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nothing.
    “Well.” Joscelin scanned the few lines and tossed the letter back on the table, shaking his head. “Even if it were possible ... Elua. But it’s not, not with the two of us already standing to be accused of treason.”
    “No one knows we’re here?” I asked Ptolemy Dikaios.
    “No,” he said. “Not unless your Ambassador de Penfars has had sense to place informants among the Menekhetans, which he has not. ”
    “ Phèdre .”
    “Imri,” I said, ignoring Joscelin. “I have an idea. And if it works ... if it works, it will do a great service for Terre d’Ange. Are you willing to help me?”
    Imriel nodded, tears in his eyes. “What do I have to do?”
    “See your mother,” I said gently. “That’s all.”
    “Will it keep you and Joscelin from being accused of treason?” he asked.
    “I don’t know,” I said. “But it might protect Queen Ysandre and your young cousins, her daughters, from an untimely death.”
    He swallowed. “I’ll do it. Only because you ask.”
    Joscelin put his head in his hands. “Phèdre. What are you planning?”
    “To strike a bargain with Melisande Shahrizai,” I said, turning to Pharaoh. “My lord, I think we will be some hours discussing this. Do you grant us leave to go?”
    Ptolemy Dikaios nodded at the door. “You will be escorted to quarters within the Palace and awakened at dawn. You will give your decision to the guard posted at your door, a trusted captain of mine. He will escort you to a covered carriage, containing your belongings. And there you will either be driven to the harbor or the D’Angeline embassy, according to your choice. If it is the latter, I will enjoy de Penfars’ groveling thanks. If it is the former ...”
    “I understand,” I said. “No word of it will ever leave these walls.”
    “Even so.” The Pharaoh of Menekhet reached over to pat Imriel’s cheek with his bejeweled hand. “Pity,” he said. “I was hoping the young prince would owe me a favor for this, but it seems his gratitude lies elsewhere.”
    Imriel bared his teeth, eyes glittering with a fury I remembered from Daršanga.
    “Imri,” I murmured.
    Pharaoh snatched his hand back. “Does he bite?” he inquired dryly.
    “He might,” I said. “His mother does. But I rather suspect you knew that already, my lord Pharaoh.”
    Thus our final audience with Ptolemy Dikaios, whose cunning made my skin prickle. We were escorted from his presence to generous quarters, wherein we found our trunks undisturbed and apologetic servants brought us a meal of cold bean-cakes and warmed-over lamb stew. And I had guessed aright, for Joscelin and I went sleepless throughout the night, arguing the matter in low voices while Imriel slept, fitful and restless. And all of the points Joscelin made were good and valid, foremost among them that we could easily be walking into a trap.
    “We’re not,” I told him.
    “How can you be sure?”
    For that, I had no answer save one.
    I have no right to see him, and no right to ask it of you. This I know. I can say only that I am willing to place myself in your debt for this, and swear in Kushiel’s name that no harm will come to you, nor to him .
    I knew Melisande Shahrizai.
    Joscelin capitulated in the end, although he looked sick at it. “You know this is like to go unrewarded,” he said. “If it even works.”
    “Yes,” I said. “I know.”
    “Melisande doesn’t have the power to threaten Ysandre’s life.” He sounded uncertain. “Not any more.”
    I raised my eyebrows. “She has enough to convince the Pharaoh of Menekhet to play messenger-boy, and Elua knows how many agents searching for Imriel before she summoned us. Do you remember what she said to Ysandre in La Serenissima?”
    “Yes,” Joscelin said. “I remember.”
    “‘I have always understood, if you have not, that we played a game,’” I said, quoting the words from memory. “‘Do you take my son, we become enemies. Believe me, your majesty, you do not want me as an enemy.’”
    “I remember.”
    “He’s third in line for the throne, Joscelin.”
    He glanced over at Imriel’s sleeping form. “And you think you can keep him there. With a promise. From Melisande Shahrizai.”
    I nodded.
    Joscelin sighed. “Tell me at least that this is some prompting of Kushiel’s, or Blessed Elua, or the Name of God stirring within you.”
    “I wish I could,” I whispered. “Oh, Joscelin! We’re already up to our necks in trouble with Ysandre. As far