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I tried it on, and it fit perfectly. “Thank you,” I said softly, the silken brown fur of the collar nestled against my cheek. “My lady is kind.”

“I’m
not
kind!” Tears stood in her violet eyes. “Elua, why couldn’t you be different? I know your history! The Queen heeds you, my cousin Nicola dotes on you, even my father acknowledges your merit! Why do I have to be the one member of my House to send you off to die, and all for that viper’s brat?”

“I’m not dead yet, highness,” I murmured.

“No.” Valère L’Envers turned away, fussing with her wardrobe. “But you may be soon, and I need to prepare for it. Well,” she sniffed, “never let it be said that I allowed a D’Angeline peer to face death ill-garbed for it.”

Favrielle nó Eglantine, I thought, would have appreciated her sentiments. I was not so sure Ysandre would. It hardly mattered, anymore.

We set off from Nineveh with a good deal of fanfare, and a special ceremony by the priesthood of Shamash. A fire was kindled at dawn and a brace of sheep sacrificed. I swallowed hard, seeing it; we do not do such things, in Terre d’Ange. Shallow golden bowls were placed beneath the gaping throats of the sheep, the blood carefully collected. Each Akkadian man on the journey placed his sword in the pyre, letting it glow red-hot at the edges.

When it did, each man quenched it in the sheep’s blood, laying his blade flat in the bowl and uttering a declaration as the hot steel sizzled and blood-stink filled the air: “Mighty Shamash willing, let me next sheath my blade in the blood of my enemies!”

Well and so, I thought; they are not journeying into Drujan.

Joscelin watched the ceremony without comment, and uttered no prayer. His sword had been consecrated long ago, by his uncle, and his great-uncle before him, plain steel with a worn grip, oft-replaced. For him to draw it was an act of prayer. Until then, it remained sheathed. He wore a new coat, too; sheepskin, embroidered without, warm wool inside. I wondered if it were a gift or if he’d bought it. His hair hung loose, twined in small braids about his face, bound with bits of rawhide.

I’d not seen it thus since we escaped from the Skaldi.

It made him look … Elua, it made him look like a renegade D’Angeline lordling, fierce and desperate.

The priests of Shamash gave an invocation and finished, bowing deeply, dawn-light flashing from their gilded breastplates, inlaid with the Lion of the Sun. Prince Sinaddan’s men bowed in reply, and the Lugal himself, on a balcony of the Palace, raised both hands skyward, hailing the sun. It was done. We were ready to depart.

“Blessed Elua,” I whispered, stooping to touch the earth, the alien red earth of Nineveh, of Khebbel-im-Akkad, “keep us safe.”

There was no answer, though I hadn’t really expected one.

And thus we were on our way.

After several days, the plains gave way to lowlands, and then the lowlands to hills. Tizrav, grinning around his eyepatch, led us unerring to the shortest route. If he were going to betray us, I thought, it would hardly be here, in Akkadian territory. I rode veiled, surrounded by Joscelin, Amaury Trente and his men. The Akkadians made jests, none directed at me; fierce and bloodthirsty jests, hoping for battle.

So they might, I thought; they were young. It had been eight years since the Khalif had lost an army in Drujan, and dared not try again. These men were young and cocksure. Nonetheless, when nightfall came, they huddled close around the campfires, peering into their neighbor’s faces and reassuring one another: Yes, we are men of Akkad, Akkad-that-is-reborn, we are brave and dauntless, and fear no shadows of the night.

“They are fools.” Tizrav spat expertly through a gap between his teeth, making the campfire sizzle. He nodded companionably toward the Lugal’s men. “Fools and children, jumping at shadows.”

“Do you say shadows have no power?” Joscelin asked slowly, in fumbling Akkadian. He’d come late to the language, but his Habiru skills had stood him in good stead.

“Power.” Tizrav grinned, showing his gap. Firelight played over the greasy leather patch that covered his missing eye. “What is power? These young fools surrender it with every heartbeat of fear. And so the shadows grow, and take on power. What is fear, but courage’s shadow?”

“Common sense, mayhap,” Joscelin said shortly, rolling himself in his blanket and making ready for sleep.

“You know better.” Tizrav leered at me, despite the veil. “Light casts a shadow, the brighter the one, the darker the other. This is only fire,
tame
and kept. It will be different in Drujan. You will see.”

I stared at him through my veil. “We are not in Drujan yet, Persian. Do you wish to forfeit your purse?”

“No.” He shrugged unevenly. “Light, dark; it is all the same to Tizrav, if their gold is good. I have sworn my bargain and I will see you delivered. Lies, truth; I do not mind. Afterward …” He shrugged again. “You will see how great a shadow your courage casts. It is all the same to me.”

The hills gave way to mountains, the air crisp and clear. It was here that we reached the outer boundaries of Akkadian rule, and bid farewell to our escort, who would remain, supplementing the garrison of an outlying Akkadian fortress.

After this, it would only be Joscelin and me and our guide Tizrav.

“I must be out of my mind,” Amaury Trente said ruefully, embracing me in farewell. His breath made plumes of frost in the air. “Elua bless and keep you, Phèdre nó Delaunay.”

“My lord.” I was shivering despite Valère L’Envers’ marten-skin coat. No matter where I went, it seemed there must always be winter, and mountains. “Why are you here?”

“Why?” He gazed across the foreboding landscape, an absent smile on his lips. “I don’t know, my lady. Here is as good a place as any.” He looked back at me then, and his expression changed. “I rode behind Ysandre de la Courcel into the heart of Percy de Somerville’s army. You remember. You were there. She never looked back, do you know that? Not once. If she had, she would have seen me. I was there, and the Queen’s Guard behind me. But she never even needed to look.” He laid one hand on my shoulder. “If you look, my lady, we will be here. Right here, where you left us, guarding your back. Whatever fool’s errand you’re on this time, I reckon Terre d’Ange owes you that much.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, tears pricking my eyes. It was not enough, not enough by a long sight, but more than I could have asked. “I am grateful, my lord.”

“Well.” Lord Amaury smiled and withdrew his hand. “‘Tis little enough, when all is said and done. But if anyone’s going to emerge alive from the heart of darkness, it’s you and that half-mad Cassiline.”

I swallowed. “We will try, my lord.”

And then we were on our own.

Forty-One

A DRUJANI border patrol found us the first evening.

It was twilight, just shy of nightfall, and we had made our encampment in a shallow gully out of the wind. Doubtless they were drawn by the light of our campfire. Tizrav had assured us it was folly to think we could cross Drujan in stealth. Better to allow them to find us, he said; we would die quickly, or not at all.

There were five of them, and they melted out of the shadows like apparitions, silent men on tough, shaggy ponies, armed with short, curving horsemen’s bows. Joscelin was on his feet the instant they appeared, placing himself between me and the Drujani. Firelight glinted red along his vambraces, his crossed daggers. I wondered if he could block five arrows fired at once. I didn’t think so.

“The wolves of Angra Mainyu are mighty hunters!” Tizrav greeted them in Old Persian. “Will you share our fire? We have beer,” he added, hefting a skin.

“Why do you enter Drujan?” The leader lowered his bow a fraction. The others did not.

“Why?” Tizrav grinned. “This fine D’Angeline lordling has got himself in trouble and finds he has nowhere left to flee. Go and see, if you do not believe me. The guard at Demseen Fort has doubled and the lady’s angry kinsmen are waiting. But my lordling here would sooner give her to the Mahrkagir if he will accept his sword in service.”

The Drujani conversed among themselves in low tones, and my ear for Old Persian was not yet keen enough to decipher what they said. One of them laughed and rode forward. “Why should we believe you, Akkadian lick-spittle?” he asked, stroking Tizrav’s cheek with the point of a nocked arrow. “Why should we ride to the border, when there is sport to be had here?”

To his credit, Tizrav did not flinch, even when the arrow’s point scraped against his leather eyepatch. “My ancestors ranged these mountains when the House of Ur cowered in the deserts of the Umaiyyat. Do you disdain me for the sake of a line drawn on a map, son of darkness?”

Another of the Drujani spoke from the shadows beyond our campfire. I could not make out his face, only that he wore a girdle of bones about his waist, human finger-bones. Raising one hand, he pointed at me.

“Stand aside,” Tizrav muttered urgently to Joscelin. “Stand aside!”

He paused, and then did, offering a sweeping Cassiline bow to the Drujani. Tizrav approached me where I knelt beside fire.

“Forgive me,” Tizrav said under his breath, yanking back my veil.

The firelight was brighter without the sheer panel of silk before my eyes and I blinked against it, gazing up at the Drujani. Two of the riders startled; one laughed. The one who had pointed fingered his girdle of bones, and a slow smile spread across the face of the leader. It was not a pleasant smile.

“She is for the Mahrkagir?” he asked.

“I have sworn it.” It was Joscelin who spoke in crude Persian, his voice raw.

The Drujani with the finger-bones murmured to his leader, who listened intently and nodded. The girded one, I thought, must be some manner of novice, an apprentice-priest. “The embers of despair gutter in your spirit, lordling,” the leader said to Joscelin. “Is it as the goat-thief says? Are you willing to swear your sword unto darkness?”

I bit my tongue, longing to translate for him, but Joscelin understood well enough. The skin was tight over his high cheekbones. “Drujan died and lives. I am dead to my family. If I may live again in the Mahrkagir’s service, his sword is mine.” There was genuine anguish in the words. How much truth? My heart bled to wonder. I could not begin to reckon the price of what I’d asked of him.

It was enough to convince the apprentice-priest.

“Men will embrace anything to live,” he said in a young, hard voice. “Even darkness. Even death. What of the woman?”

“You see her.” Joscelin gestured at me. “As faithless as she is beautiful, a servant of our goddess of-” the word twisted in his mouth, “-whores.”

It was the Habiru word he used, but close enough, it seemed. The Drujani conferred and settled on a translation, and the apprentice-priest laughed, high and breathless, before whispering to the leader.

Who smiled his unpleasant smile. “The Mahrkagir will be pleased,” he said, putting up his bow. “You see, his mother was a whore.” He jerked his chin at Tizrav. “We will believe you, lick-spittle, and ride to Demseen Fort to count the guards. If you are lying, we will find you and have much sport. If you are not…” He smiled again. “Well,
she
may pray that you were.”

And with that, they were gone, melding into the darkness as swiftly as they’d appeared, only the faint rattle of a pebble dislodged by a pony’s hoof marking their passage.

Tizrav exhaled with relief and picked up the skin of beer with both hands, drinking deep.

“Is it over?” I asked him.

“No.” He lowered the skin and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “But it’s begun, and we are still alive.”

We were four more days in the mountains, and saw no further signs of human inhabitants; birds of prey, mainly, circling high above the crags, and on the ground, hares and sometimes martens, quick and darting. It was cold, though not so cold that the streams had frozen. Where we could not find water, we melted snow scooped from deep crevices. In the valleys, our horses pawed the hard turf and cropped at yellow grass, dead and frost-bitten, but nourishing nonetheless. Tizrav set snares in the evenings, catching hares when he might, and with these we supplemented our stores of dried foods.

On the journey, we spoke seldom. I rode without complaining, feeling I had no right. Tizrav, swathed in layers of felted wool, was scarce visible, his chin tucked into his chest, unlovely visage peering out beneath his thick woolen hat. Disdaining the cold, Joscelin rode bare-headed and silent, his mouth set in an implacable line.

“Did you mean it?” I finally asked him, two nights after the Drujani had come.

“What?” His tone was short.

“What you said.” I hesitated. “That I was as faithless as I am beautiful.”

“Ah,” he said flatly. “That.” He looked at me for a moment without speaking. “Mayhap. Phèdre … what you ask of me-I do not know if I can do it. All I can do is seek a way, and the way is cruel.”

Would that I did not understand; but I did. “What have I done to us?” I whispered.

“I don’t know.” Bowing his head, Joscelin fiddled with a stiff buckle on his dagger-belt. “Do you want to turn back?”

I did. With all my heart, I did. “No,” I said.

He nodded without looking up. “Then do not ask me questions I cannot answer. I am Cassiel’s priest, and I have broken all his vows but one. You ask me to ride into the mouth of hell to keep it. I am doing what I can. Be satisfied, or be silent.”

So it went between us.

On the fifth day, we entered the plains of Drujan. Mayhap it is a more welcoming place in summer; I cannot say. If it was less harsh than the mountains, it was more dire, for here people lived and labored, and here we saw the shadow under which they made their existence. The land is arable and there were villages, at the center of grain-fields and fit pasturage for sheep and goats.

We were not welcome there.

I saw it, on the faces of the villagers as we rode past, travelling now on the old roads, crumbling and still passable, that had once formed part of the mighty empire of Persis. They stared at us with hatred, and I did not even know why. In one village-it had a name, I suppose, but Tizrav did not know it-a woman stood beside the road, clutching her listless child in her arms, and watched us with hungry eyes, despair and contempt in her sunken gaze.