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By Root 2725 0

am not strong, but I am strong enough; he was only ten years old, and light with it. I picked him up in my arms and carried him to my chamber, the private chamber of the Mahrkagir's favorite, his arms wound tight about my neck, his grief echoing at my ear. And there I lay down with him on my pallet and he clung to me, Melisande's son, burying his face against my throat, still jerking with the force of his misery, soaking my shift with hot tears, until at last his sobbing subsided and his limbs grew still and he passed, grief spent, into the dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion with a child's thoughtless ease, one hand still clutching my shift, the other knotted in my hair.

"Imriel," I whispered, kissing his brow. "Oh, Imriel!"

And I lay for a long time sleepless, aware of the unaccustomed weight, slight though it was, of a child at my side, of his clinging arms. I knew, that night, that my life had changed. I was not sure how, nor why. And since the gods gave no answer—not cruel Kushiel, nor Naamah, nor Blessed Elua himself—in time, I slept.

When I awoke, I knew myself watched.

He sat perched on the stool, heels hooked on the rung, elbows propped on knees, watching me sleep. It was passing strange to wake to that gaze, his mother's sapphire eyes, in a child's considering face.

"Did Elua send you here to die?" he asked me.

Only in the zenana of Daršanga would that question sound so natural.

"No," I said. "I don't think so." And I told him my plan.

He listened carefully, frowning, all traces of the nightmare-riddenchild gone. I did not overstate our odds. Imriel had been in Daršanga too long to believe a pleasant fiction; longer than I. And besides, I would not consider it wise, at any time, to mince truths with Melisande's son—nor Ysandre's cousin. I saw it for the first time that day, the lineage of House Courcel in his features.

"Imriel." I took hold of his shoulders. "He is my consort. He won't touch you."

His face worked; he was trying to make sense of it. "He came here. . . ?"

"He came here with me," I said. "Because I asked it of him, and because he swore a vow, long ago, to Cassiel, to protect and serve me. To damnation and beyond, that is what he swore. And that is what I asked."

"A Cassiline," he echoed. "That's why he never smiles."

I nodded. It was close enough. "Will you tell him what I have told you? On the night of the vahmyâcam, he is to drink no wine, only water. A quarter of an hour after the Mahrkagir retires with me, he is to go to the upper entrance to the zenana, and dispose of the guards. If he can procure other weapons, it is all to the good. If not..." I shrugged. "We will do what we can."

"I will tell him," Imriel said. He hunched his shoulders and looked at me. "Do you think we will live?"

"I don't know," I said steadily. "But we will try."

At that, he came off his stool, flinging his arms about my neck and burying his face in my hair. "I am glad," he said in a muffled voice, "that you came here."

"So am I, Imriel," I said to him, meaning it. "So am I."

FIFTY-FOUR

ON THE third day before the vahmyâcam, the Mahrkagir knew.

I did not need to be told. I saw it, the instant I entered the festal hall. His eyes, always bright, glowed like black suns. He was overjoyed. He was transcendent with it. His hands, when they took mine, were trembling; ice-cold and trembling.

"Ishta," he murmured, embracing me. "Ishta, beloved!" He took a step back and gave a radiant smile. "I knew, I knew from the first! I knew that you were special. Such a gift, îshta, such a gift you have given me. I sought, and knew not what I sought. I did not know it had a name, until Daeva Gashtaham told me."

I smiled back, my hands in his. "Everything I have is yours, my lord; everything I am. Of what do you speak?"

He laughed, buoyant and joyous. "Not everything, not yet! Oh, but I cannot tell you. It is a surprise, the greatest surprise." Embracing me again, he nuzzled my neck. These things, these tender niceties, I had taught him. "You will live forever, îshta, through me; for ten thousand years! It is the