PROLOGUE

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The slave held a painted silk parasol above the woman’s head as she glided along, her face turned out toward the glistening Faranel. It was still only early spring, but the women of the harem preferred to keep their complexions pale, unblemished by the harsh Percheron sun. This woman was slim, taller than she had been when the slave first remembered seeing her and much more curvy, but her hair—loosely plaited today—remained its familiar brightly golden color. The eunuch slave had gotten to know her well this past eleven moons and could sense her wistfulness this morning.

“Are you in good health today, Odalisque Ana?”

“I am, Kett. Thank you for escorting me.”

“You seem sad. Is there anything I can do for you?”

She smiled. “Dear Kett. I have always felt that is the precise question I should be asking you. After all you—”

The memory of Kett’s emasculation had always hung between them, an unspoken grief of an evening in which both had shared much despair. On the night that Kett had been made a eunuch, Ana had been sold into the care of the palace; both had become instant prisoners of the harem.

“Don’t, please, that was nearly a year ago. I am recovered and almost fully resigned to my situation.” The slave shrugged. “It was never your fault.”

She knew as much, but it didn’t stop her feeling connected to him, sad for him. She stopped walking, pausing to stare out toward an island that was beyond the harbor but still under the watchful protection of the giant statues, Beloch and Ezram. “Why is my gaze always drawn there?” she wondered aloud. “What is that place?”

Kett looked out to sea. “It is a leper colony, Miss Ana, and although I have never visited it, I hear that it is very beautiful. Perhaps you are drawn to handsome, rugged, windswept things?” In spite of her mood, she giggled soft amusement at his words, and touched his arm briefly, feeling how his skin shivered at her small show of affection. “You make me smile. I’m fortunate to have you in the harem.”

“But, Odalisque Ana,” he exclaimed softly, “everyone loves you. You are the most popular of all the women.”

“Not so popular with the Valide and the Grand Master Eunuch I fear—although, Kett, I am really trying to keep my word and fit into the harem. I have not raised either’s ire in many a moon.”

“And yet you stare out across the water, Miss Ana, searching to escape—in spirit perhaps, if not in body?”

“Ah, Kett, you know me better than anyone,” she said sadly.

“Only because I feel the same as you do. It is why I am onlyalmost resigned to my situation. We both wish we could escape this place—am I right?”

“Yes, although I could admit that to no one else. I have given my word to those who care about me and Page 5

made an oath to myself that I must not attempt to leave the harem again. I have learned that the repercussions often stretch painfully to others.”

“You refer to Spur Lazar, I think?”

She flinched at the mention of his name. “The Spur is dead because of my irresponsible actions. I can never forgive myself.”

“He would never blame you, Miss Ana. He wanted to protect you, that’s why he claimed Protectorship, took your punishment.” The story of the Spur’s self-sacrificing decision had spread like fanned flames through the harem, firing the hearts of the young women hoping for romance in their lives—who, sadly, would probably go to their graves unfulfilled. Love did not often blossom in the harem.

“I know, but still my actions killed him,” Ana said, unable to mask her pain. She changed the subject though the former Spur was still very much alive in her mind…and her heart. “And you, Kett, how do you cope with being a member of the harem? I suppose at least you have some small measure of freedom.”

“I run errands for Grand Master Salmeo on occasion, yes.”

“Do you ever think of running and never coming back?” she asked, a yearning in her tone.

“Always.” He looked back at her, his wide-eyed gaze intense. “But on each occasion I have returned.” Ana’s expression told him that she was assuming it was a lack of courage that brought him back to the palace each time. She tried to hide her disappointment by returning her wistful gaze to Star Island. “I wonder why?” Ana replied, finally continuing her journey into another part of the palace again. She did not see the look on the eunuch slave’s face, did not appreciate the subtle message of loyalty and love that he had tried to pass to her. “I’m sure if I had your opportunity I might be tempted to break my word and my oath, for despite my strong words, the faith behind them is hollow, dear Kett. I think I am a liar to those around me and to myself.”

Her friend frowned. “Please, Miss Ana, do not utter such harsh rebuke against yourself.”

“But it is true,” she returned calmly, waving to one of the girls who stared out from behind the latticed windows of the Sherbet Rooms. “I want to believe I would keep my promise—really, I do—but as I consider a whole lifetime stretching before me here in the harem, I think I would take any chance that came my way to escape.”

“And risk death?”

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation, then added softly, “For this is a living death for me anyway.”

“There is a story amongst the Elim about an odalisque who did escape from the harem once.” Kett hadn’t meant to share this apparent myth, but it had spilled from his mouth in an attempt to lift his friend’s spirits.

Ana turned her head to stare gravely at her companion. “You jest, surely?” Kett shook his head. “Only yesterday I saw the Grand Master Eunuch laughing at the idea—the story is so old that no one knows if it is true anymore—that she persuaded one of the bundle women to carry her Page 6

out in the bundle itself, and so escaped to freedom.”

Ana stopped in her tracks. “Forever?” she asked, her expression incredulous. “But—”

“Hush,” he cautioned, eyes frightened, gaze searching for eavesdroppers. “Let us continue, Miss Ana.” He guided her forward once again.

Ana obediently began moving, but persisted, “Do you mean she was never returned to the harem?”

“Apparently they never found her. Salmeo said such a thing would never happen under his keep.”

“How did the odalisque do it?” Ana demanded in a tight whisper. “What did she offer the woman?”

“She stole something and used it to bribe the bundle woman. The older Elim didn’t say what it was.” At the look in Ana’s eyes, Kett wondered whether he might live to regret sharing this tale of escape. “Come, Miss Ana, you cannot be late for His Majesty.”

“Forgive me for dawdling,” Ana apologized immediately, “but I am intrigued by your tale, Kett.”

“Not too intrigued, I hope. It’s far too dangerous and I would hate to lose you,” the slave said sincerely, hastily adding: “So would all the girls of the harem.”

Ana smiled. “You’re very kind. Here comes the Zar’s men,” she said, noticing the two mutes approaching. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy these meetings with Zar Boaz. He is a very good conversationalist. We even talk in different languages sometimes. I test him on his Galinsean.”

“Are you better than him?” Kett asked, impressed.

“A little,” Ana admitted, conspiratorially. “I’m told I have a natural tongue for language, although linguistic skills are of little use to me here.”

“You never know,” Kett said. “I imagine the Zar will choose you soon, Miss Ana. It is obvious how fond of you he is.”

“Not too soon, I pray,” Ana replied, before fixing her veil across her face. “Thank you for the story of the odalisque, Kett. I know you told it to me to cheer me and it has.” She smiled reassuringly at his trusting eyes before she turned to address the mutes, who were upon them now, with a gentle nod of her head.

He grinned and handed the parasol to the mute Salazin, who would now escort the odalisque into the private chambers of the Zar.

As he watched her petite figure retreat, dwarfed by the warriors who formed an elite guard for the Zar, Kett wondered when his former childhood playmate would take Ana for his Favorite. He suspected it wouldn’t be long now, for the Zar was nearing seventeen and Ana had grown from a beautiful child into an exquisite woman.

He sighed as he realized he would very soon be forced to love this woman not just from afar, as he had this past year, but also as another man’s wife. And he would have to continue to lie to her and at times to himself about his true feelings for Odalisque Ana.

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1

Three moons later…

It was Pez’s idea but it was Zafira who had found him, had seen the potential; still she was shocked by his skill. She feared for the young man, but his uncannily calm manner and quiet confidence convinced her that he was right for this curious role. He asked for no money, which made it harder for her to ask him to do what she did. And when she pressed him for his reason for taking on such personal risk, he had staggered her by confiding that all he wanted to do was serve the Goddess. At his tender age what could he know about Lyana? And yet he had been firm in his claim that he had been called by the Goddess to this dangerous task.

Now Pez echoed all her anxieties. She had hoped he would ooze his usual confidence—needed him to—but it seemed he was as unnerved as she was by this youngster.

They sat in a small room stirred gently by a soft breath of wind that although it had journeyed halfway up the hillside of Percheron, still carried the scent of the sea. They could see the harbor from here. The massive giant statues of Beloch and Ezram gazed out across the Faranel, ever watchful for the long-feared raid that hadn’t come in centuries.

“How does an orphanage command such a view?” Pez wondered aloud.

“I gather the palace gave it over to widowed wives of the Percherese Guard. Down the decades those families were given better care—separate housing, a stipend from the royal coffers—and this building became defunct. Then one Zar gifted it to the orphans of Percheron. It’s still known as the Widow’s Enclave.”

“It’s wonderful.”

“Yes, although there’s talk of that magnanimous act being revoked now.”

“Surely not?” Pez frowned, unable to imagine Boaz drafting such an ungenerous decree.

“So the sisters quietly claim.”

“What would the Zar want it for?”

“Not the Zar. I think his newly intimate adviser has designs on it.” Pez pulled a face of disgust. “Tariq is certainly carving a new role for himself.”

“Well, his role is to advise the Zar, of course. But according to what you’ve told me, it sounds as though our last Zar never chose to have his close counsel.”

“And who could blame Joreb? The odd thing is that Boaz always despised the man as much as his father did.”

Zafira nodded. “I saw Vizier Tariq the other day—”

“That’s Grand Vizier Tariq, Zafira,” Pez interrupted, grimacing. “It’s amazing what nearly a year’s worth of constant ingratiation can achieve,” he added bitterly.

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“What is it, Pez?” she inquired gently. “Has Boaz cast you aside?” The dwarf shook his great head. “No, but he doesn’t look to me for all of his companionship now.”

“He’s coming up toward seventeen. He had to grow up sometime, my friend. You’ve been his confidant for many years. He’s just spreading his wings a little,” the priestess reasoned. “He has a man’s job to do—little wonder he had to cast off childhood so fast.”

“True.” Pez sighed. “I just wish it hadn’t been Tariq’s arms he walked into,” he complained, adding, with a tone of frustration, “The man’s undergone some sort of metamorphosis.”

“Well, how odd that you say that,” Zafira said, leaning forward eagerly. “When I saw him the other day, we passed each other around the main fountain in the market and I hardly recognized him.” Pez frowned. “Curious, isn’t it?”

“Am I deceiving myself?”

Pez gave a derisive smirk. “No, I’ve noticed it, too. Younger, straighter, more…what is it?” He paused, searching for the word. “More presence. The old Tariq was weak, and his greatest weakness was craving attention from the royals. This newly invented Tariq exudes absolute confidence. He needs no endorsement from anyone, it seems. I swear he all but treats the Valide Zara with disdain.”

“Well, so do you,” Zafira reminded him.

“But I’m supposed to be mad, remember…and rude to everyone—especially Herezah, whenever I can find the opportunity. Tariq has all of his faculties intact and he openly does not suffer fools gladly.”

“Are you saying the Valide is a fool?”

Pez gave some semblance of a rueful grin. “Far from it, but I sense she’s as baffled as I am by this relationship that seems to deepen by the day.”

“And you? How does he regard you?”

“Tariq? I sense that he’s suspicious of me. He watches me carefully. He thinks I don’t notice, but I am aware of his constant attention.”

“What is he suspicious of?”

“I don’t know. He can’t know the truth of my sanity, I’m sure of it, but it’s as if he suspects there’s more to me than meets the eye and so he keeps watching for some sign.”

“Iridor?” the priestess posed, her voice a whisper.

Pez shook his head. “Why would he suspect that?”

She shrugged. “If you have magic, why not others?” she suggested, keeping her voice low. “Or perhaps it’s that Tariq’s jealous of your relationship with Boaz.” Page 9

“It could be—that would make sense. Yet I feel as though he is searching for any slip, any small sign that I am not what everyone believes me to be. It doesn’t add up, but then neither does his behavior over the past year. I need to be more attentive.” Pez moved restlessly to the window to watch the children playing a boisterous game of pigball in the courtyard.

“Are you sure about him?”

“He’s astounding, Pez. He can do it. But can you do it to him?”

“There are bigger things at stake than individual lives, Zafira.”

“Except, if you lose enough lives individually, you can lose a nation,” she counseled softly.

“Don’t preach at me,” Pez said mildly.

“I just need to be sure that you understand the stakes. You’re gambling with his life, not yours.”

“I’m aware of that, Priestess, no need to remind me,” Pez replied, a spike of irritation in his voice.

Zafira responded in kind, angry that Pez wasn’t helping to diminish her own guilt, and if she was honest, angry at herself for agreeing to this madness. “And I suppose I don’t need to remind you that he doesn’t want your money either?”

“Pardon?” Pez said, swinging around to face her. “What does he want?”

“Nothing we can give. He told me he’s doing it because he serves Lyana.” Pez’s expression changed from confusion to incredulity. “And you accept this?” Zafira shrugged helplessly. “He made it clear that she had called upon him.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I believe he’s true, yes. He told me she first spoke to him in a dream when he was very small. She has come to him frequently since, he says. He mentioned the name Iridor but didn’t seem to know what it signifies.”

Pez looked deeply troubled. “I’d prefer him to accept the money,” he admitted.

“I imagine it would ease your conscience.”

“Zafira—” Pez began, his tone exasperated.

She interrupted him, equally frustrated. “I’m sorry, Pez, but I am fearful for this boy. What he is prepared to shoulder is frightening. We both know that should our clever plan be discovered, he will not be given an easy death.”

The dwarf ’s irritation dissipated. His head dropped in resignation. “I know it.” The priestess heard such a depth of emotion in those three words that she hurried to soothe her friend’s troubled soul. “You have equipped him well, Pez. I would be lying if I told you that he’s not ready.” Page 10

“I hope so.” He found a sad smile. “Tell Lazar I shall visit later today. We have things to discuss. How is he?”

“Oh, angry, distant, scowling, handsome, exasperating. Need I go on?” Pez smiled genuinely for the first time during their meeting. “That sounds promising.” She nodded, reflecting his smile. “I think he is recovered physically, yes.”

“Not emotionally, though.”

“Ana has scarred his heart. There are times I wish the two had never met.”

“Then none of this would have happened. No, Zafira. This is Lyana’s work. She is manipulating all of us.

Lazar and Ana were meant to meet, though I don’t understand why. What’s the purpose of such a brief meeting—and one marked by such pain and suffering on both sides?”

“The Goddess works in mysterious ways, Pez. Let that be a comfort.” Zafira thought briefly of the mysterious stranger Ellyana, still found it unsettling that the woman had come into their lives at a time of such high drama and then left so soon, with no warning, no farewell, and no further instructions…except for a caution; she had told Zafira that Iridor, the demigod in his owl form, would rise, and once that occurred, then the battle of the gods, which she had spoken about, would have begun. She had counseled that Lazar was integral to the success of the Goddess but wouldn’t, or perhaps couldn’t, explain why.

Zafira hadn’t really understood much of it at all, but Ellyana was not one to be pressed, and then she had disappeared. They hadn’t seen or heard from her in almost a year. And though Zafira had suspected who Iridor might be, she had had no idea of what his rising meant for her, or any of those who served Lyana.

She was none the wiser now, although her suspicions of who the Messenger of Lyana the Goddess was had been confirmed on the night after Horz of the Elim had died. It had come as no surprise in truth, but despite her easy acceptance, she nevertheless experienced an intense feeling of awe every time she saw the beautiful snowy owl.

Pez broke into her thoughts. “It’s a cold comfort but I’m glad our man is back. Now we have to discover his purpose.”

“He may have already served it. He nearly died, after all.” Pez shook his head. “No. Lyana has more in store for the former Spur. We just have to be patient.” 2

Maliz, the demon, comfortable in the body of the newly promoted Grand Vizier, approached the Zar confidently. The young ruler was in his private courtyard with its wide verandah overlooking the Faranel.

Alongside the slim Zar stood the monstrously large form of Salmeo, Grand Master Eunuch of the harem.

Maliz smiled. Tariq, the man whose body he had stolen, had hated the black castrate and the feeling had been so intensely mutual that none of Maliz’s genuine attempts at repairing past damage were welcomed with any warmth by the suspicious head of the harem. History prevailed, hate reigned. Maliz found it amusing, as much as wise, to keep trying, though.

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He bowed—“Zar Boaz”—before nodding toward Salmeo in a far more polite gesture than Tariq could ever have mustered. “Grand Master Eunuch. Please forgive my interruption.” The Zar nodded. “We were just finishing, Tariq. Salmeo has agreed to organize the boating picnic I promised the women many moons ago.”

“Oh, how charming,” Maliz replied, and meant it. It was obvious, however, that Salmeo thought he was being sarcastic.

“It is the Zar’s desire,” the black eunuch reminded him softly, the firmness of his voice a warning that he did not like to be challenged in front of the Zar.

“And it is you the women will remember for this idea, Salmeo,” Maliz said in a conciliatory tone.

Salmeo blinked, slow as a lizard, as if weighing up carefully what the Vizier was saying, testing it for guile. “I shall take my leave, Majesty,” he said finally without another glance to the Vizier. “I have many arrangements to make. Would you like me to inform the women of the upcoming treat, Highness?” Maliz heard the soft lisp in the black eunuch’s speech and wondered how many had assumed incorrectly that such an affectation meant the man was in some way gentle.

“By all means,” Boaz said, “although I would appreciate it if you would advise the Valide first and seek her participation.” He smiled hesitantly, and again Maliz noted how uncomfortable the Zar was around the massive eunuch. The royal worked hard to hide how much he disliked Salmeo, but Maliz was too sharp not to notice all the silent signs Boaz’s body gave of not wanting to spend a moment more than he had to in the private company of the man.

“Thank you, my Zar,” Salmeo lisped, bowing before he glided away, curiously light on his feet.

Boaz sighed. “How does such a huge man tread so softly,” he mused, turning to his Vizier. “It would be so much easier if you two liked each other,” he complained with irritation, returning his gaze to the glinting sea.

Maliz, unfazed by the power of the man who stood before him, gave a wry smile to the Zar’s back. “I could say the same to you, Majesty.”

Boaz swung around abruptly, clearly surprised by the bold comment, but Maliz remained relaxed, allowing the hint of a mischievous grin to crease the corners of Tariq’s mouth. Boaz looked at his Vizier intently for a moment. “I wish my father had known the new Tariq who stands so brazenly before me. I believe he would have liked you, Vizier.”

“No, Highness,” Maliz continued smoothly, “I think even I might have disliked me in your father’s day. It is only since you have come to power that I’ve realized how important my role can be. Previously I searched for gratification, reward, power…oh dear, the list of cringing need feels endless sometimes.” He shrugged in a self-deprecating manner.

“And now?”

“A change did come over me at your father’s death, Majesty. There’s no denying it. I realized that as soon as you took the Crown of Percheron, you could have had me executed, Majesty. You and I were Page 12

never what could have been termed friends.”

“I hated you,” Boaz replied candidly.

Maliz nodded. The Zar had matured much in these past few moons, growing into his role, accepting its burden. His directness was refreshing compared with the usual politicking that took place in the palace.

“And I understand why. I had so little autonomy, my Zar. I could have been a good Vizier to your father—may Zarab keep him—but he was headstrong and fiercely independent. He didn’t want advisers and he did not like me from the outset.”

“Neither did I. I’m still not sure I do.”

This surprised but privately amused the demon, who had no real interest in the Zar’s success. This relationship with Boaz was simply convenient and mildly entertaining. His own agenda concerned much more than the simple politics of Percheron. If anyone knew or understood what was truly at stake…

Of course someone else did know. But that person remained elusive. Maliz was sure that Iridor had not only risen but was roaming these very corridors. He could feel that his ancient enemy was near—and that meant Lyana, too, was close. He must exercise patience. He would find and destroy them both. He had before in every battle, over millennia.

“I appreciate your candor, my Zar, and hope I never offend you.”

“I hope so, too, Tariq,” Boaz said softly, but there was a threat in his tone and Maliz realized that, for all his careful work, the Zar remained suspicious and hesitant to give his trust. Despite himself, the demon admired Boaz for his reluctance. Percheron was fortunate to have two Zars in a row who were worthy of their status.

Boaz interrupted his thoughts. “You wanted to talk with me?”

“Yes, Zar Boaz, I do.”

“Walk with me, then. I was going to take some sea air on the high balcony.”

“It would be a pleasure,” Maliz replied, knowing that walk would take Boaz past the Sherbet Rooms, where many of the members from the harem liked to relax. It wouldn’t be long now, Maliz thought, before those girls, quickly turning into young women, would be called upon to no longer just look pretty, dance sweetly, giggle coquettishly, but to offer a new, much more grown-up homage to their Zar. It was going to be fun to observe these delicious girls as they set about their single-minded business of attracting the Zar’s eye. If they knew what it was like to be a young man, his wits challenged by the fierce new drive of sexuality, they would understand that they would have to do very little to win his attention. The mere suggestion of the rise of breast behind their robes, the glimpse of a nipple beneath a silken sheath, the very outline of a nubile body moving gracefully—any hint of sensuality was enough to send a hot-blooded youngster into a frenzy of desire.

He smiled slyly. “Perhaps we should send a runner ahead to let others know I accompany you, Zar Boaz.”

“No need,” Boaz replied nonchalantly. “That’s what I was talking to Salmeo about. I’m relaxing some of the rules attached to the harem. I see no reason why the Zar—and whomever he chooses to enjoy the palace surrounds with him—should not be permitted to walk alongside certain buildings without Page 13

permission.”

“Indeed, Highness,” Maliz said, surprised and delighted. “Is the Grand Master Eunuch comfortable with this…relaxing of the old rules?”

“What do you think?”

“I imagine he believes it’s an encroachment,” Maliz answered truthfully.

“Yes, that’s precisely what he believes. But I know Salmeo considers it an encroachment on his personal status rather than on tradition. He cares not for the old ways so much as for his territory. I don’t intend to stare into windows or hunt down the women. I just don’t see that I must avoid them.”

“It’s part of your role as a ruler to modernize life,” Maliz encouraged.

“Salmeo believes I’m stomping on tradition.”

“That’s what I’d expect him to say.”

“You think it’s appropriate, then.” Boaz did not make it a question.

Maliz was sharp enough to realize that though the Zar was not asking his permission, the young ruler was gently searching for approval. “I think it’s wise, Majesty. Each Zar will surely introduce his own modern thinking to his reign. Your father made many changes. Some were fought by the traditionalists, but had he backed down, good things such as your great education might never have happened. Your grandfather did not believe in his heirs being educated as broadly. Your father learned the art of warfare and diplomacy, for example, but taught himself how to read and write as well as he did.”

“I never knew that,” Boaz commented with surprise. “He was so creative, too.”

“This is true, but that was your father’s inherent talent. He had the soul of an artist. We can see his influence all over the city, and certainly in the palace. Just think of how much poorer the citizens would be had he not exercised his right to change things. You are not doing anything that Zars before you have not already done. It is fitting that you make subtle improvements wherever you see the need.”

“It seems so archaic to separate the women to the point of imprisonment.”

“Ah, now we touch on something else,” Maliz warned.

“Not really. I don’t see it that way.”

“Others will. If you don’t mind me offering humble advice, may I suggest you move slowly, my Zar.

Don’t try to change too much at once. Small leaps will still cover the same distance as big ones…it takes longer, but it makes it easier on those who feel the effects of change.”

“Salmeo, you mean,” Boaz qualified.

Maliz’s flick of his hand was a gesture that told Boaz the Vizier could likely reel off a dozen names.

“Salmeo included, definitely. The Valide might also feel that you are undermining her status if you grant too much freedom to the women. You must remember, my Zar, if I dare be so bold as to guide you here, that the harem is your mother’s power base. If you implement too much change in a short time, the other Page 14

women will soon be looking to you to override not only Salmeo but also the most powerful woman in the realm. Your mother sits atop a throne in the harem; I know you understand this because you were raised in it, so I don’t mean to give you a lecture.” The older man bowed slightly in deference.

“I understand. Please continue,” Boaz commanded.

“You don’t want your mother as an enemy,” the Vizier said directly.

Boaz paused and Maliz wondered if he’d made an error in judgment. “What is that supposed to mean?” the Zar asked.

Maliz had said too much to pull out now. “The relationship I’ve noticed between you two is strained. It is none of my business, of course, and I realize it is neither the fault of your mother nor yourself.

Circumstances of the harem will almost always put this sort of pressure on any slave mother who rises to this position and her precious son that claims the throne.” He paused, ensuring that Boaz was not taking offense. Boaz said nothing but his stare was intense. Maliz continued: “Her future is in your hands.

Whatever power you grant her is all she gets and she must feed off your status at all times. She is nothing without you.”

“I have heard such advice before,” Boaz replied steadily.

“Then forgive me for being repetitive. The Valide is a weapon that you can use, my Zar. I would caution against alienating her by undermining her authority over the other women. The more freedom you give them, the less mystery to her role and her access to you.” Boaz remained silent for a long moment; then, “I shall consider your advice, Vizier,” was all Maliz got for his careful guidance. “As you can see,” the Zar continued, waving in the direction of the pale, ornate building known as the Sherbet Rooms that they were now approaching, “Salmeo seems to have my measure anyway.” He was referring to the ring of red-robed Elim guards who stood against each tall window that might give the women a chance to eye their Zar at too close range for Salmeo’s comfort…and vice versa, of course.

Maliz permitted himself a smile. “It seems he does.” It was the right thing to say. Boaz gave a grudging grin, as if acknowledging that they both shared a common dislike for the man. Maliz considered that it might be easier to maintain the mutual hatred that Tariq had begun. It seemed more useful in terms of remaining closer to the Zar, anyway.

Boaz inhaled the sudden fresh breeze blowing off the Faranel that rolled like a restless animal before them. He placed his hands on the stone balcony and raised his face to the sun to accept some of her early-season warmth. Anyone looking at the Zar could be forgiven for thinking all traces of childhood had disappeared this past year, but Maliz, now well attuned to Boaz, could still sense faint echoes of the boy.

“What did you want to speak to me about, Tariq?” Boaz asked, not opening his eyes.

“About your security, my Zar,” Maliz replied, without missing a beat.

Now the Zar did open his eyes. Turning, he faced the Vizier. “That’s a regular haunt for you, isn’t it?”

“It is part of my greater responsibility, Zar Boaz. Did you know that less than a century ago we did not even have a Spur? The Grand Vizier was responsible for the entire realm’s security.” Page 15

Maliz had deliberately mentioned the Spur, knowing that his words, though softly spoken, would reopen the wound of loss that the young Zar tried to ignore. The Vizier knew this was impossible. Boaz had clearly admired Lazar, probably loved him; those wounds would never heal, especially since the Spur’s death was shrouded in such mystery.

“Yes, I know that from my history lessons,” Boaz said evenly, though not without a hint of sorrow.

“I just think these are more dangerous times, my Zar. The fact is if Percheron’s head of security can disappear without a trace, we have a problem in our city. I accept that Lazar invoked the law of Protectorship and was punished on behalf of Odalisque Ana. It is also clear that his flogging was savage, mis-handled badly enough to speed him to an early death.” Maliz watched with satisfaction the Zar’s jaw silently working with tightly held emotion. He continued: “But to have to trust the word of an old woman that the corpse was properly dealt with according to the Spur’s wishes, and so on…” He added a note of weariness to his tone, suggesting it sounded too far-fetched for his liking. “Well, it doesn’t sit comfortably with me, Highness. You are my responsibility, after all, and in the absence of our Spur, I feel moved to make suggestions to improve your safety. One tragedy in our palace is one too many; you must not allow our people to suffer another loss of even greater magnitude.” Boaz nodded, his expression thoughtful. “You mentioned a change in the guard not so long ago. I presume you now have an idea to share?”

“Yes, Majesty. I am proposing an elite group of strong young men who will permanently be at your side, so to speak.”

“How many?”

“At least a dozen on call so I can ensure a ring of men in and around your chambers or wherever you are, every minute of the day.”

“This began as food tasters in the kitchens, Tariq. Now you’re suggesting they all but live with me? I fear I will find your measures claustrophobic.”

Maliz nodded, hoping to convey a tone of unfortunate resignation. “At least one will sleep near your bedside, Highness.”

“No!” Boaz said. “Absolutely not. How uncomfortable will my life be if they can hear everything I say, repeat it to their companions and—”

Maliz raised a hand gently but the smile on his face had a malevolent quality to it. “Hear me out, Majesty.”

Boaz’s expression suggested he couldn’t imagine what the Vizier could possibly say to change his mind, but he nodded for Maliz to continue.

Maliz inclined his head in gratitude. “I am proposing that this elite corps will be highly trained and very capable of killing whoever might overstep the cordon without permission.” He paused dramatically. “But they will also be deaf mutes.”

Now Boaz looked startled. “To a man? How do we train them? How do we instruct them? How do we find that many brilliant warriors?”

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Maliz tutted, and Boaz raised his eyebrows in irritation. The demon realized he must be on guard at all times against his own impatience showing through, must constantly remember that he was still Tariq to all who met him. He bowed. “Forgive me, Zar. I did not explain this well. The men will be hand selected for their fighting prowess and ability to follow orders using signals. Once we have selected them, and trained them fully in their roles, they will be made deaf and rendered mute.” He stressed the final five words.

Boaz opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. He took a moment or two to gather himself. “You will maim healthy men for this role?”

“Yes,” the Vizier said simply.

“But that’s barbaric.”

“I care not for how we make them, Majesty. I care only that we protect your life to the best of our ability. I know if Lazar were sharing this conversation with us now, he would agree in principle with what I’m proposing.”

“Then that shows how well you did not know the man, Tariq,” Boaz countered firmly. “I assure you Lazar would never condone such injury to a warrior.”

“Lazar would not allow his Zar to be under any threat,” Maliz replied, unfazed.

“Well, am I?”

“Pardon, Majesty?”

Boaz frowned. “Has a direct threat been detected?”

Maliz considered lying, then opted not to. “No, Highness, but these are different times from the ones your father lived through. None of your enemies could know how capable you are. They imagine a youth, vulnerable, easily killed or deposed. Perhaps spies have reported the death of your Spur. That puts you even more at risk. Furthermore, Percheron has never been more vital as a critical trading point between east and west. I suspect that if we are going to be attacked, it will happen during the early years of your reign, Highness. We must think ahead, be prepared.”

“All speculation,” Boaz dismissed.

“But that’s my job, Zar Boaz. I must anticipate all scenarios. And without the Spur, I feel compelled to offer higher protection than we currently have.” He could see Boaz tiring of the conversation, so he pushed once more. “I shall keep it to just a few men if that makes it easier on your conscience, my Zar.”

“Then I insist they must take their roles willingly.”

Maliz couldn’t help the bemusement that spread across Tariq’s face. “To be willingly made deaf and mute?”

“Or I won’t allow it. Offer them and their families gold in exchange for the maiming. Be generous. If you insist upon this course, then I will set the parameters. I will also approve each man before the maiming takes place.”

Maliz smiled inwardly. He had won. “As you wish, my Zar,” he said obediently, and bowed his head.

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He could now have the Zar constantly observed—and, perhaps more importantly, he could keep an eye on the dwarf, whom he firmly suspected to be an enemy of Zarab.

3

The Valide sipped the fruit infusion she took each morning, maintaining it kept her complexion unlined and unblemished. “And what did he want to see him about?” she asked her guest as she put the porcelain cup down beside her. She was simply making conversation, for she couldn’t trouble herself with every discussion that her son had with the reinvented Tariq.

“I don’t know, Valide,” Salmeo admitted. “I thought you might.”

“Boaz doesn’t include me in his decisions anymore—certainly not in recent times. As he looks like a man now, he thinks like one, too,” she said, and he heard the not-so-well disguised sorrow in her voice.

“Then he’ll be acting like one soon,” Salmeo replied, knowing the Valide would understand his innuendo.

“He’ll choose her first,” she warned.

It was not something the Grand Master Eunuch needed to be told. “We can’t stop that.”

“She’s dangerous, Salmeo. I made a mistake in choosing Ana. I should have let Lazar have his little girl.”

“I’m not sure anything used to simmer in Lazar for anyone,” he commented, always glad to be reminded of the Spur’s demise.

“If you were a woman you’d understand,” Herezah replied caustically. “He didn’t just simmer for her; he was feverish. But he arrogantly thought he hid it. From me!” She shook her mane of hair, which had lost none of its black glossiness even though she was now past her third decade. “I’ll never understand why he even brought her through those palace gates if he was so infatuated with the child.” Salmeo understood instantly that none of the Valide’s own fiery infatuation with the long-dead Spur had cooled.

It surprised him that even after all this time she burned so fiercely for the soldier, or at least the memory of him. She had not mentioned Lazar’s name to him since the day his “murderer,” Horz, had been executed—after being accused of poisoning the whip used to flog and ultimately kill the Spur. Horz was dead and forgotten, but not so Spur Lazar—it seemed his memory would never die, and certainly not for the Valide. He stored the thought away.

The Valide was not an enemy but she could be. That accepted, Salmeo had long ago realized that his fate was tied up with the Valide. There would never be any opportunity to ingratiate himself with the new Zar—it was all too obvious what the young ruler felt toward his keeper of the harem—but Salmeo did have a chance with Herezah. As distant as Boaz might have made himself from his mother, he was still of her blood and would see no wrong done to her.

If I can remain her ally,Salmeo thought,I might buy my own protection should the truth of my involvement in Lazar’s death come out . He didn’t think it would. Having successfully blackmailed Horz into taking the blame, Salmeo felt his secret was safe, once Horz’s corpse had been left to rot on the impaling post outside the palace. But he also knew in his heart that the Zar believed he was at the root of Page 18

the Spur’s mysterious death. Boaz would be looking for anything that might connect Salmeo with wrong-doing; staying close to the Valide, pandering to her needs and making himself indispensable to her machinations, might be that extra insurance the eunuch needed.

He deeply regretted that rare moment of spite in which he had impulsively allowed his anger to overtake his common sense. Poisoning the whip that would ultimately flog the Spur had been effective but ultimately perilous. Yes, it killed the proud, arrogant soldier who had become such an impediment to Salmeo’s plans to dominate Odalisque Ana—but was his death really necessary? No, he thought, it was stupidly reckless, and although blame had been laid elsewhere through some swift manipulations, it had almost found him and wrapped itself about his own shoulders. Salmeo suddenly realized the Valide had been watching him whilst he mused, no doubt waiting for a response to her grumbling over Ana.

“I could just have her killed, Valide. She could accidentally slip or mysteriously drown—the boating excursion provides a marvelous opportunity. I could even manufacture a culprit if you deemed it necessary.” He did not look her in the eye, but simply waited patiently for her response. He guessed his suggestion sent a flare of hope torching through Herezah’s body. The thought of the young odalisque who was rapidly shaping herself as the Zar’s Favorite disappearing from the harem was a daydream he suspected the Valide permitted herself. Ana was a threat to her. The Valide had not anticipated Boaz taking on the challenge of being a Zar quite so swiftly; she had hoped he would accept the role in title only and then return to his more studious pursuits, giving her free rein to essentially run the realm. Salmeo suspected that her intention had always been to involve her son, probably holding meetings over supper each evening to discuss the day’s affairs as though she was consulting with him. Herezah was too clever not to factor in male pride and Salmeo knew she would be more than happy to continue the pretense that a new Zar was confidently on his throne whilst she herself pulled all the strings of the puppet ruler.

But it was not to be. For all her cunning and clever ways, Herezah simply hadn’t counted on her once shy, slightly withdrawn son first embracing his new role and then shouldering it with dignity, and now living it with a real sense of purpose. Now she was paying the price of raising a well-educated son who had never been allowed to shirk a sense of duty.

Herezah could live with this mature Boaz. She could carve out new powers for herself. But what she couldn’t abide, Salmeo knew, was the profound effect Ana was having on her son. Ana and her speedy rise in the Zar’s estimation threatened to kill off any aspirations that the Valide still held for herself.

Nothing had occurred sexually between Ana and the Zar yet, Salmeo knew, but they had a bond, for certain. It had formed when the girl had first been brought to the palace—she had been lonely and vulnerable, whilst Boaz was uncertain and fearful of his new role as Zar. Herezah had only herself to blame for not having paid sufficient attention to her son’s emotions at that time. Boaz had genuinely grieved for the loss of his father, whilst Herezah had expected him to get over the death quickly and find an excitement similar to hers at their new status—Valide and Zar.

Of course her mistake had been in imagining that ambition would somehow naturally override Boaz’s love and grief for his father, and her expectations of her son had been interpreted by him as heartlessness, Salmeo deduced. The eunuch appreciated that Herezah was right to expect Boaz to show no weakness, to pick up his father’s mantle—overnight—in order to establish his rule. But from what he could tell, it remained an unspoken rift between the Zar and his mother.

Salmeo slipped one of the violet tablets he habitually sucked into his mouth and raised his eyebrows at the Valide, awaiting her answer to his offer.

“Too risky,” she said finally. “Any number of things could go wrong. No, Ana needs to be entrapped by Page 19

her own doing.”

“I don’t follow, Valide,” he said, intrigued, lacing his fat, be-jeweled fingers together.

She picked up her cup again and sipped slowly. “Ana is by far the smartest odalisque in the harem, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would. Most of the others seem to look to her for leadership, I note.” Herezah frowned. “Hmm. You see, that in itself is a declaration of her intentions.” Salmeo disagreed. “To be honest, Valide, I think Ana would be happier if she had less attention. She’s a strange sort of a girl—very contained, seems to need no one, and yet she’s the very person most of them look to for friendship or comfort.”

“Is it just the younger ones?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. She’s a natural leader. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that the entire harem adores her.”

Herezah smirked. “That will change.”

Salmeo’s mind moved quickly with the Valide’s. “When Boaz begins choosing his sexual partners, you mean?”

“The moment my son starts singling out girls for his romantic attention, those chosen will be the target of hate from all the others.”

“Then Ana will be despised, for I have no doubt that she will be Absolute Favorite.” Herezah slammed down her cup and Salmeo wondered if he didn’t hear it crack with protest at such treatment. “That is my very point! She must be undone before she attains such a position.” Salmeo stifled the smile he was privately enjoying at the Valide’s insecurity. Herezah might consider herself powerful, but she was clearly not feeling terribly powerful right now, with her son so independent and a slip of a girl about to claim the single most prized position in the harem for an odalisque, and one that would ultimately threaten the Valide’s future. “You were telling me how we might undo such aspirations,” he said, calming her.

Herezah took a deep breath. “We agree she’s clever, so we must use that intelligence against her. I’ll wager she is bored?”

“Senseless,” he confirmed. “She hates the harem, as you would guess. She is not interested in anything it offers, from its decadence to its pampering or its riches. She couldn’t be less interested in any of it.”

“Good. Let’s keep her bored and frustrated.” The Valide sipped her drink, taking a few moments to organize her thoughts. Salmeo knew to remain quiet during her pause.

“This boat trip you want my involvement with, when is it planned for?”

“Soon—in several days, I imagine.”

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“Even better. That will give her a taste of freedom. And her imprisonment back in the harem afterward will feel all the more smothering. Let’s plan some tedious training in the meantime, shall we?”

“Embroidery?”

She groaned, presumably remembering her own hours of soul-destroying boredom spent with needle and silk. “Precisely, and letters. No swimming or outside walks. Keep it all indoors, especially now whilst the sun is shining with its promise of summer.”

“And?” He knew the crux of her plan was yet to be revealed.

“We’ll make it easy for her to try an escape.”

Salmeo made a soft sound of disbelief. “Do you really think she’d disobey the most important rule of the harem?”

“She did it once before,” Herezah replied, tapping her teeth with a bloodred painted fingernail…a habit Salmeo knew she couldn’t help when in deep thought.

Salmeo wasn’t convinced. “She had hardly arrived then and we’d just inflicted the Test of Virtue on her.”

“She’s a year older, a year bolder, and a year more bored with her life. She’s ripe to make another attempt. She just needs a push.”

“You speak with knowledge, Valide,” Salmeo commented.

“I fought the urge every day of my life, eunuch; I sometimes think I still do,” Herezah said, unable to disguise a slightly wistful note in her tone. “But Ana believes she has the ear of the Zar and his indulgence.

She’ll risk it, I promise…and just in case, I might sow the right seeds in her mind.”

“Oh?”

“Send her to me today. I think I’ll be giving her some responsibility in the harem. It’s time anyway that the girls take on some special roles, but I’ll endow Ana with the most trust…confide a few things in her.”

“Let her think you might be friends?”

Herezah shrugged. “I wouldn’t go that far. Ana’s too much of an island, but perhaps some fragile bridges might be built.”

“And then what, Valide?”

“I’ll tear them down and expose her. What is the harshest punishment for leaving the harem?”

“Lashes…you’d remember that from Ana’s previous attempt at escape. But this time there’ll be no Spur Lazar to twist the rules and take the strokes on her behalf.”

“Is that the best we can do?”

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“Well, being caught unveiled, perhaps in the company of a man, would certainly increase the punishment,” he considered, enjoying where this conversation was headed.

“To what?”

“Death.” He said it coldly, without hesitation, and saw how the word appealed to her by the involuntary twitch at the corner of her mouth. He loved it.

“Mandatory?”

He nodded confidently. “Drowning in the Daramo is the easiest escape. I’m not sure anyone could save her then, bar an extraordinary set of circumstances.”

“Such as?” Herezah demanded.

Salmeo shrugged his huge shoulders as he considered. Then he held his great hands out, his palms shockingly pale pink against his black skin. “I simply can’t imagine what, Valide.” Herezah smiled. “Excellent. That’s what I want you to arrange, Salmeo.”

“You want me to bring about her death, Valide?” he queried innocently, making it unequivocally clear between them what was being planned and who was giving the orders.

The Valide held his gaze and spoke slowly, directly. “I want you to ensure she is somehow found in that unforgivable position you suggested and cannot be saved from the consequences. The rest is up to the laws of our harem.”

“And the Zar, Valide, what of his interests?”

She frowned, not understanding. “What do you mean, Salmeo?”

“Only that if he were on our side it would be easier to manipulate the law in our favor,” he said gently, his eyes heavy-lidded, spicing his tone with intrigue.

Herezah sighed. “Boaz, unfortunately, will not be our pawn. As I have said, he has become a man these past thirteen or so moons and he will not be manipulated easily.”

“He need not know, Valide,” Salmeo said, softly breaking eye contact and looking down at his fingernails.

“You want to use my son without his knowledge?” she asked, all innuendo gone from her voice.

Salmeo nodded but still kept his gaze trained down. “He need not be in on our plan.” THE WORDOUR WASnot lost on her. She knew from this moment on her future was tied to that of Salmeo’s. Her grand notion to align herself with Tariq, keeping Salmeo at a more subservient distance, had not unfolded as she had hoped. The Vizier was now Grand Vizier and far more powerful, and he had so cleverly ingratiated himself with her son, it was sickening. Even now she couldn’t quite grasp how it had happened under her nose and with such speed. At the time of the old Zar’s death he had been a Page 22

sniveling, obsequious adviser with no one’s respect and only her lukewarm patronage to save him. But within weeks of the new Zar being crowned, Tariq had become a changed man who was suddenly interesting, pithy, dry-witted, and downright clever—qualities she had not once previously appreciated in the Vizier. And, damn him, he looked different. Gone was the stooped carriage and all the vulgar adornments he had so favored—jewels in his beard and on his sandals. Now she couldn’t spot a single item that sparkled on his person, and his clothes were no longer ostentatious. He was wearing subtle colors and simple lines, more befitting a man of his status as Grand Vizier. Herezah could swear he now had a roving eye for women, too, something that had never occurred to her before. Tariq had seemed almost sexless in the years gone by and she knew he lived alone, took no women casually, and certainly had no longtime lovers. This much Zar Joreb had confirmed explicitly with her on one of their cozy nights together. But this new Tariq all but flirted with her, winked at some of the serving girls, and, in the rare company of the veiled members of the harem, gave them lingering appreciation.

It was Tariq who was now seemingly closest to the Zar—him and the despised dwarf, of course; how could she overlook Pez? She realized Salmeo was watching her and drew herself back from those thoughts that irritated her so much.

With her next words she knew she was not just aligning herself with Salmeo, but also risking her fragile relationship with her son. “Please explain to me how we shall be able to use my son without his consent,” she said. “But first, I need a fresh brew of my tea. Would you organize it, please, whilst I change out of my silk robe.”

Salmeo gave instructions to a eunuch servant as Herezah disappeared into her sleeping chamber, which led into her dressing rooms. She emerged as Salmeo was dismissing the servant who had laid out fresh crockery.

“You look very lovely, Valide,” the chief eunuch commented.

She nodded, not really needing to be told. It was obvious from her proud bearing that she knew how splendid she appeared today. There was work to do and she needed to be her dazzling best.

“May I pour for you?” Salmeo added.

“Please,” she replied, settling herself by the window, and as she stared into the gardens, she contemplated, not for the first time, how often she stared at the gardens or the sea, as all in the harem did, with inextinguishable longing to be elsewhere.

“We’re all prisoners of this beautiful place,” she said, speaking her thoughts aloud.

“Privileged prisoners, Valide,” Salmeo commented from behind. He lightly stepped toward Herezah and delicately handed her the tall, exquisite cup, filled with the steaming citrus brew, that stood on an equally beautiful saucer. It was her own design, commissioned by Joreb when she was pronounced wife and Absolute Favorite. Its colors were bold and daring, reflecting Herezah’s personality, Joreb had told her.

She sipped, making a soft sound of pleasure at the warmth. “All servants dismissed?” she checked.

“We are alone, Valide.”

“Then I am all ears, Grand Master Eunuch. Tell me your cunning plan.” 4

Page 23

The man, hunched like a sack of grain in the chair, stared intently out to sea. Hair, once black as the famous velvet from Shagaire, now curiously golden, blew across his face, unnoticed.

The wind was refreshing rather than cold, for summer had begun to lay its new warmth over the land.

Nevertheless the man’s bones seemed to rattle from a constant shivering that had nothing to do with any chill. The goat’s-wool blanket hung loosely from his hollow frame, ignored and as unwanted by the wearer as any other form of comfort that tried its healing qualities but failed. This one wanted to suffer, for in suffering there was life.

The day itself had been sublime, its brightness almost painful on the eyes, but the man’s gaze was distracted neither by the sparkle of the first season’s sun nor the glistening Faranel Sea it lit and ultimately warmed. Instead all focus was riveted on the far distance and the glowing outline of the city of Percheron, blushing fiercely in the late afternoon sunlight. High on the hill that overlooked the magnificent horseshoe-shaped bay was the Stone Palace, and it was to these quiet hallways and chambers that his thoughts fled. And although the twin giants who kept guard over Percheron captured his attention from time to time, as though trying to distract him from the lonely vigil, that gaze was always quickly drawn back to the dominating presence of the Zar’s palace.

“You should move inside now,” the old woman who had limped up urged gently. “And it’s time for your medicine.”

“For whatever good it will do me,” he replied.

Her tone was bitter, though he knew she didn’t mean for it to be. “It’s no good staring toward the palace, Lazar. She cannot see you. She is safe. Let that be enough.” They both knew that this was simply her opening gambit in an old argument. He bit. “Don’t lecture me, Priestess. At least you can go into the city freely. I am stuck here, as much a prisoner of this leper colony as Ana is of the harem.”

“Well, blame yourself! You took too big a risk and set yourself back moons with a journey you were not well enough to make.” She made a sound of disgust. “Attending Horz’s execution was madness.”

“I needed to get the note to Pez,” he replied, his anger stoking.

“I could have taken the note to Pez. You wanted to see Ana again. What good are you to us if you insist on speeding your own death?”

“My life is my own,” Lazar growled. “It does not belong to you, or anyone!”

“Is that so?” she said haughtily. “You can try to fool us, but I suspect you can’t fool yourself with such hollow words. Your life is already given—she owns it,” she stated, her crooked finger pointing angrily toward the palace in which Ana lived.

Lazar remained silent until Zafira sighed, an action he unconsciously repeated. He knew what she said was true, but he also knew, as well as she, that the stakes of this strange battle they were now engaged in were high, and in truth, risks were all they had to choose from.

“I shall be in shortly,” he finally replied.

Page 24

“Let me help you.”

“No. I will manage.”

“Lazar, you must forget her,” she cautioned softly. “I suspect—”

“Just a few more minutes, Zafira,” he said, cutting off her words.

He didn’t deny that it was the sad memory of the loss of a woman that was so destructive to his healing, and yet he knew that it was because of that very woman that Lazar still lived, still bothered to wake each day and breathe, to eat, to hobble around keeping his limbs supple, if not strong. It was so ironic.

Opposing emotions pulling him apart, both good and bad for his health.

He had pretended—even to himself—that the perilous trip into the city was to let Pez know that he lived and to summon the dwarf to come to Star Island immediately. This was his pretext for slipping away from Zafira, risking his life just hours after being revived from the unconsciousness that had followed the flogging and poison. He and the priestess had argued bitterly over it because it was true, he was not nearly strong enough to make the journey across the water. His true motive, of course, was to have that one final glimpse of the Odalisque Ana. And that effort had nearly taken what little life he had had left.

He had barely clung to existence after the poisoning from the whip that opened his back so badly. Blood loss, drezden poison, and a deep sorrow all conspired to kill him. But love had sustained him. He had held on to life because it might mean he would see her once more. And so he had fought death these past eleven moons, fought it so hard he was left a living wreck—but a wreck with a legacy.

Lazar now understood that the drezden brought with all its evil intention a dark gift—it tried to kill him but it was also the one thing that could continue to save him…but at a price. The curious woman known as Ellyana had warned him that the legacy would exact its debt.

“It will stay with you forever,” she had counseled when he was sufficiently recovered to focus on words, and on living. “It will lie dormant within you and then like a sickness curse you all over again on a whim.”

“What is my warning? How will I know when it comes?” he had asked, when he was strong enough, his throat raspy from having gone so long without speaking.

“You won’t. It simply attacks when it chooses.”

“And how can Lazar protect himself then?” Zafira had asked on his behalf.

“With the drezden itself. You must always carry a vial of it with you. Put a drop of the concentrated poison on your finger—no more than a single drop, mind—and put that on your tongue. It will take some hours, but it will restore you.”

“But it hasn’t restored me on this occasion.”

“Lazar, you were as good as dead from the whipping alone. I defy any physician to have brought you back from the brink of the abyss with their modern potions and notions. Trust me. If you were at the palace or under the care of the male doctors, you would have been given up to your god. Drezden saved you. It will again, and much faster now that your body can cope with it, but only—” She stopped, shrugged.

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“For a while,” Lazar finished what Ellyana had not said.

The woman had simply nodded. Not long after, she had disappeared.

Lazar returned his thoughts to the present, realizing that the priestess had remained standing beside him.

He needed a few more minutes alone. “Please, Zafira.”

His plea must have reminded her that he needed encouragement, not recrimination, because she sighed again. “You are mending, Spur. I have been hard on you, perhaps not as honest as I should be. I know you feel weak but your back is healed and I’ve watched you exercising. I see you have some strength back.” He nodded, remained silent. “Allow yourself to be well. The medicine can only do so much. Now it’s up to you.”

“I realize this. Now please, just a few more moments.”

Even he heard the plaintive note in his voice. The old woman shook her head. She turned to hobble away toward the small hut that served as home nowadays and Lazar noticed how she winced. He suspected it was the same snag of pain in her hip that she’d mentioned occasionally but no doubt constantly reminded her she was well past her best years. He wondered if any of them was up to whatever this challenge was that lay ahead—a dwarf, an imprisoned odalisque, a wizened priestess, and him, not much better than a cripple himself.

ANA BOWED LOW ANDgracefully. “You wished to see me, Valide?”

“I did, child. Come, walk with me in the courtyard. This mild weather is too delicious to waste,” Herezah replied, noting with surprise how different Ana appeared since she had last paid her any close scrutiny.

Herezah detested the girl so much she had deliberately ignored her, had in fact had so little to do with the girls these most recent moons that she had allowed Ana—and no doubt some of the older odalisques—to suddenly blossom into womanhood without her noticing. That was a mistake and most unlike her, but she had been strongly affected by Lazar’s death and hadn’t taken much interest in much at all these last ten moons. For all her outward goading of the Spur, her public rebukes, and the hardships she could force upon him, he had been the one man over her lonely lifetime who had made made her otherwise cold heart burn. She had never loved Zar Joreb, but she had admired and enjoyed him—and without his favor she shuddered to imagine what would have become of her. In truth, love was something she had never experienced, so whether she loved Lazar she could not say. But did her lust overflow for him? Yes! She had never wanted any other man with that kind of intense passion, but he had ignored her advances, denied her even simple pleasures—a kind word, a smile. And since Ana had arrived in their lives, his polite shunning of Herezah had crystallized into hatred, she was sure of it. He despised her for denying him access to Ana. And still, after all this time, Herezah’s heart could jump at the mention of his name, could ache when she allowed herself space and time to think about his loss. And so, very unwisely, amidst her most private sorrow and her desire to improve her relationship with her son, she had permitted the harem, her seat of power, to essentially function without her closest supervision. As she watched Ana approach she realized the price of her error. It wasn’t too late, though: striking woman or not, Ana was still just an odalisque and very much under the Valide’s law.

“And how are you, my dear?” Herezah asked, not at all interested but keen to appear as friendly as possible.

“I am well, Valide, thank you,” Ana answered as she followed Herezah into the small, private garden.

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“Come and stand in the light, Ana, so that I may look at you,” Herezah suggested. She watched the girl glide toward the column of sunlight that cut through the cypress pines and warmed the stone flagstones beneath her sandals. She felt instant envy at the way the girl’s hair blazed brightly beneath the golden rays, glinting as she moved her head, clearly ignorant of the effect it had on an onlooker, particularly a male one. “You have changed, Ana.”

“How so, Valide?” Ana asked politely.

Herezah considered. “You are taller, you have a good eye for costume, I see, and you are fuller of figure, too—which is a good thing, for you were on the narrow side.”

“I try not to eat too many of the sweet dishes that the kitchens tempt us with, Valide,” Ana replied.

“I don’t think you have to worry too much, my dear. At your age I could eat a camel for a snack and not put on so much as a sheld. It’s after childbirth that you have to observe new eating habits. You wouldn’t have been acquainted with the old Zar’s harem.”

“It was disbanded just prior to my arrival.”

“Well, you’d have seen a line of fat women waddling out of the palace, I assure you,” Herezah said, more viciously than she had intended.

Ana remained frustratingly serene under Herezah’s gaze. “I was once told that roundness of body meant prosperity, Valide.”

Herezah blinked in irritation. The girl was far too forward in presenting her own thoughts. “That may well be, Ana,” she said sharply, “but no Zar is going to choose a corpulent woman over one whose body is voluptuous but still trim.”

It was as if Ana ignored the Valide’s comment. “I was also told that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Valide. Perhaps each Zar has different ideas of what is attractive in a woman. Zar Boaz may find a woman’s mind beautiful and not lay so much store by her figure.” Herezah couldn’t stifle the gasp of indignation that escaped her.

Ana realized her error. “Forgive me, Valide. I meant no offense. I am merely posing an idea.”

“You offer your private thoughts too easily, Ana, for one so young.”

“I apologize, Valide Herezah,” Ana tried again, this time going to her knees. “I am trying to teach myself not to.”

Herezah looked at the kneeling figure and it was as though she were looking at herself fifteen years earlier. Elegant, head-strong, beautiful on the outside, and a sharp intelligence held within. Herezah remembered how the fire of ambition had burned so brightly inwardly—that was all that had gotten her through the years of destructive boredom. But ambition did not burn in this girl, she deduced. It was something completely different and yet still it gave off the similar heat, simmering constantly but invisibly.

“What is it that you want?” Herezah said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

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Ana looked up in surprise. “I want nothing, Valide. I just want to be,” she answered.

Herezah again felt the twitch of exasperation. “To be? Whatever does that mean?” Ana shrugged. “Pardon me, but I’m just not sure how to put my feelings into words.”

“You say you want nothing,” Herezah repeated, clutching at the only thing Ana had said that made sense, “and yet you have all the girls in the harem eating out of your palm.” Again Ana looked down and Herezah knew the girl understood. “It is not from choice, Valide. I do not encourage it.”

“And still it happens, Ana. Are you dangerous for the harem? You may stand.” Ana rose in a fluid movement and once again Herezah was struck by the golden beauty and grace of this young woman. She looked ripe for the plucking, as the Grand Master Eunuch had observed. He was right; Boaz could be unwittingly used to bring this threat to Herezah’s status to an end.

“Dangerous?” Ana repeated.

“Your innocence is always convincing, Ana, but it does not fool me,” Herezah commented, carefully covering her rancor with a soft tone, as though she were merely making an observation rather than an accusation. “It will serve you well. I’m sure the Zar will love it.” Now Ana dared to raise her depthless green eyes and regard the Valide, her gaze serious. Herezah felt impaled by the stare.

She affected a coy laugh as if embarrassed. “Oh, surely you realize that my son will want to bed you soon, Ana?” Not all of the mockery in her tone was disguised. She wanted Ana to hear it. “And I for one will be delighted when he takes his first virgin between his sheets,” she continued.

Ana opened her mouth, then closed it again, clearly at a loss for words. Herezah smiled inwardly. This was where she wanted the girl—unsure, hesitant.

“Anyway, let’s not talk about that,” she said in a more friendly manner, waving away the previous conversation. “I brought you here today to discuss Zar Boaz’s picnic for the harem.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, you see, I imagine some of the younger girls are going to be a little fearful of being taken out of the harem. They’ve been here now for a year, so this is where they feel secure.” Ana had regained her composure to some degree and answered quickly. “No, Valide, I think everyone in the harem is very excited. I sense no fear.”

Herezah blinked slowly, as if talking to someone too dull to understand. “Nevertheless, while you may think most are looking forward to it, I assure you some will be reluctant.” Ana nodded, understanding her lack of tact.

Once again Herezah found and fixed a friendly smile to her face. “I am hopeful, Ana, that you will Page 28

counsel the youngsters, dissuade any hesitation, and especially show them not to fear their Zar.”

“How do you mean, Valide?” Ana asked, frowning.

“Let’s take a tour of the garden,” Herezah suggested, even linking arms with the girl, though she despised the feel of her young and unblemished silken flesh next to her own. The Valide understood that she, too, had once enjoyed similar qualities, but that freshness and vitality was gone now. Oh yes, she remained beautiful, but she was an older woman now, a Valide, no less. No man was going to come looking for her these days—no man would dare—but she missed being able to use her body to render a man helpless. It was such a powerful feeling, one Ana had not yet known…or had she? Lazar had been totally in Ana’s thrall; Herezah had seen it in his hungry, desperate gaze as he lied through his teeth to save the girl from the harem’s imprisonment. During the Choosing Ceremony, when all the purchased girls were first presented to the Valide, he had argued persuasively for access to Ana. Herezah suspected it was a lie that the mother in the foothills had demanded as part of the sale that Lazar act as some sort of ongoing mentor—though he had made it sound credible—but nevertheless, adroit though the Spur was, he could not hide…not from her anyway…the helpless ardor he felt for Ana. Her hackles rose just thinking of it. Not only did Ana seem to have Boaz focused on her, but the girl had somehow managed to win the heart of the only man Herezah had ever desired and yet never so much as touched.

She remembered now Lazar half-naked, standing tall at first against the whipping post in the Courtyard of Sorrows. It hadn’t taken too many bites from the Viper’s Nest to savagely open up his back and for precious blood to flow all too freely out of Lazar’s hard, proud body, to leave it slumped and lifeless by the end of the twenty strokes. She felt a keen pain as she allowed the frustration and anger she normally kept so securely buried to have free rein.

What she would have given for one night with Lazar. She knew he paid prostitutes for their services and that riled her. She would have given him all of herself for free, risked everything for a single night. And Ana had had several nights with Lazar at Herezah’s expense, from traveling with him from her home in the foothills to a carefree evening the girl had spent with him in Percheron prior to Lazar’s presenting her at the palace. Herezah had discovered this on that final night of Ana’s freedom; she and the Spur had wandered the bazaar—hand in hand, no less!—had shared a meal and sat close together beside a fountain. Her spies reported laughter, tenderness, and even sorrow when the time came to leave the alley of gold—where he had bought her a present—their last call prior to wending their way to the palace. Her fury, a year on, still burned.

Herezah had only two men in her life, two men on her mind, and Ana laid claim to both of them. It hurt like a savage wound and it took all of the Valide’s willpower not to pull her arm from the young woman walking carefully beside her.

The silence between them had lengthened. Herezah pointed to a bench seat beneath a fig tree. She swallowed her anger and her voice came out bright and steady. “Let’s sit, shall we?” Ana did as asked, maintaining her silence, unsure of what was coming.

“Do you ever think of Spur Lazar, Ana?” The Valide felt the involuntary movement next to her, knew she had hit a nerve.

“I do, from time to time, with sorrow that he is no longer striding around the city.”

“Is that how you remember him?”

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Ana began to shrug, then caught herself. “I don’t really know how I remember him. My time with him was limited,” she said noncomittally.

“But you admired him?” Herezah prompted, unable to help herself.

“Yes, I did. I thought he was a fine man and a loyal one to Percheron. It was not right, what happened on account of my indiscretion.”

Herezah heard the pain in the girl’s voice. She sensed that the odalisque was trying to mask her true feeling as she tried to shape carefully chosen words into a polite response, but the girl’s body language alone revealed to the Valide the depth of her feeling for the Spur. “No one could know that Lazar would be quite as gallant as he was, child. He was very protective of the youngsters he brought in. It was a terrible thing, I agree, but it was no one’s fault.”

“It was someone’s fault that the whip was tipped with poison, Valide, surely?” Again Herezah felt the breath catch in her throat at Ana’s audaciousness. “And he paid the price.”

“My uncle Horz would never do such a thing, Valide. I did not know him as well as you, perhaps, but I knew him to be a faithful and proud servant of the harem. We were distant relatives—I’d met him only twice in my life before I was brought to the palace and it is merely coincidence that two of the same family lived here. He never treated me any differently from the other odalisques and he was loyal to the Elim. He was no murderer.”

“And still coincidence that you both became embroiled in the drama that led to Lazar’s death?” The Valide watched Ana nod unhappily.

“Then who, Ana?” Herezah asked innocently, interested to hear what the girl might say. “Who poisoned the whip?”

Ana turned now and leveled a long glance at the Valide.

Zarab save us,Herezah thought,she thinks I contrived it ! “What does that look mean?” Ana instantly dropped her gaze. “I…I mean nothing by it, Valide, my apologies. I just thought you might know something more than has been explained.”

You lie well,Herezah thought,but not well enough to dupe me . “I know only what you do, odalisque,” the Valide replied in a rare moment of honesty. “He cannot be brought back no matter what the truth is.”

“He should never have gone, though, Valide. It is my fault and I can never forgive myself.”

“Perhaps you have learned your lesson, then?” Herezah asked, pleased that Ana had led herself to exactly this point.

“Definitely,” Ana replied unequivocally.

Herezah was not yet satisfied. She would remind Ana of this conversation in time to come. “So nothing could persuade you to escape again?”

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Ana looked pained but she held the Valide’s gaze. “Nothing.” Herezah smiled. “Thank you, Ana. I appreciate this. You know I chose you as the finest odalisque of the exquisite selection of girls on offer those many moons ago. I have high hopes for you. Perhaps you see yourself as a Favorite? Possibly Absolute Favorite, as I was?”

“No, Valide,” Ana answered gravely. “I have never thought about such things.”

“Well, you should, my girl. You have the right intelligence and there is no doubting your suitability as a mate for the Zar. Doesn’t producing heirs to the throne of Percheron excite you?” Ana shivered, despite the warmth, and shook her head. “I know what happens to spare heirs, Valide.

No, I would not wish that on any mother. I will happily remain barren to avoid such trauma.” Now Herezah did gasp. “You must not talk like that, Ana. You have a role now in the harem. Even if you can’t see it, we can. You are the most likely first choice of the Zar. I can’t speak for him but I can see what he sees.”

“Beauty is not everything,” Ana whispered.

“So you’ve said, but it is vital as an odalisque. You have little else to recommend yourself to the Zar.”

“It will not matter to me if he does not choose me, Valide. If you’ll forgive my candidness, I think this is where you and I differ.”

The courage of the girl to speak so forthrightly to the most powerful woman in the palace had to be admired, and Herezah forgave her the couched insult—for Herezah had never made any secret of her own ambition—and secretly admired Ana her spine. It reminded her painfully of her own determination, even though they seemed to want different things. Herezah still had not clarified what it was Ana wanted.

Freedom, probably—what every odalisque would take over all the riches and pampering.

With a small smile, Herezah returned to their earlier conversation. “I’m pleased, Ana, that you will stay faithful to the harem and not test us again with any further escape attempts from the palace. Your dash for freedom from the harem after the Choosing Ceremony was gravely ill advised, as you’ve now discovered in the harshest possible way. Though I put it down to a fearless nature combined with your immaturity, it must never happen again. Let that fearlessness manifest itself in positive ways—in your duties as odalisque. You have led a blemish-free existence these past thirteen moons, as I understand it.” Ana nodded, staring at the ground. “This is wise,” Herezah reiterated. “Which is why I am asking you to take charge of the picnic next full moon. The girls are still very frightened of me, so they will find it far easier to follow your lead.”

“I understand,” Ana replied.

“And, as a reward for your help, I am recommending that you be allowed to visit the Grand Bazaar.” Ana looked up sharply, her eyes wide. “Leave the palace?” she asked, her tone filled with disbelief.

Herezah smiled again, indulgently. “Fully veiled, and with Elim escorts, of course.”

“Valide…I…I…”

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“It’s all right, Ana. I know what you’re trying to say. I think you forget that I, too, was a prisoner of the harem as a young woman and wanted nothing but to escape its smothering ways. I still am a prisoner. I still yearn for freedom but I have learned to accept my place, as you will. But I don’t want you to suffer as I did. If I can allow you to enjoy some rare moments of independence—the boat picnic or this trip into the city—then I will allow it. I feel the freedom will keep you less…troubled, shall we say.”

“I really don’t know what to say, or how to thank you,” Ana stammered, shock written on her face.

“Thank me by being true. Keep your promise not to try anything silly and help me to give these girls a good time out on the water. Help me in the harem itself by being cooperative, less sullen, not so withdrawn. This is your life now. I want to try to make it easier to live, but I can’t save you completely.

You must accept it, as I did, embrace your role as odalisque and do the very best you can. You’re so bright; I’d like to see you studying more. Is there anything you really enjoy?”

“Well,” Ana began, “I believe I’m good at language, Valide. Perhaps I can concentrate fully on that.”

“And not embroidery?”

Ana actually smiled and Herezah saw how any man would be instantly captivated by the way her eyes sparked when she was happy. “I don’t care much for sewing,” she admitted wryly.

“And who could blame you,” Herezah replied, arching her eyebrows, feeling the fragile bond forming between them. “All right, I think focusing on language is an excellent idea. We always have a need for translators. Any particular one?”

“Galinsean,” Ana gushed, then reined in her enthusiasm. “And of course, Merlinean.” Herezah really was amused now. “Galinsean! It’s an impossible tongue, child! And we don’t need Galinsean.”

“Since losing the Spur, I would suggest that we do, Valide. He was the only person who spoke Galinsean fluently, as I understand it. And although I know he was Percheron’s army head—and I’m merely a slave—it may be handy to have someone other than the Zar who understands the language. I must admit to you that I’ve actually been teaching myself the language for the past year. But I’d like to devote more time to it—perhaps a tutor can help with my accent?” The Valide gave a sound of surprise at the girl’s claim. “Taught yourself?” Ana nodded, embarrassed.

“How?”

“The library, Valide.”

Ana failed to mention that Pez had guided her in this, found all the right books and secretly aided her learning, even introduced her to a shy slave—an old man who had suffered the misfortune of being captured by slavers twice in his life. He was originally from the north, where Lazar’s great friend, Jumo, hailed from. Jumo had disappeared since Lazar’s death, but he had known the slave in the library and had suggested him to Pez as a tutor for Ana’s learning of the tough language from the west. After his second capture by the Galinseans, the slave was sold to the aristocracy because of his skills in painting portraits. The librarian had learned both the language of the streets and the higher language of the Page 32

wealthy. Finally taking his chance to flee from slavery, he had risked an escape with a caravan across the Great Desert in an effort to reach his home-land but had been captured by Percherese slavers and sold to the palace, where he now worked in the library assembling a contemporary history of Percheron in pictures. He had taught Ana well.

“And how fluently do you speak Galinsean now, Ana?” Herezah asked, unable to hide her shock.

“You are right, it is a difficult language,” came the diplomatic reply.

Herezah had to admit that talking with Ana felt like she was conversing with a peer. The girl still looked too young to have anything much in her head save expensive gowns and glittering jewels, but it was obvious that all the perfectly normal traits of being young and female and spoiled were completely absent from this one. Even her manner of speaking was mature. “Not even Boaz can master Galinsean and he has been studying it most of his life.”

“I would like to try, Valide, if you’ll permit it.”

“I’ll permit it, Ana, but I see no use in it. I’ll recommend to Salmeo that you be given tutoring but I would like you to learn Akresh as well, which is far more useful for visiting dignitaries and the like.”

“I’m happy to do so.”

“Good. So, it is agreed—we’ll both help each other. You have only days to get the girls prepared for their boating picnic. I will recommend the trip into the city to pick out some fabrics and some jewels for you. It’s time we started dressing you to show off your lovely figure and to present you as a potential Favorite for the Zar.”

At this, Ana’s eyes clouded again, but she maintained her eager expression. It was obvious to Herezah that all mentions of bedding the Zar were scaring Ana. Well, like most things, after the first time, it all got easier. Ana would survive, as every fearful odalisque down the centuries had done. “I shall start helping to plan the picnic festivities now, Valide.”

“Excellent. And I’ll inform Salmeo of our bargain.”

Ana excused herself and in her hurry to depart missed the sly smile of the Valide, well pleased with how adroitly she had manipulated the young woman. Herezah reached for her bell to summon a runner.

Salmeo must hear that their plan was now in play.

5

Pez found Ana sitting with most of the other odalisques in the divan suite. Here couches were laid out around the walls and across the room at well-spaced intervals so the young women could lounge, relax, take some iced tea or sweet pastries if they chose, but, most importantly, this was where most could inhale the fumes of the burning garammala.

This oil, yielded by squeezing the leaves of a tree that grew only on the fringe of the desert, was headily expensive, yet most of the rich of Percheron enjoyed it occasionally. Pez had tried it only twice and both times had been violently ill, so he had never grasped the attraction, although watching others, he realized it usually had a completely different effect. It appeared to relax users to a state of calm whilst somehow keeping them alert, as if all their senses were heightened. Unlike other relaxants, garammala did not make users slur, drowse, or hallucinate. It simply put them into a gentle, happy mood, bordering on mildly Page 33

euphoric. It apparently made the inhaler feel almost instantly erotic, too, for Pez remembered wandering into this room when the previous harem had made good use of the pipes and noting that all inhibitions were dropped. It seemed the women were quite happy to spend their newfound erotic currency with anyone who’d pay attention, including the eunuchs. Knowing how they were left long and lonely and sexually frustrated for years, Pez could feel only pity for the women who escaped their demons through garammala.

Only Herezah, he recalled, never took the oil, and just as the Valide had resisted it all those years ago, now sat Ana, contriving similar symptoms of joyful mood but ignoring the pipe by her side, knowing no one would notice…no one except him, of course. He winked at Ana and she gave him a soft smile as she swung her legs down and stood to greet him.

“I’ve missed you,” she said, hugging her friend. “Where have you been?” Pez gave her an equally gentle smile, but one tinged with regret. “I’m sorry,” was all he said, pulling at his hair as if it were crawling with nits. A couple of girls nearby laughed. “What have you been up to in my absence?” he added more brightly in a whisper.

She took a breath and arched her eyebrows as if to say plenty had occurred. “The Valide requested a meeting with me today.”

Pez expressed his surprise while performing foolish little hops and jumps. He burped. More of the girls giggled. “And?”

“Shall we walk?” she asked.

“Cartwheel for us, Pez,” one of the youngsters beseeched.

He did so, happily spinning around the room and expertly avoiding collisions with furniture and beautifully attired women. He enjoyed warranted applause before pretending to be dizzy and staggering onto the pathways outside the room. Ana duly followed; no one took much note of her departure. Pez carefully sat on a small wall and studiously picked his nose, staring at the sky as if uninterested in the person who had followed him. Ana spoke in a low voice as she strolled by him very slowly, pretending to enjoy some sun on her face.

“She made a bargain with me.”

“Tell me,” he whispered.

“I’m to co-operate, help her with the others girls, especially on this boating trip.”

“And?”

“And if I promise not to try anything that breaks the harem rules, she’s going to let me out for a few hours of freedom.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m to be permitted into the city. Alone, save an Elim escort.” Pez stopped picking his nose and resisted the urge to stare at Ana in his anxiety. “She’s up to Page 34

something.” He watched the beautiful odalisque do an unhurried circumference of a pond.

“Such as?” she asked as she returned to pass by him.

“I don’t know,” he answered, worried. “What else?”

“I’m to be given a tutor to study Galinsean.”

“You didn’t tell her you were fluent, did you?”

“Hardly,” Ana replied, once again returning and passing him. “I didn’t give away much at all other than that I’ve been teaching myself.”

Pez leaped down from the wall and took her hand, pretending to walk alongside her like one of the strange monkeys from the Zar’s zoo. “Ana, you have a gift of tongues.”

“Like you.”

“No, better than me,” he whispered, pausing briefly to stare at the sky and hoot loudly. “You speak Galinsean already better than any tutor—I hope you can lie your way through the lessons.” She sighed. “I will. It makes me feel closer to him.”

Now Pez stopped, both from sorrow and the guilt of knowledge he did not share with her. He knew precisely to whom she referred. “This does not do you any good, Ana.”

“Keep lurching beside me, Pez. Everyone is watching us and enjoying your antics,” she cautioned. As he turned a somersault, she continued. “Galinsean could be useful anyway,” she continued.

He snorted. “What possible use could it be?”

Ana shook her head in gentle capitulation. “None, I suppose. She wants me to learn Akresh as well.”

“Now that is a practical suggestion.”

“I wonder why she’s being nice.”

“Herezah always has a reason for everything she does. Be suspicious at every turn, Ana. She fears you.”

“Why?”

Pez made a clicking sound of exasperation with his tongue. “Because Boaz adores you. Isn’t that obvious? The two of you meet often enough. You forget I’m usually there and hear you laughing with him.”

“I have asked him not to single me out,” she countered.

Pez decided it was time to careen around the courtyard like an angry monkey. When he charged nearby her, his back to the divan suite, he replied, “But still he does, whether you like it or not. His admiration is obvious…and he’s seventeen, Ana. Old enough. You must be ready for where his thoughts head now.” Page 35

She scowled. “I love another,” she said, truly shocking him now into stillness, his expression betraying his complete understanding.

He waddled over to where Ana stood and took her hand, heedless of any eyes watching, although grateful that they were too far away to be overheard. “This is not about love, child. This is about duty. An odalisque’s duty. As for the person you refer to, it is hopeless.” That was all he could say without revealing the terrible secret.

“He’s dead, I know, but that doesn’t stop my heart aching for him, my mind remembering every single little item it can about him, my conscience reminding me that I am the reason he is no longer alive.”

“Ana, stop!” Pez said, knowing tears were next and then raised eyebrows, should anyone notice. The other girls would then have to come outside to find out why she was crying. He dropped his voice. “This is foolhardy.” Pez cartwheeled away and then, back on his feet, he ran from the suite.

“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT, Ana?” someone asked. “Did Pez upset you?” Ana turned. It was an exquisite girl called Sascha from the region of Akresh, a hilly realm to the east of Percheron famed for its sapphires. Her hair was the color of burnished copper and she had become something of a friend these past moons. Ana knew Sascha could see the tears in her eyes. It was best to go along with the idea that Pez ultimately upset everyone for one reason or another. “Yes, he was threatening to stone the monkeys in the zoo.”

Sascha gave a pained expression. “Don’t believe him. You know he says stupid things all day long.”

“He sounded so determined, I feel as though he’s rushed off to do the stoning now.” Sascha took Ana’s arm. “Pez is mad, Ana. Everyone knows that. He says anything and everything that comes into his head. Most of the time he’s amusing, I’ll admit, but sometimes he can be quite vicious…but I don’t think he even knows it himself.”

Ana found a watery smile. “You’re right,” she said, squeezing the girl’s arm. “I shall ignore him.”

“That’s the right way to treat him. Pez hates to be ignored and I’m sure to be ignored by you will wound him terribly.”

“Why do you say that?”

Sascha gave her a soft look of exasperation. “Everyone can see how he loves you. You’re definitely his favorite.”

Ana was tired of hearing that word. “Come on, we have to make preparations for our boat excursion,” she said, determined to keep her promise to the Valide.

IRIDOR FLEW.PEZ WAS risking much in this flight, having received a request from the Zar to meet with him for the midday meal. Boaz was used to Pez’s unreliability, but as they hadn’t seen each other in several days now, a delay might make the Zar suspicious and Pez didn’t want him mentioning anything to Page 36

the nosy Vizier.

But he had to speak with Lazar. This was becoming a detestable situation. It was not so bad for Zafira—she did not have daily contact with Odalisque Ana. But Pez did, his blatant lying to the girl was well past the point of discomfort.

He also needed time to think about Herezah’s latest move. What was she up to?

He found Lazar in the small copse behind the cottage.

“There you are,” he said, in his dwarf shape once again.

“Greetings, Pez. Zafira said you planned to visit. Join me on my walk.”

“Is that what you call it?” Pez asked, and grinned at the crease of confusion on Lazar’s forehead. “More like lurching.” It wasn’t true, of course; he was genuinely thrilled to see his friend moving so easily once again.

“Be quiet, dwarf. You can hardly make fun with that strange waddle of yours,” Lazar replied. It was the first time in a year that Pez had heard Lazar say anything that was even remotely lighthearted.

Considering that even as recently as three moons ago, the man had not been able to concentrate for any length of time, other than when gazing forlornly across the water, this was stunning progress. “You’ll take into account I don’t use sticks anymore,” he added, a note of triumph in his voice.

“I do. I’m impressed, Lazar, truly,” Pez said.

“One day I shall run again. I’ll even be able to overtake you,” Lazar said, warming to his subject now.

The hint of amusement in his tone made Pez’s heart soar.

“You fail to appreciate, friend cripple, that I fly with such grace I would leave you in my wake.” They both grinned. It felt to Pez as though they were crawling out of a dark tunnel. Because Lazar had been so ill, they hadn’t even had the opportunity on the two brief occasions they’d seen each other to talk about all that had occurred. Perhaps today was the day to have that discussion.

“It’s good to have you back, Lazar,” he said.

The former Spur sighed. “I made a decision last moon that I either give in to this affliction and hope the next attack kills me, or I fight back to complete health. I’m almost there.”

“But you’re still in danger from unexpected attacks, right?” Pez asked.

“According to Ellyana, I am. But the drezden will have to attack a fit body rather than a frail one. That’s my only defense.”

Pez nodded, moved by the change in his friend’s mind-set He had always assumed it would arrive but as the year had drawn on, the dwarf had begun to question his faith in Lazar’s resilience. “That’s the spirit.

And your hair is now its true color, I presume?”

“Yes, just as yours is,” Lazar replied tartly, referring to the strange line of white hair that ran down one side of Pez’s head.

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“Ah, but my change makes me look even more odd than I ever did. But you, my friend, you look more handsome than ever.”

Lazar gave a soft self-deprecating snort.

Pez continued, waving his arms theatrically. “Now you look truly like a Galinsean Prince.” Lazar impaled him with those light eyes that gave him away as a foreigner. “It’s a relief not to have to color it anymore,” he said, and the sigh that followed was rich with secrets and family, pain and grief.

“Such lengths to hide an identity.” Pez gave a sound of admonishment.

“We are not so different, you and I,” Lazar reminded Pez. “You’ve feigned madness for decades to hide yours.”

“Not to hide my identity,” Pez corrected.

“Just your sanity, right?”

Pez nodded. “And something else.” Despite his need to be back at the palace swiftly, he had promised himself that today he would at last share all his secrets with Lazar.

His ambiguous statement captured Lazar’s attention. “Oh? What else have you been hiding from me?” Pez took a deep breath. “I have the Lore.” Lazar froze, his easy posture immediately tensing. Silently he stared at Pez for what felt like an eternity to Pez. “Say something,” the dwarf added, uncomfortable in the silence.

His friend shook his head in wonder. “I thought I had you worked out, but you are full of surprises. I also thought the Lore was make-believe.”

“It’s not.”

“What does it mean for you?”

“It means secrets, Lazar. It means hiding and constant anxiety about being found out. It means denying the call of the magic that is at my fingertips, which I refuse—most of the time, anyway—to even acknowledge.”

Lazar moved to a nearby tree stump and sat down slowly. “Most of the time?”

“I relented and used it twice recently. Before those two moments, I had resisted its call all my years in the palace.”

“What happened?” Lazar asked.

This was going to be the hardest bit, Pez knew. “Remember Kett?” Lazar’s eyes narrowed. “How can I forget?”

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“I was there. I was in the corridor with him when he was captured.”

“What?”

Pez nodded. He hesitated, then added, “So was Boaz.”

Lazar stood and Pez could see the effort it took. He watched Lazar move awkwardly to lean against a nearby tree. “Tell me.” It was an order—just like the old Lazar.

“I needed to divert Boaz’s attention. It was an impulsive decision. I thought he might like to see the girls being chosen for him.”

“Wait,” Lazar interrupted. “Pez, I’ve known you a long time and I know you do nothing on a whim. Tell me the truth, all of it.”

Pez sighed. Lazar was right. He should hear everything. “I can’t explain it, Lazar, and I know you won’t want to hear this, but I felt a calling toward Ana. I’d never met her, I didn’t know of her existence. But from the moment she entered the palace, I became aware of her, sensed the arrival of some sort of force or power.”

Lazar looked bewildered. “Ana is enchanted?”

“No,” Pez replied emphatically. Then he half smiled and shook his head. “Well, in truth, I don’t know. I sensed her. I needed to know what was calling to me so strongly. Until I saw Ana I had no idea it was a young woman. Anyway, I did need to divert Boaz, so I killed two birds with one stone, you could say.

Sadly, we stumbled upon Kett, and without going into the details, suddenly all three of us were in the forbidden area. But if Kett hadn’t sneezed we’d have been safe.”

“And when he did?”

“I could only shepherd Boaz and myself.”

“Shepherd?”

“I made us invisible,” Pez explained sheepishly.

Lazar said nothing. He stared at Pez openmouthed. Finally he said: “And the next time?”

“To aid Boaz in facing Horz’s death. I simply channeled some strength to him.”

“Strength?”

Pez shrugged. “Courage. He was nervous, terrified that he would let us all down. Terrified that he wouldn’t be able to face the execution.”

“I hear Horz was incredibly brave. Zafira tells me the city was abuzz with the news that he died without murmuring so much as a sound.”

“He was a good man. He did not deserve to die badly, especially for a crime we both know he did not commit.”

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Lazar paused, and Pez could see the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle slotting into place. “And so you helped him, too,” the Spur said slowly.

“Not using magic. I used the Lore on Boaz only.” Pez looked at his friend, uncomfortable and uncertain of Lazar’s reaction. “Do you believe me?”

Lazar clamped his jaw shut and studied Pez for a long moment before answering. “Of course I believe you.” He laughed humorlessly. “You can change yourself into a bird, why not become invisible?” Pez didn’t react to the familiar bite of sarcasm. “The bird business is something entirely different—that has nothing to do with the Lore,” he assured Lazar.

“I’m not sure I believe that, Pez. It’s probably because of the Lore, or because of what you possess, that you have been chosen to be Iridor. I can’t believe I say that so blithely. Iridor! Messenger to Lyana!” Lazar shook his head. “And your connection to Anais real—we know that now. It can’t be coincidence.” He made a sound of disgust as he banged the tree trunk with his open hand. “I feel as though we’re pieces in some grand game, being manipulated toward some final goal.” Pez nodded. “I feel the same way, Lazar. I used to think I had complete control of myself and my life; the deception of madness was all part of that control. But ever since Ellyana appeared to me and saw through my clever disguise, I’ve felt as though someone else is orchestrating things.” It was Lazar’s turn to nod. “Ellyana knows,” he said sagely. “She just didn’t bother telling us before she vanished.” He sat down again. “What news from the city?”

“Plenty. It’s why I’m here unexpectedly.”

“So, tell me.”

“Who first?”

“Ana.”

No surprises with that answer. Pez had promised himself he would be honest. “She’s more beautiful and graceful than ever. She’s also still filled with sorrow. She can’t move past the notion that she is to blame for your death. It’s getting worse rather than better. It is unbearable to be around her, I have to tell you.

A year on and none of her grief has eased.”

Lazar looked at Pez sharply. “You did not—”

“No, I didn’t!” Pez replied. “Though I have to say: one moment I wonder why we are keeping this charade going, and the next agonizing over what it will do to her to discover that you aren’t dead.” Lazar looked pained and Pez could tell the former Spur was as uncertain about this decision as he himself felt. “Hopefully she will never learn the truth. Ellyana wanted to preserve the secret.”

“Ellyana wanted a lot of things but she gave us no reasons for any of it,” Pez returned caustically. “Why is Ellyana in charge of us? Why does she still orchestrate us? She’s not even here.”

“Pez, you yourself admit that she was touched by a powerful magic. Don’t you remember saying that to me?” The dwarf grimaced and kept a grumpy silence. “Well, do you?” Lazar prompted.

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Pez relented. “I do.”

“Then you and she are inextricably tied—you both possess enchantment. I’ve seen her abilities with my own eyes. She was definitely the same woman that Ana and I met in the market that first night in Percheron. And I maintain that my eyes did not deceive me: I bought Ana a simple gold chain. But when Ellyana handed it to Ana it had turned into an image of Iridor. You tell us she visited you in the harem, one moment an old crone, the next a fresh-faced young woman.”

“All true.”

“And now you have a new and happy knack of transforming yourself into an owl and I believe it as though it’s the most normal thing in my day.”

“Magnificent, aren’t I,” Pez said.

“Annoying as well,” Lazar said.

“There’s nothing normal about your days,” Pez retaliated sulkily.

Lazar ignored Pez’s gripe. “As I was saying, I have no doubt that you and she are linked. And then Zafira and myself are linked through both of you. We’re the pieces in Ellyana’s game, you might say.” Pez nodded in agreement, his heavy brow creased in thought. “There is another.”

“Another pawn?” Lazar asked, and Pez nodded. “Who?”

“I don’t know, but I feel him. I also feel that he’s more than a mere pawn.”

“Him?”

Pez shrugged. He wasn’t ready to discuss this. “I think it’s a him. When I was talking with Boaz after Kett’s unfortunate capture, I felt a disruption in the Lore. Someone was eavesdropping on our conversation and that person was not around in the flesh.”

“More magic?” Lazar asked, gawping.

Pez nodded. “I believe so.”

“What did you do?”

“Took instant precaution. Fortunately my ‘madness’ is my best protection and of course Boaz is used to me suddenly acting the lunatic. I wrote him a note telling him to hold his tongue, that we were being listened to.”

Lazar’s eyes widened as he made the leap. “You told Boaz about the Lore.”

“I had to—he wasn’t going to let me get away with the shepherding trick without an explanation. But although he might have forgotten my caution over the eavesdropper, I haven’t.” Lazar sighed. “Who do you think it was? Is there someone else in the palace with the Lore, or some sort Page 41

of power? Either be direct or stop alluding to a threat I don’t understand.”

“I’ll stop, then,” Pez said, frowning. “I’m not ready to say more until I myself understand more.” He gave Lazar a look begging for his trust. “Suffice to say, his name is Maliz.” Now Lazar looked incredulous. “From the ancient myths? The one who turned Beloch and Ezram to stone? Lyana’s nemesis?”

The dwarf nodded unhappily.

“You thinkhe was watching you?”

“I told you, I don’t know!”

Lazar shook his head, obviously confused. “All the more reason to trust Ellyana perhaps,” he said slowly. “She seems to be the only one who can see the whole picture. She was firm about not letting Ana know that I was still alive. She obviously thought even Jumo couldn’t know about any of this, which probably explains his disappearance,” he said, scratching his newly golden hair.

Time for truth, Pez reminded himself. “Lazar, I do know something about Jumo,” he said, feeling awkward, but at the look of hope on Lazar’s face he decided to wait till the end of the conversation to say anything. Lazar probably wouldn’t speak to him once he found out what Pez knew. “But let’s finish my report first.”

Lazar looked anxious to hear about his former manservant but nodded. “I will remind you of Jumo, though.”

“I’m sure you will. Ana has had a meeting with the Valide.” At this, the former Spur looked back at his short friend sharply.

Pez told him everything that Ana had told him.

“Herezah’s plotting something,” Lazar stated firmly.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“You have to find out what.”

“I intend to.”

“How?”

“That’s my concern. I came here today to tell you that Ana is vulnerable and her weakness for you is not helping her be strong when she needs to be. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you what an odalisque is required to do should the Zar’s eyes fall favorably upon her?” Lazar scowled. “No, you certainly don’t.”

“Well, that time is rapidly approaching, Lazar. And I can’t change that—Lore or not.” Page 42

“I don’t expect you to.”

“Oh no? Well, why do you lose hours staring at the palace, or—”

“Don’t, Pez,” Lazar warned.

The dwarf heeded the warning. “Lazar, you know Boaz is going to choose her!”

“And there’s nothing I can do about it,” Lazar roared, “so why keep rubbing it in my face!” Pez opened his mouth to protest that this was the first time he had mentioned it. But he knew full well that Lazar probably thought about little else. “Forgive me,” he said instead.

Lazar stood and walked away a few paces, his emotions visibly raw. “She was his from the moment I paid forty karels to her grasping mother,” he groaned. “She was always going to be his,” he added softly.

“But she is also part of this ‘game.’”

“Because Ellyana singled her out with the owl statue.”

“That as well, but I think it was the other way around, actually, I can’t shake the knowledge that I was drawn to the power that Ana gives off long before I even knew of her existence. And now that I do know her, I can feel it emanating from her when I’m around her. I believe Ana chose Ellyana; Ana is the power, not Ellyana.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because whenever I hold Ana’s hand or inadvertently touch her, I feel a thrum of some sort of powerful force pass through me. I don’t think she’s aware of it. She recognizes nothing in me as far as I can tell, so it appears we are not sharing our secrets.”

“But it’s not the Lore that she has?”

“Definitely not. I wouldn’t even term it magic. It is a force all of its own and I can’t access it. I’ve tried.

All I can do is sense its presence.”

“A bit like you sense the ‘him’ you spoke of?” Lazar reminded him.

At his friend’s words Pez suddenly realized the link he had been missing. “Of course! I’m so stupid,” he exclaimed, hopping around with excitement. “That’s it, that’s precisely it, Lazar!” The former Spur had to smile at his friend’s antics. “Nice jig, Pez. Are you going to explain?”

“I’m not sure I can. But I’ll try.”

But before he could speak further, Zafira hobbled out of the shadows.

“Forgive me, gentlemen. I came to offer quishtar.”

At the intrusion of the priestess, Pez remembered the urgency of his return to the palace. “I don’t have time, Zafira, but thank you. The Zar has not seen me in many days and he will begin to question my Page 43

absence. Although it is very hard to refuse your quishtar.” She smiled and nodded.

“What about Jumo?” Lazar asked.

“We have much to discuss. I will do my best to visit often now that I know you are well enough to see me at length, but for now I must go.” He grinned apologetically, but his mind had already fled to the danger waiting for him. “Forgive me,” he murmured distractedly to them both.

6

The Zar had invited the Valide to meet the young men being presented. He explained, “They are primarily for my protection, Mother, but I would like to put them at your service as well.” Herezah felt a stab of joy. So her son hadn’t forgotten her. “Me?” she said, infusing her voice with innocence.

“Of course. Mother to the Zar? I cannot have you under any threat.” Now the Valide smiled at her son. “Thank you, Boaz, although I cannot imagine any danger to me within the harem.”

“It’s Tariq to whom we owe gratitude,” Boaz admitted, and Herezah’s joy turned sour.

“Oh?”

“This is his idea. He wants all-day, all-night protection for me. He suggested this morning that you should be included in this special ring of security.”

“I see,” Herezah said, trying to disguise the chill in her tone with a forced smile. “I must thank him. Is there a threat we should be concerned about?”

Boaz reached for one of the huge redberries piled on a silver platter. He dipped it into the glistening bowl of honey nearby before putting the fruit into his mouth. Finally he answered. “No, I don’t believe so. Tariq just wants to ensure that we tighten up our security in general.”

“Why? What does he fear?”

“Well,” Boaz began, licking his lips free of the sticky honey, “he feels that the Crown of Percheron has never been more vulnerable. Our enemies might think now is a good time to take advantage of a new Zar, a young one.”

“He is right in principle. But who does he believe might make such a move?”

“The Galinseans, I suspect, although he’s not coming out and saying as much.” Herezah arched her eyebrows. “Perhaps Ana is right,” she murmured.

“Pardon?”

“Oh, nothing, my beloved. One of our odalisques wants to learn Galinsean. I was surprised to hear it but perhaps she has a point. A translator—now that Lazar is no longer with us—may be valuable.” Page 44

Boaz gave a snort. “Are you talking about Ana?”

Herezah bristled at the familiarity. “The odalisque known as Ana, yes.” Her son laughed again. “She speaks Galinsean with ease. Her command of it is amazing, and what she speaks sounds very different from the Galinsean I know. She says it is more a pidgin version used by foreigners, but I suspect she’s being diplomatic.”

Herezah pursed her lips before replying, calming her rising irritation, knowing that time with the Zar was precious and should not be spent in snarls. She felt as though she were living her early life all over again, waiting for the Zar’s favor to fall upon her. Except this time it was wrong. This Zar was her son! She was the Valide, the most powerful woman in Percheron. She should be ruling, not discussing boating trips for the harem! Forcing herself to maintain her serene expression, Herezah said merely, “She did say she had begun to teach herself.”

The Zar was eating another redberry. He chuckled as he chewed, irritating her still more. “Well, I’m hazarding she speaks courtly Galinsean as though it’s her mother tongue, and now she’s moved on to mastering it at the colloquial level.”

“Has she indeed? And how do you know this, Boaz?”

“I’ve spoken to her about it. She used to practice now and then with me, but, as I say, I became useless to her after a while. She has found a new teacher, one of the slaves, a Merlinean.”

“You seem on very friendly terms with Odalisque Ana?” Herezah probed. “I should tell you that I approve. I met with Ana yesterday to discuss her taking a more leading role in harem life. She has a fine mind and an innate knack for leadership. I shall reward her if she rewards me with honesty and trust,” Herezah added, keen to ensure he understood that the harem was her seat of power.

She could tell Boaz hadn’t expected her to take such a forceful position, could see by his hesitation that he wasn’t sure how to respond. “I intend to be on very friendly terms with all in the harem, Mother. You know I am relaxing some of the more archaic rules.”

“I’d heard.”

Boaz gave a sly sneer. “I imagine Salmeo shares everything.” Herezah felt her back stiffen. She would not to be treated with disdain by her own child. “Need I remind you that that’s his role, my son? He and I run the harem.”

“No, you don’t need to remind me,” Boaz replied, glowering now. “But perhaps I should remind you that he is the same man who taunted and persecuted you for a great deal of your life. And as you’ve told me often enough, the same man—if you can call him that—who tested your virginity at eight years old and then viciously destroyed it at barely thirteen, no doubt smiling that gap-toothed grin of his the whole time. Perhaps I don’t understand women well enough yet, but it strikes me that all of this might leave a lasting memory on someone like you, who bears grudges.”

Herezah’s fury had gathered during this tirade. She knew her son hated Salmeo, having lived under his rule for so many years of his childhood, and she knew that Boaz would not forget her own endless nights of weeping at Salmeo’s harshness. But she would not let him turn his years of hate for the eunuch on her, Page 45

use it as weapon against her. She had worked too hard for Boaz to have this position and status, which he now enjoyed because of her alone.

Her voice, when it came, was icy. “Salmeo did for your father, Boaz, precisely what he will do for you.

And I am the one thing standing between his sharp fingernail and Odalisque Ana’s virginity. When the time comes—and it will, my son, trust me—and I see in your eyes that she will be your first choice—when that time comes, it will be only because of me that Salmeo will be forced to be gentle. I would counsel you on taking a less disdainful approach with the chief eunuch and a less authoritarian approach with me. I am your mother. I demand respect.”

At this Herezah rose, bowed low and elegantly to her Zar, and took her leave.

BOAZ WAS STILL STUNNEDby the reprimand. It made him feel like a child again, and reminded him that when his mother was cornered she was at her most dangerous. He had to admit she was dazzling, and he could once again appreciate why his father had been so smitten by her.

He was intrigued by her bringing up Ana; obviously something was playing on her mind. Her suggestion that Ana would make a good Favorite made him smile inwardly. Having seen his mother’s reaction to Ana from the moment she met her, it was obvious to Boaz that Ana was—and always had been—a prime choice in her mind. In truth this pleased him. He had even gone so far as to inquire of Ana whether his mother had had much to do with her, and Ana had surprised him with the news that she had barely glimpsed the Valide in the past few moons. He had expected Ana to be under his mother’s watchful eye constantly.

However, the Valide’s distance didn’t necessarily mean that Ana was not being observed. Herezah and Salmeo were more than capable of subtly and effortlessly spying on someone as naive as Ana. And yet his mother’s surprise at Ana’s education in Galinsean was genuine. The Valide’s offer to reward Ana in return for her loyalty was also suspect, for Herezah’s motivations were never so simple. There would be more to this move of his mother’s, he was sure. And yet…Herezah’s praise of Ana was reassuring. Boaz wanted his mother to get on well with her. They’d had a rocky start with Ana’s escape from the harem—and then all the business with Lazar! But that seemed to be behind them, Boaz decided. If his mother was making an attempt to forge a relationship with Ana, that could only be a good thing…for the harem, for himself, and indeed for the Crown. Boaz had every intention of making Ana his Favorite.

Every time he saw her, each opportunity he had to talk with her, and whenever he dined with the girls, as he tried to at least each new moon, his interest in her grew.

She was always courteous and gracious around the other girls, making sure as many as she could involve were brought into their discussions. But on the rare occasions that he could speak with her privately, Ana impressed him even more. She was a marvelous mimic and could impersonate the voices and mannerisms of Salmeo—and even more dangerously the Valide—with hilarious precision. That she would risk sharing this with him warmed him.

He was glad that she seemed to adore Pez. The other girls, especially the younger ones, were a bit scared of the dwarf and his unusual looks. They laughed at him rather than with him, but Boaz could see that Ana, in contrast, cherished Pez. It occurred to him now, as he sat waiting for Tariq to appear, that Pez might have shared his secret of sanity with Ana. Boaz suddenly straightened, his brow creasing in thought. That was it! Of course! Ana surely had such a deep relationship with Pez because he’d shared his great jest with her. The Zar felt a prick of intense jealousy, but it subsided as he continued to think through the situation. If Pez had shared his secret, Boaz had all the more reason to get closer to Ana. Pez Page 46

trusted her as much as he trusted the Zar. That had to be worth something, Boaz reasoned.

And now that he was thinking of Pez: Where was the dwarf? Boaz had invited him to dine with him because it had been too many days since they’d seen each other. More importantly, he wished he was here now. Boaz summoned Bin, his personal assistant, to give instructions to find the dwarf. He knew Pez was used to disregarding official protocol, but this was unacceptable.

After nodding that he would find Pez immediately, Bin delivered his own message. “Zar Boaz, Grand Vizier Tariq has conveyed that he is ready to escort you to the Making of the Mutes.” Boaz felt his belly twist, answering the nagging fear that had been with him all morning and probably had been the reason for his baiting of his mother. His natural inclination was to avoid what was obviously going to be a horrific ordeal. And it would be so easy to just say no; he wouldn’t even have to give a reason. But Tariq and then Bin and undoubtedly the rest of the palace would hear about his cowardice.

And that would not do. He could all but hear his mother telling him he must attend.

Suddenly he wondered whether his mother would care to attend such a ghoulish event. Although he’d invited her to meet the men being presented, he hadn’t anticipated that she would want to be present for the actual ritual itself. But then again; her inclination was always toward the cruel—she would no doubt accept whether she was still seething or not. And with the invitation he could make amends for mocking her slightly today.

“Inform the Valide that a special event, the Making of the Mutes, is imminent, Bin,” he said, glad to note his voice was steady. “Invite her to join me if she cares to, but be sure she knows that the Zar will not be offended in the slightest if she chooses to decline. And find Pez.” Bin bowed. “I shall deliver the message before I find Pez, my Zar. The Elim will escort you to the chamber.”

“Which chamber?”

“Grand Vizier Tariq has chosen the Chamber of Silence, Majesty.”

“Appropriate,” Boaz murmured.

“Yes, he thought so too, Highness.” Bin bowed. “May I tell the Elim you are ready, my Zar?”

“I shall be ready when I’m ready,” Boaz replied sharply, unnerved by the threat of the upcoming blood and shrieks of Tariq’s showpiece. He could use some of Pez’s strengthening Lore magic right now.

Where was the dwarf? And furthermore, did he detect a high-handed tone in Bin’s voice? “They can wait.”

“My Zar, forgive me but—”

Boaz glared at the servant. “Begone, Bin. I’m not sure why you’re still here when I expressly asked you to deliver a message to the Valide.”

“I am gone, my Zar,” Bin said, very humbly. He bowed deeply as he withdrew.

As the door closed on Bin, the sound of clapping broke out behind Boaz. “All hail the Zar and his mighty power.”

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“Pez!” Boaz’s relief at seeing the dwarf was countered by his surging emotions. “Were you hiding?” The palace clown leaped nimbly down from the sill of the open window. “Absolutely not,” he said, sounding indignant.

“That’s a mighty fall beneath the window. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see you.” Pez’s voice was mild.

“I realize that,” Boaz said more pointedly. “But where were you that you could appear at my window so many shevels from the ground? Where were you that you could sneak up on me and eavesdrop on my private conversations?” Though his words were sharp, Boaz couldn’t stop picturing proud young men waiting to have their tongues torn out. And for some reason all he could think of was Lazar and hear his old friend sighing with regret that Boaz was maiming healthy Percherese in the archaic manner of the Zar’s forebears.

“Well, I can see I’m not welcome,” Pez grumbled, still not outwardly offended. “And there I was thinking you might have missed me.”

“Stop it, Pez. Were you using your Lore skills?”

Pez hesitated. His large forehead creased. “Are you upset about something, Boaz?” The dwarf ’s tone wasn’t patronizing, but the Zar chose to take it that way. “Don’t take that attitude with me, Pez. Remember your place. You may have the ear of the Zar, but you remain his servant, and servants should not miss luncheons with their royal.”

Pez looked at him with an expression Boaz struggled to read; it seemed to be a mixture of deep disappointment and shock. He watched with private regret as the small man gathered himself, cleared his throat. “My manner of arrival was just a jest, my Zar. A surprise,” he said, bowing, his hand touching his heart in the formal manner used for everything from salutations to apology in Percheron. “I’ve missed you,” he added with a slight tone of injury that sounded genuine to Boaz—as genuine as the swift attack that followed. “You don’t seem to really need my company these days, Highness, not now that you have your groveling Grand Vizier to play with.”

Boaz bristled. “You know he’s not groveling. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“I don’t know anything anymore, Highness, because you don’t include me. I deeply regret missing breaking bread with you. I’m sure the Vizier kept you company, though.”

“You’re not jealous, are you, Pez?” Boaz couldn’t help himself; his voice dripped sarcasm.

“Of Tariq?” Pez asked, sounding incredulous. “Now you jest, my Zar.” The dwarf ’s obvious hurt cut like a blade, and Boaz guiltily rushed to reassure his friend.

“I didn’t think so. There’s nothing to envy. He intrigues me, that’s all.”

“Is it?”

“Well, surely his chameleonlike changes fascinate you?”

Page 48

“In a different way from you, perhaps, my Zar,” Pez said, his expression still pained.

“How so?”

“You say you find him intriguing. Personally, I find him dangerous.” Boaz gave a snort of disbelief. “Dangerous? Tariq?”

Pez grew grave. He did not say anything but simply stared hard at the Zar.

Boaz filled the awkward silence. “But that’s ridiculous. Dangerous to whom?”

“I’m not sure…not yet.”

“You’re being paranoid. Who could Tariq endanger?”

“You, me, the Valide, your harem…do you want me to go on?” Boaz shook his head. Where did Pez get such nonsense? Annoyed, he filled his voice with sarcasm again. “He’s dangerous to my mother? Do explain.”

Pez didn’t hesitate. “Prior to your father’s death, who would you say aligned himself most closely with Herezah the Absolute Favorite?”

Boaz looked away momentarily, irritated to have led himself to this point.

“You asked me to explain, so I’m trying,” Pez said, his tone friendly as ever now.

Boaz sighed. “All right, it was Tariq.”

“Indeed. I think now the Valide would have to all but make an appointment to meet him face-to-face.”

“She’s in the harem. He can’t—”

“Don’t make excuses, my Zar. You know I’m right. And while he’s been curiously withdrawing from the Valide, he has invested that time ingratiating himself with you.”

“It is his task, his duty as Vizier.” Boaz heard the defensiveness in his tone and felt his temper stoke.

Pez shrugged. “I suppose so,” he said, and began humming to himself.

“You’re infuriating, Pez.”

“Oh, but that’s my task, my duty as your royal buffoon, my Zar,” Pez replied humorlessly, echoing the Zar’s earlier words.

Boaz helplessly heard his voice rise. “I won’t have you treat me like a child.” Pez rounded on him. “Then don’t act like one!”

Page 49

It was the first time in his life that Boaz had been scolded in such stern fashion by his friend. “How dare you,” he said, a voice as wintry as though it were coming from the Shagaire ice caps.

Whether Pez had intended such provocation or not, it seemed he wasn’t going to retract his insult. “I dare, my Zar, because I care about you.”

“Is this how you spoke to my father?” Boaz snarled.

“I had no need to.”

“And you will never have an opportunity to address me so again.” Pez nodded sadly. “Then Tariq has won, my Zar. Your father despised the Vizier…and for good reason.”

“Give me that reason!” Boaz bellowed.

Pez would not give him the satisfaction. “I shouldn’t have to. You should feel it as I do,” the dwarf accused.

Boaz pulled back as if stung. “Begone, dwarf. I’ll choose to surround myself with whomever I want.” But Pez wasn’t quite finished. “Yes, that’s why I fear for you, my Zar. You should dismiss him as your father always wanted to. You can, you know, because your reign is still young. Mark my words, Zar Boaz, you will regret it if you don’t. And now I am gone, Majesty.” Despite his awkward gait, the dwarf managed a noble air as he walked toward the door.

Boaz spoke to his childhood friend’s back. “I shall summon you should I ever want to see you again, Pez. Don’t visit me without invitation.”

Pez turned and their gazes met, then locked, before Pez dipped his glance in required deference to the Zar and removed himself fully from the chamber.

Boaz sat down heavily as the door closed. His heart was racing. He had never felt as lonely as he did just then with Pez’s words echoing in his mind.

PEZ FELT HOLLOW.THAT conversation certainly hadn’t gone according to plan. He had hoped to use the element of his surprise arrival to bluff his way through any question of his absence. But the Zar had seemed agitated when he arrived and Pez suspected his timing had been ill chosen. And now he no longer had the ear of the Zar—or his indulgence. For the first time in over two decades, he was vulnerable. And it was his own fault; he had brought it all upon himself.

He had traveled blindly since leaving Boaz’s chambers, his legs moving as if by memory rather than by present attention, but Pez found himself crossing the threshold of the harem and knew he would find comfort here.

She was sewing, a look of disgust on her face as she poked the tiny needle through her silk.

“Pez!” one of the other girls cried with delight, and it was obvious they were all looking for a distraction.

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The tutor’s pinched expression turned even more sour as Pez scratched at his crotch and belched. The class disintegrated into laughter, and the helpless tutor, unable by palace law to banish the clown, took her leave with a promise to return after the midday meal for more of the same.

“Let’s swim with the fishes,” Pez suggested, pretending to glide through make-believe water.

“We’re not allowed outside, Pez,” someone told him.

He looked to Ana, who was sucking at a finger she had pricked upon seeing him, and smiled. “We have to sew adequately first,” she agreed, sighing.

But already the class had broken up and girls were moving into groups, munching on the platters of fruit and confections a host of servants had delivered. Pez knew the garammala pipes would inevitably follow.

Pez glanced toward the food and back to Ana. It was an invitation she declined with a soft shake of her head. “You’re looking thin,” he whispered.

“And you’re looking miserable. What’s happened?”

He told her very briefly and watched as something akin to his own pain settled across her face. “With Boaz in this mood he might permit anything,” he concluded.

“Are you sure he has banished you?” she asked, referring to the Zar’s dismissal and warning.

“Quite. I could hardly mistake the finality of his words. I can only show my face if and when he summons me. Our friendship is over.”

“I don’t think so. Even the little I know of our Zar suggests he will think it through and regret the way the discussion went.”

“You may be right,” he whispered, moving to stand on his head and act out his part.

“Salmeo for sure will take every advantage of this new turn of events,” Ana said softly, frowning.

“And the Valide will relish any opportunity to return years of frustrating harassment with cruel interest,” he asserted, carefully watching that no one was paying them any attention.

“Oh, Pez. What are we going to do to help you?”

“I must lay low for a while, not be seen around too much. Forgive me if I disappear.”

“You can’t leave me.”

“I won’t, I promise. I’d better go now, but I’ll come tonight. Leave your window open.”

“My window?” she queried, watching him roll back to his feet and pull an ugly face at a girl passing by, who giggled. “I’m on the top floor.”

“Just do as I ask,” he said, winking before skipping out of the room.

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THE VALIDE SMILED ASshe took her seat in the Chamber of Silence. It had been so many years since she had been in this area of the palace that she had forgotten it existed. This was the chamber where she had been first presented as a newly purchased slave to the Valide Zara of the day, a stern, seemingly permanently scowling woman, who had fortunately lost her position soon after. Herezah pursed her lips as she recalled what had happened. The scowling Valide’s son, Zar Koriz, had died suddenly and with his death claimed his mother’s long-sought and powerful position. He had fallen prey to the feared bloatfish, which earned its name from the fact that it swelled grotesquely as it died in the fishing nets. Though it was considered a delicacy in Pecheron, it required very special handling to ensure that the liver was fully removed, for that organ contained some of the most powerful toxins known, and eating even the tiniest morsel of it meant certain death. Zar Koriz was a fine cook, and had prided himself on being skilled at cleaning and gutting this favorite fish with precision. He did just that after one of his regular fishing expeditions. These were days when no one dared even offer advice to the Zar unless asked, and although one of Koriz’s newest aides found the courage to suggest that it would be best to take the fish back to the palace, the Zar scoffed. He wanted to cook the fish on the banks of the Daramo, the swift-moving river that flowed into the Faranel. It was on these same shores that the aide lost his tongue for his trouble and the Zar lost his life. The poison was swift but not fast enough to prevent immense suffering as the vicious toxin gradually claimed every inch of his body with paralysis. By the time his shocked party got the Zar back into the city, all of his major organs had burst and he was bleeding from his nostrils, ears, mouth. He was dead before he could even be laid in his chamber.

This story had always stayed with Herezah, not so much because of its colorful details but because of this particular Zar. It amazed her that, despite this Zar’s predisposition to punish his servants mercilessly for something so innocent as trying to offer him protection, he nonetheless had a deep soft spot for his half brothers and had refused his mother’s pleas to execute them when he took the throne. Zar Koriz’s compassion for his siblings had worked in her favor, for his favorite brother was Joreb and it was Joreb who took the throne after Koriz’s death, his eyes still wet from weeping over his lost brother. Joreb’s mother had insisted upon tradition and the remaining half brothers had been swiftly dealt with.

The new Valide, however, chose not to dismantle the harem, for the girls were still young and new.

Joreb inherited his brother’s harem and with it came a precocious girl called Herezah.

She hadn’t been in this chamber since that fateful day when the old Valide’s stern gaze had fallen upon her. She had been chosen within seconds of that first glance, her fate sealed, although her destiny—like any woman of the harem—was her own to carve.

And carve it I did,she thought now, pride catching in her throat as she saw her son enter the room. He looked taller, more imposing, and there was more color in his cheeks. He also looked miserable, which Herezah presumed was fear of what he was about to witness.He was always a squeamish one, she thought as he bent to take her hand.

“Mother,” he acknowledged, kissing her hand.

She felt a shiver of delight. He was certainly making a show of affection. And to be invited to this private event! She was going to put this morning’s pointed discussion behind them. She had overreacted, she was sure. “Darling, I’m sorry about my mood earlier. Forgive me. And thank you for sharing this with me,” she said smoothly.

To her surprise, he waved away her apology as if it had not troubled him. “I can’t promise a fun afternoon, I’m afraid,” he said, falling heavily into his chair beside her. “This is duty, not my idea of Page 52

entertainment.”

Herezah was secretly pleased to know he continued to put duty ahead of his fears, but she knew better than to mention it. “Then where is your clingy clown? Surely your court jester should be here to provide that entertainment,” she replied lightly, and then, contriving concern, she looked to where the Grand Vizier stood patiently. “Tariq, where is the dwarf?”

The Vizier glided toward the royal couple and bowed. She hadn’t seen him in several weeks, and although she knew he was in his senior years, he looked more dashing than ever. His beard was neatly groomed, not oiled, and shorter now—no longer demanding to be noticed. It was also no longer the rich glossy black that the Tariq of old had insisted on achieving through dye. He had allowed the peppery gray to emerge, and to Herezah’s expert eye it looked far more distinguished. His neatly kempt hair was also now the same color. She approved.

He answered Boaz, not her. “I was told he left your chambers not so long ago, my Zar. Perhaps you know better than I do of his whereabouts,” he suggested, frowning.

Again Boaz waved away the concern as if it did not trouble him. “I know not of his location, Vizier.

Carry on,” he ordered.

Tariq bowed again and withdrew. A signal was given, and as a tray of refreshments was brought in for the royals, a small line of young men was led in through another door.

“Is something wrong, son?” Herezah inquired, distracted from the Vizier and intrigued by her child’s mood. Following her instincts, she continued. “Are you upset about Pez?” Boaz turned to her, and by the surprise she could see in his eyes, she knew she was right with her wild stab in the dark. “Has something happened to him?” She knew how much he cared for the dwarf. This would be the right initial question to pose—it showed the right element of care.

“No, he is well. He has drawn my ire, that’s all,” her son said casually.

“Oh?”

“That’s all,” he repeated, and she could tell from his tone that he would not be giving her any more on this subject. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t make it her business to learn more, but she had subtle methods for achieving that. The notion that Pez had finally displeased a Zar was too delicious a prospect; this day was certainly turning out well. Herezah patted her son’s arm, smiling inwardly, but deliberately and deftly changed the subject as she reached for a glass of bloodred pomegranate juice. Quite fitting a choice of beverage considering what was about to occur, she noted. “I haven’t been in this chamber since I was chosen for the Zar’s harem.”

Boaz sipped the drink in his hand. He was clearly distracted, showed no interest in her comment. She tried again. “So tell me more about the mute guard, Boaz.” He sat up straighter, presumably understanding now that he must appear more interested. “These men you see here,” he said, motioning with his goblet across her line of vision, “have been selected as my new private bodyguard.”

“Selected?”

“Volunteered first, then culled for suitability and finally interviewed by me as the final seal of approval.” Page 53

“And these fine young bloods are going to watch over you day and night? You mentioned that the Vizier was worried about some sort of attack.”

Boaz nodded. “These men are all trained in the fighting arts and can protect me. They have committed to memory a series of signals so we can communicate—they are all in perfect health.”

“I can see,” she said approvingly as the men stripped down to plain white baggy pants, revealing hardened, sculpted bodies, and knelt before the Zar. Herezah was reminded of the Spur in a similar stage of undress just a year ago. How that sight had brought a rush of blood to her cheeks…

Tariq cleared his throat and Herezah gave him her attention. “My Zar, Valide Zara,” he said, bowing graciously, “these men will protect you with their lives. And though they will always be close to you, my Zar, what they see will never be revealed.”

Boaz nodded. “Do you men all freely volunteer for this role?” Each man, with one exception, stood, bowed, and said the formal words “I do, my Zar. I give all of me.”

Boaz frowned at the last man, who, at a signal from the Grand Vizier, simply bowed and put his hand over his heart. Boaz glanced toward Tariq, who gave a smug, almost imperceptible nod.

The Zar took a slow deep breath before he gave the next command. “Let it be so,” he finally said.

“Proceed.”

Boaz and Herezah watched as each man’s head was shaved in ritual fashion while the Elim who were present chanted a song of farewell, similar to that sung prior to the eunuchs’ cutting.

Each was then given a tiny glass of a dark liquid to drink.

Tariq whispered nearby, “We wait a short while for that to take effect.”

“What is it?” Boaz asked.

“The dulling potion,” Herezah answered for Tariq. “It doesn’t prevent pain, but it puts the victim into an introverted mood, I’m told.”

Tariq nodded. “The Valide is absolutely correct. It takes the men within themselves. The physic who prepared this potion says it makes them feel safe, at peace.”

“That is considerate of you, Tariq,” Boaz commented, unused to any pity being shown during the more barbaric practices of Percheron.

Herezah’s and Tariq’s gazes met, sympathetic amusement in that shared glance.

It was Herezah who responded. “This is not done out of kindness, son,” she whispered. “It is given to these men to keep them still. A struggling man is a difficult one to control. Putting your volunteers into the soft stupor we speak of will ensure an easier time of it for the administrators.”

“I see,” Boaz replied, showing none of the disappointment he felt. “Mother, do you enjoy witnessing Page 54

events such as this?”

“No,” came the reply. “But I will never shirk my duty.”

“This is not your duty. I gave you the choice to attend or not attend. The decision was yours.” Herezah placed her manicured hand lightly against his arm. “I understood the nature of your invitation. I do not feel compelled to be part of the grisly process of making a team of mutes. I do, however, see it as my duty to stand by my Zar, to support him in all of his endeavors, to help bear the burden of some of the less pleasant tasks, and to share his pleasure at his successes. What you do today is unpleasant but important, Boaz. I know that you like beauty—in this you are your father all over again,” she said, smiling softly, “and that is why I’m here, to be at your side through the uglier challenges of your role.” Boaz was once again struck by his mother’s strength. And now she was using it to help him instead of herself. All of his life his mother had used him to elevate herself, but perhaps now that she’d attained the role of Valide—something she had dreamed of since arriving at the palace, probably—she could give her attentions for selfless reasons. He wondered what Pez would say about that. Their final conversation stabbed constantly like a knife in his back.

“Thank you, Mother,” he said. And meant it.

The Grand Vizier spoke up. “My Zar, Valide, we will now begin the Making of the Mutes. May I proceed? I must warn it is…messy.”

“Proceed,” Boaz said, knowing there was no way back now.

They watched as the physic in charge of proceedings, who was one of the Elim, blindfolded each of the men, except the last one, the man who had not sworn his life to the Zar.

“Who is that fellow?” Boaz inquired of Tariq. “I have not met him.”

“No, Majesty, you have not. But I will explain him shortly. Right now the men are being blindfolded because it is believed that the Elim performing the maiming must not see the suffering in the eyes of each victim. It is considered bad luck.”

“Such a superstitious lot, the Elim,” Herezah interjected. “They don’t seem too worried by what is perpetrated on the women of the harem.”

Tariq ignored that comment, nodding at the Elim, who caught his gaze.

The first man was held, his arms pinned from behind.

“I can see now how the potion makes them compliant,” Boaz whispered to his mother.

He watched as the Elim physic encouraged the man to open his mouth. Pincers pulled at the victim’s tongue and within a heartbeat the bulk of the tongue had been cut off with a single slice of a keen blade.

To prevent fatal blood loss the stump was immediately cauterized with a glowing brand. The man fainted, groaning, but to Boaz’s relief there was no screaming or struggle.

“They will wait for him to recover before performing the deafening,” Tariq explained.

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“Surely it would be more merciful to do it whilst he is unconscious?” Boaz inquired.

“But it would be considered cowardly,” Tariq followed up quickly. “This is about bravery and duty, Majesty. I know you wish for this to be easy on the men who give themselves so freely. But the maiming is all part of the test of their commitment. That’s why they do not scream.” The blindfold was removed and a cold linen was placed on the man’s face to revive him. As soon as his eyes fluttered open, though he was clearly dazed by the pain, he was quickly restored to his knees and once again held securely, this time by two strong Elim. The physic reached for a vicious-looking needle and Boaz prayed to Zarab that he would not let himself down by looking away. He fixed his gaze somewhere slightly beyond the action whilst not giving away that he wasn’t actually looking and then he told himself to think of something beautiful.

Ana came to mind—no surprise there. He saw the stabbing movement and resisted the urge to gag as a small, sharp spume of blood hit the physic’s belly. Instead he thought only of Ana’s face, Ana’s hair, Ana’s newly voluptuous body. And as the physic pierced the other eardrum of the brave warrior, this time to the sound of a guttural growl of pain, Boaz turned himself over fully to the daydream of how it might be to lie with Ana, naked.

He imagined caressing her body, taking his own pleasure from it. He saw himself lying back, lifting her onto his hips, urging her despite her shyness to lower herself so he could slide deep within her. Ignoring the fact that he, too, was a virgin, Boaz envisaged himself as a skilled but gentle lover. As Ana instinctively began to rotate her pelvis, Boaz closed his eyes to enjoy the dream’s climax. Suddenly his mother’s voice disturbed him.

“Darling?”

It sounded to Boaz from the slightly strained tone that this was not the first time she had said the word.

“Yes,” he said, grudgingly releasing himself from Ana’s spell. As he refocused he saw that all the men bar one had ruined, bloodied mouths and running ears. Most were slumped on the floor, propped against the legs of an Elim so that they might retain a modicum of dignity after their trauma.

“Where were you, my love?” Herezah asked.

The smell of blood was thick in the room. Boaz suspected she knew he had somehow vanished in spirit, if not in body, from the terrible maiming ritual. “I was thinking,” he said curtly. “We are done, Grand Vizier?”

One fellow began to wail. The Vizier cleared his throat. “That one might not turn out to be as suitable as we’d hoped. Yes, we have completed the maiming, Majesty.”

THE MAIMED WARRIORS WEREhelped away, leaving one whole man in the room.

“And this last warrior?” Boaz asked.

“My great pride, Highness,” the Vizier replied, unable to disguise the smug tone. He snapped his fingers and one of the Elim brought over the young warrior, whose gaze was fixed on the intricately patterned tiled floor. The slave knelt.

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Maliz looked at the young man with pride. It was all about this one youth, the reason for the whole campaign to install a ring of guardians around the Zar.

“This is Salazin, my Zar. He is the inspiration for this new personal protectorate you now have. I discovered him not so long ago. He is an orphan who learned to tough things out the hardest possible way, Majesty, for Salazin was made deaf and dumb from an early age by an unfortunate illness.”

“Ah,” Boaz said, nodding. “He needs no maiming.”

“He is perfect, Majesty, for Zarab made him this way.”

“And Zarab led you to him, Tariq?” Herezah asked, with a note of irony not missed by the Vizier.

“I like to think so, Valide,” he said, and smiled privately at how close to the truth he spoke. Zarab had surely led him to Salazin, for Salazin, he hoped, would lead him to Iridor.

“How did you come across him?” Boaz asked.

“I was giving alms to some of the orphanages, my Zar, as you have requested. He was from one of the city establishments.”

“Not the one you aim to close?” Boaz asked mildly.

“As a matter of fact, yes, Majesty. I paid the orphanage a visit to consider how we would dismantle it, find new housing for its”—he searched for the word, found it—“guests. I needed to consider what would happen to the sisterhood who cares for these youngsters.”

“Where is this place we speak of?” Herezah inquired.

Boaz looked at his mother, his glare defying her to make a fuss. “I have promised the Grand Vizier his own villa overlooking the Faranel. He has taken a liking to an orphanage, and although I’m yet to make a final decision, I have given him permission to consider how he will rehouse the present occupants.”

“Are you talking about the Widows’ Enclave?” Herezah asked, frowning.

“I think it used to go by that name, yes, Valide,” Maliz answered without hesitation.

“But that’s for army families,” Herezah protested.

“Originally, yes,” Maliz said patiently. “But we have not had war in living memory and so now only a few families of the unlucky injured or killed army members live there. The building no longer serves its original purpose, Valide. It’s a huge place for so few people.”

“But not so huge for one, presumably,” Herezah replied tartly. “My Zar, with your indulgence, I might return to my chambers now. Again, my thanks for including me in this special ritual.” She bowed, then glanced somewhat angrily toward Maliz before turning back to her son. “Perhaps you’ll take supper with me sometime soon.”

Boaz stood and helped the Valide to do the same. “I shall look forward to it, Mother,” he said.

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Maliz signaled and two of the Elim were instantly at Herezah’s side to escort her back to the harem. She rehooked her veil across her face dutifully, as she was now leaving the company of the Zar, and elegantly glided out of the room between her burly companions.

Boaz sighed. “The Valide does not approve of your plan, clearly.” Maliz kept his counsel on that subject, schooling Tariq’s features so the Zar could not gauge just how much he wanted that villa. He smoothly changed the subject, gilding the truth as he did so. “Salazin was one of the oldest in the orphanage. I gather from the sisterhood that he has no known living relatives. He has only known silence since an illness claimed his hearing during childhood, I’m told. He makes no sound at all, my Zar. His deafness is profound.”

“No sound at all?” Boaz repeated, incredulous. “You have tested him?” A sly smile crept across the Vizier’s mouth. “I had to, to be sure. I will not go into the detail of it, Majesty, but rest assured that this young man cannot hear and he cannot talk,” He gestured at Salazin.

“He will see but he cannot listen in to anything you say, nor can he repeat what his eyes show him.”

“So he cannot write what he sees either?” Boaz inquired.

Maliz nodded, reinforcing his lie. “The sisterhood confirms he is illiterate, which is understandable considering his afflictions.”

“The perfect mute, in other words,” Boaz commented, returning his attention to the bent head of his new protector.

Maliz nodded. “Indeed, Highness. He is also the strongest of the warriors here, by far the most adept with weapons and with fists.”

“His age?”

“From what I can tell, he is around nineteen summers.”

“Let him stand,” Boaz commanded. An Elim raised the young man to his feet. Boaz reached to lift the man’s chin and looked into his clear gray eyes. “How will he know what is wanted of him?”

“The sisterhood have their own methods of communicating with him,” Maliz said. “I have been taught its use.” He smiled. “They had no choice but to teach me and now I have schooled all these young men.

You, too, can learn it, Majesty. As for this one, he fully understands his role to protect you with his life, my Zar.”

“If he has no family to give money to, what is his reward for offering his life to me?” Boaz queried. “The others are presumably volunteering because they can offer their families security through the generous gold I presume you have offered.”

Maliz bowed his head gently. “I did as instructed, my Zar. Each man has been so handsomely rewarded that his family is now well set up for the future. As for Salazin, I cannot say what motivates this one,” he lied. “Except to say that he wishes to serve the Zar. As you sit on your throne by Zarab’s design, Highness. He sees you as our god’s mortal incarnation.”

“Really? But he was raised by the priestesses—I would have thought—” Page 58

“No, Highness. He despises them, I gather. They are as glad to get him off their hands as he is to leave their care.”

“But without them surely he would have perished as a child?”

“I imagine so,” Maliz said airily, as if this were a trivial matter. “It doesn’t make him like them. He is a man of Zarab through and through. That is why he leaped at the opportunity to serve you.”

“He is that committed?”

“Oh yes,” Maliz replied, serious now. “But he is not the only one. I must admit I believe Zarab’s hand guided your father in his choice of heir. Most Percherese would feel the same.”

“I understand tradition, Tariq. I just find it hard to believe that today’s thinking still holds true to this belief.”

Maliz was astounded. He had not taken into account how protected and thus ignorant the royals had become. “My Zar, with your indulgence, I might suggest that your life is too sheltered. We must rectify this.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, Majesty. We should let you meet some more of your people so that you may know how close to Zarab they truly believe you are. You are answerable only to our god—surely you know that?” Boaz nodded. “King of Kings, Mightiest of the Mighties,” he said wearily.

“Salazin has been raised in a cloistered environment, so his faith is strong. To him you are the embodiment of Zarab himself.”

“It strikes me as odd, Tariq, that the sisterhood would raise a child to believe so strongly in Zarab, when they themselves worship Lyana.”

Maliz quickly stifled the anger the mention of her name roused in him.

“I mean,” Boaz continued thoughtfully, “the Goddess is everything to them, even though her time is long past.”

“Majesty,” Maliz began carefully. “The sisterhood knows that the very existence of the orphanage is due to the indulgence of the Zar. Their time is long gone. They may not subscribe to the belief, but they certainly understand that, outside of their few remaining numbers, Percheron worships Zarab. They would have no housing, no sustenance for themselves or the families they care for, if not for the Zar’s benevolence. They appreciate that these children need to be raised in the Percherese manner, despite the faith they privately practice.”

“You’re saying this is their work, nothing to do with faith.” Maliz nodded. “That’s a reasonable way of putting it, Majesty, although I might term it as their vocation.

Their faith is sadly misplaced but it is also private. We tolerate their silent beliefs and they are allowed to pursue their vocation in caring for the sick, the lonely, the needy, the desperate, the orphaned, and so on, Page 59

which the royal coffers make possible.”

“And I am very happy to continue providing,” Boaz replied firmly. “I gave a promise to a sister once that I would care for the temple and I have no intention of breaking my word.” Maliz bristled beneath the calm exterior of Grand Vizier Tariq. It galled him that any Zar would offer any form of protection to the hateful sisters of the Goddess. “Nor would any of us expect you to, Majesty,” he said, affecting a soft tone of injury. “All I am saying is that their beliefs remain private. They are not in a position to convert disciples to their broken faith, Majesty. They serve Percheron by caring for those in need.”

Boaz looked again at the still figure of Salazin. The man had not moved, not so much as blinked, in the time they had talked over and around him, and about him. “Your plan for Salazin?”

“He is the most complete of all the warriors we have chosen, Majesty. I would make him your most personal of all the servants. My desire is that he protect you every hour, every minute, of the day. Whilst you go about your day, he will be your shadow. And at night, my Zar, whilst you sleep, he will watch over you.”

“When does he sleep?” Boaz asked facetiously. “And when I wish to have time alone?”

“I would not advise it, Highness.”

“Is that so?” Boaz asked, amusement in his voice as he stepped down from his podium and stretched.

“Well, Tariq, I can assure you that there will be occasions when I demand privacy that not even a deaf and dumb man can provide. As you’ve rightly pointed out, he still sees.” Maliz caught on swiftly. “Of course,” he said, bowing his tall frame in gentle apology. “In which case, my Zar, Salazin will be directed to search the chamber first before waiting just outside.” Boaz nodded. “Let him rest, get acquainted with the palace. When does this begin?”

“Immediately, my Zar. The others will need to heal, but Salazin will take up his duties from this evening, with your permission.”

“As you choose, Vizier,” Boaz said. “And now I need to take some air…alone.” Maliz bowed, as did the mute warrior, remaining prostrate until the Zar had departed. When the two men were alone Maliz beckoned to Salazin, who followed him to a small room attached to the main chamber.

The demon signed:I lied about your ability to read and write.

The mute nodded.

Maliz continued:The game has begun. You report to me on everything .Everything! His moods, who he sees, whatever he does, I want to know about it.

Salazin smiled.

More importantly—far more important than the Zar, in fact—I want to know everything about the dwarf Page 60

named Pez.

Salazin answered:It will be done, master.

Maliz nodded slowly. The mute would, he was sure, deliver Iridor. He was convinced he could sense the aura of Iridor hovering nearby the Zar. He had no idea yet who it could be, but he could not dismiss it. His instincts kept bringing him back to the dwarf. Maliz knew Iridor was far too wily to be the half-wit he knew Pez to be and yet…once, during his freedom—before he had cast out Tariq’s soul—he had felt Iridor’s presence strongly, and to his greater shock, he thought he had also felt the presence of the Lore.

He had tried to lock onto it but it had disappeared instantly and he had not been able to trace it back to the person wielding it. And Pez had acted strangely in Boaz’s presence when both Maliz and Tariq had been watching the young Zar. Yet Maliz knew this theory had no real substance. Well, now Salazin would spy constantly, and if Pez was indeed Iridor, the demon could destroy him—and by turn the Goddess, whoever she was—before she had even the chance to rise again.

Maliz’s smile turned nasty. He patted Salazin on the arm and signed:Tonight you begin your life’s most important task for Zarab.

7

Ana now shared a sleeping chamber with only one other girl. History had shown that youngsters put into one main chamber tended to achieve nothing other than a lack of sleep. And although tradition had it that older women preferred congregating together for sleeping, many of the odalisques in this harem were still children. Even most of the older ones remained immature and giggly, with years of growing up to do before they could be considered sedate members of the harem.

Ana and her chamber companion and only friend, Sascha, were the most composed girls and Salmeo hoped they would lead the other odalisques by example. Sascha, a shy, intelligent young woman, was not well this evening. Ana had guided Sascha, who had been bent double with an ache in her belly, to find one of the Elim to take her to the harem’s infirmary. The strong Elim carried the ailing girl away and Ana conveniently found herself alone this night.

She toyed with the idea of going for a stroll—now that almost a year had passed, the girls were free to move around certain areas of the harem without censure—but couldn’t risk not being in her chamber when Pez came as promised, so she remained in her chamber, staring out of the open shutters at the bright moonlight. Her lids grew heavy, though, and ultimately she drifted off.

Ana’s peaceful slumber was disturbed by what sounded, to her drowsy mind, like flapping. When she rubbed some of the sleep from her eyes, she realized she was staring at a magnificent snow owl, who was regarding her intently from her window sill.

She was surprised into silence, and awed by the majesty of the creature. Moving as slowly as she dared, Ana brought her feet to rest on the floor and then gradually stood, her gaze never leaving the owl, who remained so still it could have been a statue.

It was that notion that startled her and made her whisper a single word. “Iridor,” she breathed dreamily.

Before she could approach the owl, it changed before her sleepy eyes. She blinked, confused. Standing before her was Pez.

Rubbing her eyes agin, Ana laughed softly as she yawned. “I…I was dreaming, Pez. I thought you were Page 61

an owl. You were so beautiful.”

“Was I? Good evening, Ana.”

“You were Iridor—do you know who he is?”

“He is the messenger of Lyana, the loyal companion of the Goddess.”

“That’s right. You know your folklore.”

“It’s not folklore.”

“That makes it truth,” she said jauntily, as though this was going to be one of their fun conversations.

Pez was in a more somber frame of mind. “That’s right. It’s why I’m here tonight. We have things to discuss, child.”

She grew more serious, sensing his mood. She reached for a gown to throw over her bare shoulders.

“You left abruptly today. How are you feeling, Pez?”

He shook his head. “I’m feeling sad. I made an error today with the Zar and we can’t afford to do that.”

“We?”

“Ana…what you saw just now…” His voice trailed off.

“The owl?”

“Iridor,” he confirmed. “Thatwas me. I am him.”

Ana stared at the dwarf, her eyes huge in the moonlit darkness. For a long time she remained silent, her thoughts racing. Finally she responded. “And Ellyana the crone?” Before Pez could speak, she answered her own question, the words coming from her mouth before she knew what she was going to say. “The crone forewarns the coming of the Goddess. But it begins with the rising of Iridor. The owl aligns himself with the woman who will be Lyana’s incarnation for the next battle…” She trailed off, looking fearfully at Pez.

“How do you know that, Ana?” her friend asked gently, a shade of—was it fear?—in his voice.

“I don’t know how,” she replied slowly. “I just know it. Like I know other things.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the names of the stone statues of Percheron. All of them.”

“They all originally served Lyana—do you know that?”

She nodded slowly. Feeling a tightness in her belly. Deep inside, she had known her knowledge made her different. She had tried to put it aside, deny it. Numbly, she listened as Pez began a story she already knew.

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“They were real once, Ana. Beloch and Ezram once roamed Percheron. Likewise the winged lions, Crendel and Darso, as well as the mightiest of them all, Shakar, the dragon. They all loved and served the Goddess.”

“They were turned to stone by Zarab. She had no magic to counter his spell. He used a special magic, not of the gods.”

Pez nodded, excitement on his face. “That’s right. Someone helped him. A mortal.”

“Maliz,” she answered instantly, looking directly at Pez. “He made a deal with the god: if he was granted immortality, he would deliver Lyana.”

“Go on,” her friend urged.

“The bargain was struck,” she continued. “Maliz, a sorcerer, was given everlasting life in order that he might rise each time the Goddess tries to reclaim her mortal following. Maliz returns time and again and each time he has won…but this time it may be different.”

“Why is this time different?” Pez’s words were gentle, hushed, as though he did not want to disturb her momentum. He couldn’t have; Ana herself could barely stem the flow of words.

“The factors are the same. The crone identifies the new Iridor long before he rises. Maliz, who slumbers in any body he can claim, reawakens with the freedom as a spirit to roam until he senses where Iridor will rise. He never knows who will take Iridor’s form—nor does Iridor know Maliz. They have to find each other. Maliz chooses his next mortal body with care. It is the one he must live in and use to destroy Lyana.” She paused but at Pez’s silent nodding carried on with her story. “When Iridor finally assumes his role, it triggers the rising of Lyana, whose spirit emerges through a mortal.”

“And so the principal players are complete,” Pez said in conclusion.

“Not this time,” she stated. “For this battle there is a newcomer.”

“Who?” Pez asked eagerly.

She shivered. “I don’t know. I have no sense of name, or whether it is a woman or a man. I don’t even know their purpose—only that their role will immeasurably change the fabric of the struggle.” Pez nodded slowly. “And so we know that Ellyana is the crone who began all of this. She recognized me. She came into the harem, masquerading as a bundle woman, some time ago, Ana. She told me to work out who I was. And then at the temple I had a vision—Zafira saw my hair turn white. It was an omen of who I was to become.”

Ana bit her lip. “I should have guessed.”

Pez smiled at her kindly. “Looking back now, there were many clues,” he began.

Ana interrupted him. “Beginning with Ellyana seeking me out in the bazaar.” She shook her head, her expression rueful. “I thought I was noticing her, but she already knew me. She was selling a gold chain.

Lazar saw it, too.” Mentioning his name, she faltered briefly, then continued: “When we stepped in to save her from a poor bargain with one of the alley cats, she gave me the piece in her hand. It had turned Page 63

into a gold owl. I recognized Iridor.”

Pez sighed. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small gold statue. “It found its way to me, Ana.” She looked at him, surprised. “How? I gave that to—”

“Lazar, I know. He sent it to me.”

“Before he died? How could he?”

Pez simply shook his head. “I don’t know. Another secret of the cycle of the war between the gods, I suppose.”

Thinking of Lazar, Ana said softly, “Lazar was surprised that I knew the names of the statues.”

“He was surprised by everything about you, Ana.”

“Nothing surprised me about him. I loved him, Pez.”

“I know.” Pez hesitated, then gravely began, “Ana…”

Ana knew what he was going to say, and she felt her blood turn to ice. Terrified, she held up a hand. “It can’t be so.”

“What can’t be so?”

“You’re…you’re going to name Lyana,” Ana hedged.

“Then you do it,” he urged. “You tell me her mortal incarnation.” Ana dropped her face to her hands but she did not cry. She shook her head. “It cannot be.”

“It is. You feel it. You know it. Ana, every time I have touched you I’ve felt the tingle of your magical being. I didn’t understand it at first. But when I became Iridor I realized it was not a magic so much as a force—a bond between us. I guessed who you were becoming. This is why we’re together. This is why I will give my life, as I always have before, to protect you. This time, Ana, my beloved Lyana…we will win.”

Ana fled to Pez’s arms. Despite the shortness of his limbs, he comforted her with a partial embrace, stroking her back as best he could.

Finally Ana pulled away. Taking a deep breath, she shakily admitted, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“What we have always done down the ages,” Pez comforted. “We go on instinct now.” Ana wiped her eyes. “Who else is on our side?”

“No one in the palace,” he warned her. “I’ve cautioned you before and I hope you’ll heed these words.

No one in the palace is your friend except me.”

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“Not even Boaz?”

He grimaced. “He certainly does not want my friendship anymore. No, not even Boaz, because he is being influenced, and until the Zar begins to make all his own decisions, I can’t trust him…and you definitely must not trust anyone.”

“So we have no allies?”

“Well…Zafira,” Pez offered.

“And Jumo,” she suggested. “Wherever that poor man is.”

“Ellyana, if she ever returns,” he added.

“Kett,” she concluded.

“Ah?” Pez said, sounding surprised. “What makes you say that?” Ana shrugged “I feel connected to him.”

“The Raven,” Pez said thoughtfully. “That’s what he called himself when he was barely conscious after his ordeal of being made a eunuch. The Raven is always amongst us.”

“But he’s the bringer of bad tidings,” Ana added fearfully.

“Not always. My memories tell me he can simply be used to deliver sage advice. We must work out how to bring Kett closer to us.”

“Well, without Boaz you have no pull in the palace anymore. I must speak with the Zar. And perhaps I can help to mend this broken bond? It’s not right, Pez. He knows your secret. It’s dangerous.”

“I know this,” he said. “But I have taken some steps.”

“Steps? What do you mean?”

He smiled at her with an effort. “Ask me no more right now. Just trust me.” Ana tried to tamp down her frustration. “So what must I do?”

“Live. Be Ana. That’s who you are. Continue life in the harem as it must be lived and the eternal struggle will take care of itself. I don’t know how this is going to unfold, child. Each time I am reborn I have only a vague memory of the struggle taking place. Each cycle is different in complexity, even though the outcome has been the same for so many battles.”

“When was the last one?”

“Centuries ago. So many in fact that it is no more than myth in the minds of most.” Ana sighed, forcing her thoughts back to the present. “So I go on our boating trip…”

“And you stay out of the eagle eyes of Salmeo and the Valide as best you can.” Page 65

“That won’t be easy. Everyone seems to think the Zar is going to choose me.”

“He will. Regardless of your true reason for being, Ana, that’s why you are here in the harem.”

“I feel like I’m just a vessel, with various uses,” Ana said in a small voice. She looked at Pez beseechingly. “I just want to be myself. To discover things, to learn, to not be someone’s slave.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“You forget, I’ve been a slave to the palace for most of my life.”

“But, Pez, you have freedom. You can leave if you want. And now…now you can fly. Where do you fly to?”

She expected a dramatic answer. Instead Pez said mildly, “I just fly.” She sighed but then was taken by a new thought. “What about Maliz? If we know who we are, then surely he has known for some time that Iridor has risen.”

Pez looked surprised by the turn in conversation but nodded gravely. “Correct. And he’s looking for us.

He’ll begin by focusing on Iridor. Fortunately my magic is not soul sucking, as his is. The magic of Lyana is cleaner, kinder. We choose when to use our magic. My understanding of Maliz is that once he has taken his form and claimed someone’s body, that’s where he must remain…unless he wants to have a lesser hold on that body and simply hover within it.”

“What do you mean?’ she frowned.

“He can freely inhabit another person—they usually have to be weak of mind—without committing himself to them fully. In doing so, he can just take over their lives, but he is vulnerable. He has very little magical energy to call upon, which is why he usually chooses someone who is aged, infirm, fragile in some way. He exists until he chooses whose body he will claim for each battle. Then he is committed to that body for the cycle. He cannot flit between it and another. He must leave it behind if he chooses to move and he must do so by death.”

“But you can shape-shift at will, unlike him.”

“Yes, I can change between being myself or shifting into Iridor, but only once the cycle actually begins.”

“But then that means you are always Iridor. You were born Iridor and Iridor actually takes your shape rather than the other way around. Iridor was just waiting to be called upon before he showed himself.” He nodded sadly. “I suppose you are right.”

“And me?”

“My magic is more obvious, you are shielded.”

“I am? Why?”

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He shook his head. “You are; that’s how it is. I will reveal you,” he said sadly. “I am traditionally the cause of our demise. It has always been me who is discovered first.”

“Are you frightened?” she asked, curious.

He lifted his chin, folded his arms. “Not at all.”

At his show of determination, Ana smiled. “Why not?”

“Because you assure me that this time it’s different…and I intend to find out why and because of whom.”

8

After leaving Ana, Pez had flown to Star Island, where he suspected he would find a ready companion in Lazar. With the newfound freedom of his wings and the fact that he was clearly not required by the Zar, there was no need to remain at the palace that night. He understood he wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway with his mind racing from his conversation with Ana, particularly the discussion about Kett.

Pez knew that the Raven always appeared after Iridor and before Lyana. Another servant of the Goddess, he was often referred to as the black bird of omen, but Pez hadn’t wanted to say too much that might frighten Ana. As it was, her acceptance of the potential mantle of Lyana’s incarnation felt so calm it was remarkable. But Kett was definitely someone that Pez would have to watch and somehow find a way to bring closer to Ana. If what he suspected was right and Ana was the reemerging Goddess, then she would need to receive whatever message Lyana had passed on through the Raven for her.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Pez asked softly, approaching the hut and not surprised to see a familiar figure leaning up against the outside wall.

Lazar shook his head. “And it’s such a beautiful night anyway.”

“I forgot to mention last time that the beard is interesting,” Pez commented.

“It occurred to me I may need a new disguise,” Lazar said, scratching at his chin. “Horrible things. I’ve been growing this for months and hate it.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Stronger. Much stronger, in fact.”

“You look it—even in the moonlight.” Pez grinned at his friend’s sneer. “Truly. You appear almost your grumpy self again.”

“I feel like myself again,” Lazar admitted. “The improvement is suddenly vigorous.”

“Weren’t you warned it would be like this?”

Lazar nodded, pushed his large hand through his hair. “Zafira was told that. My strength would return rapidly once my body had learned how to manage alongside the poison. Presumably it has done that.” Page 67

“So what now?”

Lazar’s voice hardened. “Well, first you’re going to tell me about Jumo—don’t think I’m going to let you off the hook after your cryptic comment of last time.”

Pez felt a chill crawl up his spine. There was no point in avoiding this conversation any longer, though.

He hadn’t meant to the last time but events got in the way.

“Where is Jumo, Pez?” Lazar demanded.

“By now I imagine he’s roaming around Galinsea,” Pez said, blurting out the words, not giving himself any further time to think.

He expected a roar of anger, but it didn’t come. Instead he had to stand beneath Lazar’s simmering glare, trying not to squirm amidst the thick, uncomfortable silence that now wrapped itself about him.

Finally Lazar spoke, all good humor evaporated from his voice. “Galinsea.” It wasn’t a question. “Who sent him?”

“He was determined to find your family, tell them of your demise.”

“I repeat, who sent him there? Only two of us know my background.”

“Then why are you asking?” Pez said, disgusted by his sense of helpless inadequacy.

“You told Jumo who I was?” There was threat in Lazar’s tone. Pez could see the former Spur visibly shaking with anger.

Pez had never been scared by Lazar, but for the first time he understood what it might be like to be this man’s adversary. “Yes. That was our agreement, remember? I would tell Jumo should anything fatal occur to you. And because of Ellyana’s bullheaded ways and your determination to follow them, you kept me in the dark about your survival for just long enough for me to make an error. It is your fault that Jumo knows.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“No.”

Lazar pushed away from the wall of the hut and strode toward the cliff edge. Pez had no choice but to follow like a shamed dog.

“Where’s Zafira?” he asked, desperate for conversation that might rescue the grim mood.

“At her temple,” Lazar growled. “I’m well enough to care for myself now.”

“Lazar, I—”

“How long have I protected that secret, Pez?” the former Spur said, staring angrily at the twinkling lights of the city across the bay.

“I couldn’t have Jumo rushing off blindly in such a bereft state with no idea of who to look for regarding Page 68

your kin. I hope—”

“Sixteen years,” Lazar said with feeling, swinging back to glower at Pez. “Painful, all of them.”

“Were you not ever happy amongst us in Percheron?”

Lazar waved away Pez’s question as if it had no relevance. “Do you have any idea what it takes to renounce one’s heritage? Lineage? Realm? Crown?”

“No, Lazar. But that was your decision.”

“That’s right. It was also my decision to keep it a secret.”

“You shared it with me.”

Lazar intensified his glare, exasperation flooding through the fury he was barely controlling. “I see I have learned a lesson tonight. A secret is no longer a secret once it is shared.”

“How true!” Pez snapped, his own anger, fueled by the frustrations of the day, also spilling over. “Why tell anyone anything if you don’t anticipate that you are empowering someone with that knowledge, Lazar? Jumo deserved to know the truth, and you and I had an agreement. I followed it to the letter. You were dead, as far as we knew. He was heartbroken—can you imagine how it felt to hear that the man he called his master and friend had died? And that his body had already been disposed of? And him not much more than a bystander to your suffering?”

“I have some idea,” Lazar replied, effort in his voice. “I’m allowed this anger. I was not privy to this decision to appear dead. It was made for me.”

“And I made another one for you. I told your closest and most loyal friend the truth. No one deserved it more than Jumo, not even Ana.”

At the mention of her name, Lazar’s head snapped back as though slapped. “And you will tell her nothing!” he commanded.

“There is always danger in knowledge, Lazar, but be careful your precautions don’t drift into cowardice.”

Pez’s spoke kindly, trying to take away his friend’s rage. Lazar’s head dropped, his chin almost touching his broad chest. “When did Jumo leave?”

“The morning after the night of your purported death.”

“I am no coward, Pez. I have kept that secret to protect those I care about. You were already well protected by your madness—and Zar Joreb proclaiming you above almost all palace law. But Jumo is in danger.”

“From your family?”

“Possibly. I can’t be sure, but now I know where I must go.”

“You’re going back to Galinsea?” Pez stated his own shock so baldly that Lazar flinched. “You’re Page 69

leaving her?”

When the former Spur turned his gaze this time on Pez, there was only grief in his eyes. “I am no good to her anymore. She is the Zar’s woman.”

Pez could not bear the disguised self-pity in that statement, nor could he tolerate Lazar’s denial of Ana for a moment longer. It was time to tell the whole story. “She is so much more than that. Ana only masquerades as an odalisque. She was never a goatherd’s daughter in anything more than accidental name.”

Genuine pain claimed Lazar’s expression, stunning Pez. He had known this man since his arrival in Percheron and had watched his subsequent rise from prisoner to the city’s top security position. Lazar was so self-contained that no one, not even Pez, could successfully guess what thoughts were going on behind those intelligent eyes. But the very mention of Ana could shatter the invisible yet seemingly implacable fortress that Lazar had built around himself. Her very name seemed to have a magical quality, as if it were some sort of touchstone that opened the gates of the fortress, allowing the tightly imprisoned emotions to rush out.

Pez understood suddenly: it wasn’t the drezden that would be Lazar’s weakness in life. It was Ana.

Since he had first laid his love-starved eyes on that young woman, she had become both his salvation and his potential destruction. Only time would tell which.

Lazar bridled at Pez’s challenge. “What do you mean she is so much more? I know Ana as well as anyone else—better, in fact. I found her. I know who she is.”

“You know nothing, Lazar,” Pez said, and watched a shiver pass through his friend as if he were cold.

But Pez knew he wasn’t trembling from a chill; Lazar was finding the courage to ask his next question and Pez was ready for it.

“Who is she?” the former Spur demanded.

“I believe she is Lyana, the Mother Goddess, incarnated in the flesh.” A silence stretched between both men. Pez knew Lazar would neither ridicule nor try to counter his claim; probably he knew his friend felt the truth of those words strike like a knife in his heart.

It was a long time before either spoke. Lazar broke the silence. “How can you be sure?” he finally whispered.

“Who can ever be sure about the gods, Lazar? But I feel it. I can’t deny it any longer. I’m Iridor and she’s Lyana. That’s why we’re together in the palace. You know the old story, I presume?” Lazar nodded, still seemingly choked with emotion. “But that’s all it’s been to me. A story. The foundation of my faith, the tale that was too seductive to ignore, passed down through centuries.

Although the story tells us that Lyana was vanquished by Zarab, a few of us still believe she will rise again and prevail. I certainly felt a kinship when I saw her likeness in Zafira’s temple. Galinsea has no specific deities. It worships the land and the sea, the sky and its firmament…” Lazar shrugged. “I feel I belong in Percheron, where some still cling to the faith of the Goddess.” Peg smiled gently. “But Nature is what Lyana stands for, of course, so Galinsea, although it thinks it has moved on, is still true to her in its way. Lyana is about the land and the forces that impact on it—sea, sun, Page 70

desert, storm. She does not put herself above the natural forces of our existence as Zarab does. He claims godliness over everything, power over the land and its forces, its—”

“But Lyana is not real…not in the flesh, anyway. She is part of our shared history; she is myth.” Lazar’s final words sounded like a plea. He continued: “No one knows if Zarab is real but most Percherese pray to him. In this, neither Lyana nor Zarab is any different. They could both be myth.” Pez’s passion evaporated as he turned grave. “The story that founded your original faith is true. But there is also a cyclical aspect to that story—every few centuries, when Lyana feels strong enough, she rises again to fight the demon who serves Zarab…to claim back her rightful place.”

“Yes, I know the tale. And you think that Ana…?”

“She is part of the new cycle. I believe that, for the coming battle, Ana is the mortal reincarnation of Lyana.”

“And what if you’re wrong?” Lazar demanded. “What if Ana is no more than a young woman trying to survive in the Zar’s harem?”

“No newborn, left alone in the desert, survives the much-feared Samazen windstorm, Lazar,” Pez reminded softly. “No young woman can communicate the force of power that I sense in Ana unless she is truly enchanted by something greater than any of us. Even you would have to be surprised by her knowledge of the Stones of Percheron. She knows every statue and its history…tell me how a goatherd’s daughter could have learned this? And what about her ability with language? Perhaps you don’t know how talented she is with tongues—why should you, you hardly know her? But it’s extraordinary. And her composure, in one so young? Ana is an ancient soul, Lazar. You must accept it.”

“I won’t,” Lazar growled at the dwarf. “You’ve given me nothing but conjecture.” He ran both hands through his golden hair in a rare show of anxiety. “I want fact, Pez. Give me something real, something that is unequivocal.”

“That’s easy, Lazar,” Pez said, mindful of the pain he was inflicting. He wondered fleetingly whether this conversation might set Lazar back in his recovery—or act as a catalyst. This could galvanize him into action, and though Pez wasn’t sure what that action might be, he’d had a quiet feeling of dread ever since Ana had said that this time Lyana’s battle would be different. What if the difference was the Prince of Galinsea? If that were true, he needed Lazar strong. “It is easy,” he repeated. “Here’s an undeniable fact.

I can suddenly change at will into a white owl. Lyana’s messenger of old has always been a white owl.

The owl is called Iridor. He rises before she does. He is the trigger that the demon senses, the sign that it is time to begin his grim work for his god. You speak with Iridor regularly; you have witnessed his transformation. You know who I am. You have heard of the black bird of omen?”

“The Raven. I knew him as the bird of sorrows.”

“That’s right, he is known as that, too. He is drawn to her as well.”

“And he’s shown himself, I suppose you’re going to tell me.”

“Kett is the Raven. He said as much to me.”

Lazar looked as though he had been slapped even harder this time. “He told you he was the Raven?” His words came out strained.

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“To my face he called himself the black bird. Do you still think this is all a coincidence? Or will you believe, as I suspect Ellyana and Zafira do, that Ana is the Goddess? Why else did she run to the statue of Lyana at the temple when she escaped the harem? Admit the facts, as I have had to. Ana is the Lyana incarnate…even her name suggests as much.”

Pez stopped talking, watching Lazar carefully. The former Spur lifted his chin, his eyes raised to the heavens, and let loose a groan of such torment it tore at Pez’s heart. When he had exhausted his emotion, Lazar slumped to the ground, burying his golden-haired head in his knees and wrapping his long arms around them. From between his knees Lazar croaked one word. “Maliz?” Pez sighed privately, pleased to move on. “He, too, has…become. I know he is searching for me.” Lazar uncrossed his arms and raised his head to turn and face his friend. His expression was naked; there was a mixture of fear and alarm spreading across his face, frightening Pez. “You know that for sure?”

The dwarf shrugged mirthlessly. “I feel him, too. He is amongst us at the palace.” Now the soldier looked horrified. “That close! Ana’s that close to danger?”

“He has no idea of her existence yet,” Pez assured him, but he could see his words had little impact.

“What I mean is, he may have seen Ana but he hasn’t connected her to the Goddess. We still have some time.” He sighed. “Ana knows who she is. We talked about it this evening.” Grief flickered across Lazar’s already hurt expression. “Had she any idea previous to tonight?” Pez shook his head. “I don’t believe so. That said, Ana is very perceptive. But if she did have any notion, she wasn’t letting on. She accepted it more calmly than you have. She knew I spoke the truth…as do you.”

“How do I protect her?” Lazar asked, standing.

Pez didn’t want to destroy what heart his friend had left. He needed him to remain courageous, so he chose the words of his response with care. “You can’t, Lazar. This is a much bigger game we now play.

It’s no longer palace politicking; there’s no enemy you can brandish a sword at. We have no idea from where the fight will come, or in what form. We are all somehow players on the board, as you described, and we need to work out our roles. We must simply trust one another to do our duty as it unfolds and as our duties reveal themselves.”

“I’m involved?” Lazar asked, aghast.

Pez frowned. “You must be. Or why would you be linked with us?”

“Chance, surely.”

“No, no, no,” Pez said, pacing now, warming to his own thoughts. “Ellyana’s interest in you was far too keen for you to be a chance or innocent bystander. She orchestrated the whole situation surrounding your apparent death. It’s baffling.”

“She wants the palace to believe me dead, you mean?”

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“Yes, except I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why Ana must be kept in the dark either, especially if she is Lyana.”

“There is only one reason for that kind of secrecy,” Lazar replied, “and that’s protection.” Pez nodded. “Who is she protecting Ana from, though, by keeping you secret, unless it’s Maliz? But what does Maliz fear from you?”

“Death?”

“You can’t kill him, Lazar. You’ll need magic to do that, and even though you’ve all but risen from the dead, I know you possess no enchantments. You are merely mortal, my friend. No, Maliz does not fear you.”

“But Maliz does not know me either, presumably. Perhaps it’s the secret of my being alive that is important.”

“Perhaps. I shall think on it further. But I would say this is all the more reason for you to remain in Percheron. Rushing off after Jumo into Galinsea is unwise. Whatever has happened, has happened.”

“Is that more of your twisted dwarf logic?” Lazar asked, scowling.

Pez was pleased by the scowl. He needed Lazar angry, with all of his sarcasm and arrogance—and above all, courage—intact. “Well, what I mean is that what’s done is done. Jumo left almost a year ago to cross the ocean. If he has made it to the Galinsean royal family, they already know of your death.”

“Pez, you’re missing the point. I may have walked away from my crown, and my parents may well have considered me dead for all of these many years. But Jumo’s revelation will tell them I have been alive serving the Percherese Crown and that that same crown has just put me to death. I’ll give you one guess what comes next.”

“War,” Pez said in a whisper, horrible understanding dawning now.

Lazar nodded grimly. “And swiftly. Beloved or not, my family will not sit idly by if the Percherese Zar has slain their son and heir. We know the Zar didn’t have much involvement, but that’s not how they’ll view it. Believe me, retribution will be sought. Revenge will be taken. I would suggest time is short. Jumo left a year ago, near enough…two moons to sail, perhaps another moon or more to get an audience.”

“Weeks of arguing,” Pez said grimly.

“They’ll need time to assemble their army.”

“And two moons to sail back.”

Lazar grimaced. “They are upon us within weeks at best calculations.”

“They will send diplomatic messengers, surely?” Pez reasoned.

Lazar nodded. “Probably. And if we follow that reasoning, then those people will be entering the city at any moment.”

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“What can be done? We cannot fight both mortal and godly wars.” Lazar frowned in thought. “Against Ellyana’s advice I think I must declare myself.” He strode up to the edge of the cliff, speaking quickly. “It is fortunate I am well enough to travel. I must show myself to Boaz—he must understand what we face now from Galinsea. I shall have to dream up an excuse for my long absence.”

“Stick with the truth of how sick you’ve been,” Pez suggested.

“Yes, but Zafira claimed me dead, given to the seas. I need to counter that.”

“Zafira expects no quarter. Let her take the blame. You can say she said what she did of her own accord. That you gave no approval for such actions and you’re only now well enough to present yourself.

We shall give her warning for escape. I will go to the temple now.”

“Yes, but what could be the reason for her deceit? Boaz is too bright not to ask for that reason.”

“Make one up. It doesn’t matter. I leave to warn Zafira.”

Lazar nodded.

Pez felt obliged to ask the obvious. “Ana?”

Now Lazar scowled. “I can’t help her finding out.”

“It will break her heart.”

“You can’t have it both ways, Pez. Just moments ago you were arguing her case for knowledge. You can’t protect her from the injury of that knowledge.” Pez nodded sadly as Lazar continued: “More importantly, if Maliz has yet not recognized his nemesis, then I have some time. You must see to it that you are not found out, so that I can make the journey to Galinsea the fastest way and prove that I am alive…hopefully avert war.”

“The fastest way?”

“Across the desert.”

“In early summer? Do you have a death wish?”

Lazar gave a derisive snort. “I’ve stared at death’s hungry eyes, Pez. It doesn’t scare me.”

“Did it ever?” Pez asked, but didn’t expect a response; nor did he get one. He carried on his previous line of thought. “Jumo could be back any day now.”

Lazar shook his head. “He has no reason to return to Percheron now. He will likely head north…home.

In the meantime we must prepare. Expect me in Percheron in two days. Warn Boaz.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

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Pez swallowed, feeling his stomach tighten. “We’ve had a falling out.”

“What happened?”

Pez explained briefly.

Lazar scratched his head. “I didn’t think you two could ever fall out. Still, I shall be the gift you bring back to him to appease his anger. Boaz listens to me.”

Pez shook his head. “You can’t be sure that he will listen. He takes new counsel these days.” Lazar nodded slowly. “You mentioned that Tariq has ingratiated himself.”

“Oh, it’s much worse, Lazar. Grand Vizier Tariq now all but controls the Zar’s waking thoughts.”

“You’re overreacting, Pez. Like a jealous woman.” Lazar found a grin, much to the surprise of them both.

“I wish I were. Tariq is dangerous.”

“Tariq is a sop. I’ve known that man—”

“You don’t know this one.” Pez cut off his friend. He gave a painful frown. “Tariq has changed, Lazar.

He is so different you would hardly recognize him now.”

“No man changes that much.”

“This one has. It’s remarkable. He even looks different. He certainly sounds different—not in his voice but how he voices his thoughts. They’re intelligent, inspired, clever. There’s new cunning in those eyes now, Lazar, that has nothing to do with the stupid self-importance and social climbing that the Tariq of old was known for. This Tariq is totally self-possessed. He requires no one’s sanction…nor does he look for it.”

Lazar shook his head. “I can’t imagine you’re speaking about the same man.” The dwarf threw up his hands in disgust. “It is as though someone has possessed Tariq,” he claimed angrily. At those words he felt his blood turn to ice. He looked at Lazar, seeing his thoughts reflected in his friend’s ashen face.

“Is it possible?” Lazar finally whispered, disbelief in his eyes.

Pez could hardly answer. Overwhelmed by an onslaught of a fury he had never felt before, he covered his eyes with his deformed hands, as if to cover himself from the vision of Maliz smiling from behind Tariq’s dark eyes. “Of course it’s possible,” he croaked. “More than possible. In fact, that’s precisely what’s occurred. Iridor rose. So did Maliz. And he chose Tariq as his vessel. It’s so obvious now that I can’t believe I missed it. Maliz the warlock was as vain as the summer day is long. He is using his magic to improve the body in which he is imprisoned now until his next death.”

“His destruction, you mean,” Lazar said, something cruel and hard in his tone.

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Pez stared at his friend. “I’ll warn you again and you must pay this the attention it deserves, Lazar. Maliz cannot be killed by conventional means. You have to trust me on this. I can see where your thoughts are running, but if you think you can protect Ana by killing Tariq, you are tragically mistaken. All you will do is declare yourself to the demon. He will kill you, more like, using his magics and then come after anyone who is close to you.”

“Then,what ?” Lazar demanded, clearly frustrated—and shocked by the fear in the dwarf ’s voice.

“We move far more carefully. I think it’s a good idea for you to return to the palace now. Yes, come back, Lazar, and let’s see how the Vizier reacts to you. Are you prepared to risk it?”

“Risk it? I want his death, Pez. Of course I’ll risk it. In spite of you and the Zar being at odds, find a way to let Boaz know you have a special surprise being delivered.” IT WAS ALREADY LATE; Pez decided to tell Zafira the new developments at daybreak. Telling her now would allow her to do nothing right except spend a few sleepless hours before sunrise.

But he had one more errand to run this night. As the first tentative lightening of dawn threatened, he alighted on one of the minarets that framed the palace. Anyone looking up would have seen a large bird dropping silently through the air and disappearing beneath the rooftops. The man waiting for him saw only the familiar shape of the dwarf, dangling awkwardly before clambering uneasily onto a balcony.

“Are we safe?” Pez whispered.

The man nodded.

“Anything?”

His companion shook his head. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Tariq?”

“I have not seen him since the Zar retired and that was early.”

“Did the Zar say anything about me?”