The Ring of Solomon

fingertips together, and gazed at her.
    Asmira blinked. ‘But you did.’
    ‘Not so.’
    ‘I have it on my queen’s word. You must be—’
    ‘And here again,’ King Solomon said, stretching out and taking a fig from the bowl beside him, ‘I must educate you swiftly in the ways of kings. Perhaps, in matters of diplomacy, there are times when the meanings of certain royal words are stretched, or certain things are quietly left unsaid, but when a king looks you in the eye and tells you something is so, it is so. He does not lie. Even to suggest as much means death. Do you understand? Look at me.’
    Slowly, reluctantly, Asmira met his eyes, which of all his ravaged features were the only parts she would have recognized from the mural in the Magicians’ Hall. All its implacable authority was in them. Despite herself, despite her fury, she said sulkily: ‘Yes, I understand.’
    ‘Good. So now you are in a dilemma.’
    She hesitated. ‘My queen …’
    ‘Tells you something different. One of us is lying – or is perhaps mistaken.’
    The tones he used were mild, and he smiled a little as he spoke, but Asmira flinched as if she had been struck. In its quiet way, this was a direct assault upon everything she held dear – just as violent as the burning of the Marib tower. The purpose of her entire life – and of her mother’s – was to defend the queen and, through her, Sheba. The queen’s will could not be questioned. Whatever she did was right; whatever she said was right. To suggest otherwise was to threaten the entire structure on which Asmira based her every waking deed. Solomon’s words gave her a sensation much like vertigo; she was on the edge of a precipice and about to fall.
    Shuffling forward a little further on the bed, she said, ‘My queen would not lie.’
    ‘Might she be mistaken, then?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Well, I suppose there’s no getting any sense from a slave.’ Solomon took a grape from the fruit dish, and chewed it thoughtfully. ‘I must say I am disappointed in Balkis. I’d heard tell that she was intelligent and graceful, but this is shoddy work all round. Still, what do the lapwings know? They also told me she was beautiful. I suppose they got that wrong as well. Never trust a migrating bird.’
    Asmira spoke hotly. ‘She is very beautiful.’
    He grunted. ‘Well, small chance of a marriage now. How did she hear of my wicked plans? Did she say?’
    ‘Your demon messenger.’
    ‘Which could have been sent by anyone. Honestly, a child might have thought to double-check. Asmira – I see you are walking your backside very subtly in my direction. Stop it, please, or the Spirit of the Ring shall continue this conversation with you instead of me. As you have seen, he is not as amiable as I am.’ King Solomon sighed. ‘We have established,’ he went on, ‘that you are here under a misapprehension. What were your exact orders?’
    ‘Kill you. Take the Ring, if I could.’
    ‘And what if you were captured – as was always going to be the case?’
    Asmira shrugged. ‘I would turn my knife upon myself.’
    ‘These were your queen’s orders?’
    ‘She … did not say that. The priestesses did.’
    King Solomon nodded. ‘But Balkis did not object. She was content that you were going to your death. I must say,’ he added, ‘I’m relieved the woman turned down my original proposals. The thought of a wife like that among one’s harem is enough to fill any man with dread. I ought to thank you, Asmira, for opening my eyes.’
    Anger sloshed like acid in her belly. ‘Why didn’t you just kill me when you found me?’
    ‘I am not that sort. Besides, I have more questions. Who brought you up here?’
    ‘I came alone.’
    ‘Asmira, you are doubtless very determined, and extremely good with knives, but neither of those attributes was enough to get you to my rooms. Any ordinary assassin—’
    ‘I’m not an assassin, I’m a hereditary guard.’
    ‘You must forgive me, the difference is subtle. If you are an ordinary “guard”,’ the king went on, ‘then someone with great abilities in magic has given you his aid. The only other possibility is that you are an accomplished magician yourself, with powerful slaves at your command.’ He looked at her sceptically.
    Asmira’s eyes widened. For the first time since she had woken, her self-absorption shifted. She thought of Bartimaeus. He had warned her of the trap; he had tried to stop her. And now she was captured and he