Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [121]
Either way, I disabused him of the notion.
"My lord Pharaoh," I said to him in his private reception-chamber, attended only by impassive fan-bearers. "This is my boon: In exchange for your aid, I will not tell Ambassador de Penfars nor Lord Amaury Trente that you have been in league with the Lady Melisande Shahrizai de la Courcel."
He looked at me for a long moment without speaking, reclining on a couch, head propped on one hand. "Now why would you say such a thing?"
"Because, my lord." I raised my eyebrows at him. "No one described the lad to you. And yet I heard you tell the guard he was a D'Angeline boy of some ten years, with black hair and blue eyes. Either you have seen the lad yourself. . . or someone else has described him to you. And I can only think of one person like to do such a thing."
At that, he had the grace to blanch a little. "You do not speak Menekhetan."
"No," I agreed. "I don't. But I listened to a young man in my employ translate those very words into Menekhetan for the benefit of Fadil Chouma's widow and concubines. I have an ear, my lord, for language."
"Indeed." After a moment, Ptolemy Dikaios rose from his couch and paced the room, his hands clasped behind his back. He regardedhis couch, his impassive slaves, his frescoed walls. In time, he regarded me. "I have never seen this boy. Iskandria enjoys free trade with La Serenissima. This woman of whom you speak was wife to the sole D'Angeline presence in that city-state. Our acquaintance is of long standing."
"Her fortunes," I said, "have changed considerably from when first you knew her."
"Imprisonment." He waved a dismissive hand. "Or sanctuary, if you will. Yes. Even so, I am given to understand that her son ..." he gave the word a subtle emphasis, ". . . stands third in line for the D'Angeline throne."
"He does," I said. "Which is why her majesty Ysandre de la Courcel would as lief see him safe. It does not alter the fact that his mother has been condemned for treason and is sentenced to die should she set foot from her sanctuary."
Much to my surprise, Ptolemy Dikaios laughed, and did more than laugh. It was a deep and considerable laugh, roaring from his gut, until his eyes watered and he must needs use the fringed end of a sash to wipe them. "Ah, Phèdre nó Delaunay! Why did your Queen not send you to begin with? We would have saved a tedious dance. I have heard of you, indeed I have. This woman of whom we speak warned me of your wits."
I waited for his mirth to subside. "I have other business in Iskandria. My Queen only wants the boy returned."
"Yes, of course. His own mother asks nothing more." He sat back down on his couch, sighing and dabbing at his eyes. "Oh, my! The gods themselves weep for laughter. You thought I had him?"
"Until today," I admitted.
"Would that I did." Ptolemy Dikaios heaved another great sigh and composed himself. "I'd have restored him, my lady, one way or another. I promised . . . our friend ... as much, and she, I know, would not hold it overmuch against me had I sinned unknowing. A pity I did not, for she promised a formidable alliance should he take the throne. But no, my taste does not run to boys, not even D'Angeline boys."
"I would that it did, my lord Pharaoh," I said quietly. "If the boy were to appear, dazed and unsure, with some wild tale on his lips . . . there would be no questions asked. Only gratitude"
"You can guarantee that much?" he asked shrewdly. "You would swear to it?"
I thought of the brooch Ysandre had given me, the Companion'sStar, and the boon unasked. "Yes, my lord," I said to him. "I would swear to it. If it were true."
Our gazes locked, and it was the Pharaoh who looked away. "I spoke the truth," he said. "I've never laid eyes on the boy nor heard whisper of his existence until your