gifts in kind, swearing the Ras’ commission forbade it. I do not know if it was true, but it was courteously done. Bizan offered to facilitate the sale of our Umaiyyati mounts and the donkeys, his cousin being a horse-trader, and that offer I accepted with gratitude. I daresay he got his cut, but the price was far better than we would have gotten on our own.
    Between Bizan’s aid and Ras Lijasu’s generosity, we were only another day in Meroë, making ready to depart. Once more, as so many times before, we packed our things, items of luxury going at the bottom of our trunks, items of necessity atop. I hid the coffer with Queen Zanadakhete’s necklace at the very bottom of mine.
    “What am I to do with this?” Joscelin complained, holding up the lion’s-mane collar.
    “You could wear it,” I said, straight-faced. “The Jebeans think it becomes you.”
    “And you?” He eyed me.
    “Truly?” I tilted my head to regard him. “Joscelin Verreuil, missing part of an ear or no, you are one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen. But you look a little foolish with a lion’s mane about your neck.”
    It went into his trunk, rather to Imriel’s chagrin.
    We departed as we had arrived, crossing the suspension bridge on a long line of camels. Mek Gamal was our caravan-leader’s name, and he was a taciturn man, reputed to be one of the best in the business. He took his charge from the Ras with great seriousness, and if he was not the most garrulous of companions, he was assuredly among the most competent.
    Perched atop my swaying camel, I turned many times to watch Meroë fall behind us as we followed the Nahar River’s course, until only the tips of the burial pyramids were visible. Another parting, another journey.
    Another step toward home.
    This time, we found the desert in blossom, following hard on the heels of the rains. And if there