Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [122]
"Well," I said, light-headed with despair. "We will have to see. Do we have a bargain, my lord Pharaoh? My silence for your aid?"
He paused, and nodded. "We have a bargain. For all that it is worth."
It was then that there came a discreet rap at the door, and the Captain of the Iskandrian Guard entered with the news that would sunder my world in twain.
I had struck my bargain too late. Imriel de la Courcel was gone, far beyond the boundaries of any aid the Pharaoh of Menekhet might render. Once again, I was three steps behind, and only Kushiel knew into what dire darkness the path led.
Drujan, I thought, and shuddered.
Ptolemy Dikaios looked at me with pity. It frightened me more than I could say.
To his credit, Lord Amaury Trente received the news with fatalistic aplomb. "I knew it," he said glumly when we were able to reconvene and I gave the guardsmen's testimony verbatim. He put his head in his hands and tugged at his hair. "Blessed Elua, things always get complicated when you're involved, my lady! No chance, I suppose, that they're mistaken?"
"No," I said sadly, refilling his beer-cup myself. "I'm afraid not."
There was no great secret to it, when all was said and done. Sure that the boy was within Iskandria, no one had asked. Yes, Pharaoh's gatekeepers had testified readily, they had seen a Drujani party leave the city by the Eastern Gate, some five months gone by—high summer, it was—a Skotophagotis and three warriors, with a D'Angeline boy in tow. They described him readily: a face like a jewel, set in fear and anger, skin like milk, yes, and blue-black hair that fell in ripples, eyes the hue of twilight.
I rendered the translation exactly, lest Lord Amaury doubt.
He didn't, not really.
"So," he said, peering at me between his hair-clutching hands. "It seems I, at least, am bound for Khebbel-im-Akkad, to see how strongly the ties of marriage bind the loyalty of blood. Dare I ask you to accompany me, Comtesse? I would not presume, only ... it is rumored that you have mastered the Akkadian tongue. And I fear I could use your aid."
I didn't answer, not right away. Our hostess Metriche, having heard that we had attended upon Pharaoh, had taken it upon herself to serve us with her own hands, that night. With a good deal of fanfare and many attendants, she brought a rack of lamb to our table, bowing her head and setting it before me. She had heard I'd merited a private audience. I gazed at her averted face, the elaborate gilt cap that covered the bun of her hair. I'd meant to buy one of those, to carry with me or to send to Favrielle nó Eglantine, who would find it of interest.
Radi Arumi's Jebean caravan left on the day after tomorrow, and our passage was already booked, a deposit paid for passage as far as Meroë.
In my vision, Kushiel had held forth the diamond.
Phèdre! cried the voice in my dreams . . . Hyacinthe's, or Imriel's? I was no longer sure. Lypiphera, it said to me, and the voice might have been Nesmut's, the soft accented Hellene tones. We had found him, Joscelin and I, on the quai; found him, and paid him for one last task, going back once more to the household of Fadil Chouma. I don't know why. We had the gatekeepers' testimony. But I needed to hear it, to be sure. "Ask her," I'd said to Nesmut. "Ask her if her husband knew a Skotophagotis."
If Chouma's widow knew aught of it, she had hidden it well, shaking her head in horror at the very thought. It was his concubine, his third concubine, who hid her scars behind a veil, who fell weeping to the floor, covering her head. I had asked the questions as gently as I could, and Nesmut coaxed the story out of her. Between muffled sobs, she admitted