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she had not already thought of. “I know.” The words fell flat into the air between us. “If that is so, then whoever is responsible will be remanded unto Kushiel’s mercy. I will honor our agreement nonetheless.”
    Barbed words, double-edged. As I was Kushiel’s chosen, she was his scion. If it was murder, one way or another, it would not go unavenged. I sighed again, feeling the weight of this task like a millstone around my neck. “My lady, I will need to speak to your ... spies. The other likely possibility is that one of them has betrayed you.”
    “No.” Melisande’s chin rose a fraction, eyes narrowing. “That much, I have determined on my own, Phèdre nó Delaunay. It was no one loyal to me. Those who are suffered enough when my cousin Marmion betrayed me. I will condemn no more to the Queen’s untender justice.”
    “You will hobble my search,” I said.
    “I will spare you wasted time.” Her voice was implacable. “Do you really think I would maintain allies I could not trust implicitly at this point? This was planned from outside, Phèdre, of that I am sure. I have named the price I will pay for your aid. Do not seek to bargain for more.”
    “We could walk away.” Joscelin leaned back against the couch, unperturbed.
    “You could.” Melisande eyed him, then looked back at me. “I do not think you will.”
    “No.” There was no point in dissembling. I didn’t bother trying. “But you have your bargain yet to fulfill, my lady. How shall it be done?”
    “Ah.” Melisande rose gracefully and crossed the room to open a low coffer. She withdrew a scroll-case of oiled wood and presented it to me. “Here.”
    I opened it and removed the scroll within, unwinding it on its spindles to find a document on finely cured hide, written in unfamiliar letters. An alphabet of broad vertical lines inscribed the hide, black and decisive, the text illuminated here and there with brightly painted scenes in miniature. Here a king sat enthroned, receiving a gorgeously dressed woman in audience; here, he gave her a ring. Here was fire and swords and devastation; here, two men raised their hands before an altar. Here, a temple in ruins; here, a river voyage. I stared at it and frowned, uncomprehending. “What is this?”
    “The document is written in Jeb’ez. The Kefra Neghast , they call it; the Glory of Kings.” Melisande stooped as I sat to study it, marking a point on the hide. “See, here; this depicts the meeting of Shalomon and Makeda, the Queen of Saba. And this is the ring he gave her, a token of remembrance.”
    “Shalomon’s Ring,” I murmured. Her fragrance was distracting.
    “Mayhap.” Melisande gave me a quick glance. “It is Shalomon, and it is a ring. Here, you see? This man is Melek al’Hakim, Prince of Saba, Shalomon’s son, come to the temple to retrieve his father’s treasure in time of war. He bears his father’s ring. And this man ...” She tapped the hide. “This is Khiram, son of Khiram, architect of the Temple of Shalomon.” Melisande sat back on her heels, neatly as any adept of the Night Court, her dark blue eyes thoughtful. “Who was born of the Tribe of Dân.”
    “No.” I spread both hands unthinking over the hide. “The Tribe of Naftali. So it is written, in the Book of Kings.”
    “The Book of Kings, yes. Not in the Paraleipomenon.” Melisande used the Hellene word and a rare impatient gesture. “How do you say it in D’Angeline?”
    “Chronicles,” I said. “The Dibhere Hayyamin , the Acts of Days.” I tried to remember, and couldn’t. It might be so, that the Book of Chronicles ascribed a different lineage to Shalomon’s architect. “My lady, what are you saying?”
    “What I was told. No more and no less.” Melisande regarded me. “That it is legend, in distant Jebe-Barkal, that Melek al’Hakim the son of Shalomon and Khiram the architect fled the fall of the Habiru empire over a thousand years ago. First to Menekhet under Pharaoh’s aegis, then southeast to Saba. And the Tribe of Dân went with them.”
    “You read Jeb’ez,” I said, incredulous.
    “No.” Melisande smiled. “I had the scroll translated. What I was told, I committed to memory.” She straightened, standing. “Take it. You are welcome to do the same. And when you have come back to report to me what you have learned of my son’s disappearance, I will give you the name of a man in the city of Iskandria, in Menekhet, who says he can lead you south into