It was Melisande Shahrizai's.
EIGHTY-FOUR
YOU WROTE to Melisande?" Joscelin's tone was outraged. "You didn't tell me that.'""You didn't need to know," I murmured, reading the contents of the letter. Although the parchment was unscented, I swore I could smell her fragrance. The thought of it, combined with hunger and weariness, made me dizzy. And despite it all, her words set my mind to working!
Joscelin took a deep breath and clenched his jaw, mindful of Phar aoh's presence. "What does she want?" he asked, tight-lipped.
I passed him the letter. "To see Imriel."
Imri, looking pale, said 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 plan ning?"
"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, fore most 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 as she knows, we might be dead in Jebe-Barkal right now, slain by bandits and Imriel with us. Will it really make it so much worse if we return by way of La Serenissima and not Iskandria? For better or for worse, Melisande loves her son, and that's the only cord that will bind her. We only have the chance to try it once."
"Why?" he asked. "Why only once, why now?"
I told him the card I meant to play.
He sighed and rubbed aching temples. "All right. All right. We may as well be hung for a cow as a calf at this point. Ah, Elua, like as not it will be faster, if we're not killed or abducted in the process. I hope Ricciardo Stregazza has kept our horses fit and ready for travel."
"You see?" I said. "We would have had to go to La Serenissima anyway."
One of the Palace slaves awoke us at dawn, and I gave word to the guard on duty outside our doors. He nodded impassively and strode away, returning in short order with porters to bear our belongings back to the covered carriage. No one in the Palace acknowledged our pres ence as we left. It was a strange feeling. We had to hurry to catch the ship, which was nearly ready to sail by the time we reached the harbor.
"La Serenissima?" one of the guards shouted to a sailor onboard.
"Aye!"
"Hold for three passengers!"
They waited while we were hustled aboard the ship, our trunks loaded. Joscelin snatched his weapons from the guard's hands, slinging his baldric over one shoulder and settling his belt about his waist.
"Come on, then, hurry," the ship's captain said in Caerdicci, hands on his hips. "We're out to catch the last of the autumn winds."
"Autumn," I murmured. "It's autumn?"
"Aye. Nearly winter." He eyed me strangely, as well he might, for I wore one of my Jebean gowns, pinned at the breast, with bracelets of ivory and gold encircling both wrists. I'd meant to have clothing made in Iskandria, or begged some of Juliette Laniol, the Ambassador's wife. "You're D'Angeline, my lady?"
"She is the Comtesse Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève of Terre d'Ange," Joscelin informed him, adjusting his baldric.
"Well, she's like to take a chill on the open sea in that attire," the captain said. He eyed me again. "Not that I'm like to complain. Stand by to weigh anchor!"
And with that, we were off.
EIGHTY-FIVE
IT TOOK the last of our trader's coin to pay our passage aboard the ship, and the berth was small. By the time we were out of sight of land, the winds turned chilly, and I was forced to barter with one of the Serenissiman sailors for a thick cloak of coarse-spun wool. He'd have given it to me for a kiss—which Joscelin failed to note, being incapac itated with his customary battle with seasickness—but I paid him instead with the crystal beads salvaged from one of my ruined gowns, which was more than the cloak was worth.At least aboard the ship there was a good deal of time to talk, for we had a good deal of talking to be done, and much of it to Imriel. Ultimately, my plan rested on his decision, and I meant to be certain it was wholly his.
"Why is Queen Ysandre so angry at you?" he wanted to know. "Because of me? But it was my fault—I followed you."
"I know," I said. "But we could have returned you. And that was our choice." And I explained to him once again the long history of his family, House Courcel, and the blood-quarrels that had divided it, and how Ysandre wished to make an end of it by bringing him into the fold. "It's a noble purpose, Imri. You'll like her. You'll like her very much. I do. There is no one I admire more."
He frowned, sitting cross-legged on deck in his Jebean breeches and chamma. It was still warm in the sun if one sat out of the wind. "Valère L'Envers wants me dead."
"It may be," I said. "But Nineveh is a long way from the City of Elua."
"Where her father is the Royal Commander."
"Yes," I said. "He is that."
There was nothing childish about Imriel's face as he considered it.
"House L'Envers will not be pleased with the Queen's decision. And they are powerful."
"Not more powerful than the Queen," I said.
He bent his head and fiddled with the pouch at his belt, his voice nearly inaudible. "You said you wouldn't leave me."
"Nor would I," I said gently, touching his arm. "Imri, listen to me. You have strong feelings for Joscelin and I because we found you in the worst of all possible places."
"No!" The word came out sharper and more harsh than I intended. I sighed and ran a hand through my wind-disheveled locks. I was mak ing a mess of this conversation. "Imriel. We love you dearly, Joscelin and I both. If it were only that. . . Elua! We would adopt you in a heartbeat."