Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [290]
"You speak Menekhetan?" he asked, holding up one of my Jebean gowns.
"A little, only," I said. "Hellene?"
"Do you take me for a farmer or a fisherman? Yes, I speak Hellene." He gave me a brusque nod. "Are these for trade, Kyria, or personal. . . Serapis!" The tax-collector's face turned pale as he regarded me for the first time.
"My lord?" I asked, puzzled.
He grabbed my wrist, leaning close. "Kyria, are you . . . Nesmut's friend?"
I drew back, seeing Imriel fetch Joscelin. "And if I am?"
"Forgive me." The tax-collector released my wrist and bowed, watching out of the corner of his eye as Joscelin approached, hands resting lightly on his dagger-hilts. "I have been charged with a message for you, Kyria. All of us have, who ward the passages of the city. 'A D'Angeline woman of surpassing beauty, dark of hair and fair of face, with a mark as red as hibiscus in her left eye.' "
"Nesmut said that?" I asked.
"No, Kyria." He shook his head. "That was only what I was told to ask. My orders come from Pharaoh."
"And what," I asked, "is Pharaoh's message?"
"He wants to see you," said the tax-collector. "Immediately."
Immediately proved to be a relative term; it took time to settle our accounts with Inherit, and it took time for Joscelin and me to argue the matter to our satisfaction, while Imriel sat on a trunk and watched. Inthe end, of course, it was a foregone conclusion; a request from Pharaoh in the city of Iskandria amounted to a command. The tax-collector sent word to the Palace of Pharaohs through discreet channels that "Nesmut's friend" had arrived; a covered carriage with a pair of royal guards arrived in short order.
All the while, we stood in plain sight in the marketplace, surrounded by curious denizens. In any other city, I daresay word of our arrival would have reached the D'Angeline embassy before we departed—but this was Iskandria, and those surrounding us were fishers, farmers and hunters, and commonfolk of the city. And Ambassador de Penfars had never bothered to court the Menekhetans, only those of Hellene lineage.
His loss, I thought, and hoped it was not ours.
Our goods were loaded into the carriage, and we ourselves embarked, sitting apprehensively with the curtains drawn.
"Phèdre?" Imriel's voice was worried. "Are we in trouble?"
I shook my head. "I don't think so, love. Ptolemy Dikaios is ... well, not a friend, but an ally, of sorts. I don't think he would harm us. There's no profit in it."
"Likely he wishes to turn us over to Ambassador de Penfars himself," Joscelin said quietly. "If he lost stature for letting us slip through Iskandria before, this will restore it."
"Oh." Imriel continued to look worried. I didn't blame him.
At the gates, the Pharaoh's guard searched our things, taking considerable interest in the immense, bejeweled necklace at the bottom of my trunk.
"It is a gift," I told them. "From Queen Zanadakhete of Jebe-Barkal to her majesty Queen Ysandre de la Courcel of Terre d'Ange. And neither one, I daresay, would be pleased to find it gone astray in Pharaoh's palace."
"You will get your things back, Kyria," one of them replied. "Do not fear. Kyrios, your weapons, please."
Joscelin disarmed with reluctance, handing over his daggers and his sword. These the guardsmen took, and we were driven around the Palace to a side entrance, one I had entered before. Servants unloaded our trunks, and where they were taken, I could not say, for we were ushered to the self-same reception-chamber I had visited twice before. This time, not even the silent fan-bearers were present.
And here we were left.
For how long? Hours, it seemed. Outside the high windows, duskfell and the