Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [292]
"My lord?"
Ptolemy Dikaios took a sealed letter from the folds of his robe. "The last time you were here, you gave to me letters I would deny receiving from your hand. This time, I have one such for you," he said, and tossed it onto the table.
I didn't need to see the seal. I knew the handwriting.
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 Pharaoh'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 planning?"
"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, foremost among them that we could easily be walking into a trap.
"We're not," I told him.
"How can you be sure?"