The whining stopped.

“—for a time, and when he brings you to Aksum, my cousin Gebre Meskal will be your new family.”

“It is a generous gift, Mukarrib,” said Gedar.

How pompous Gedar is, Telemakos thought. No one calls Abreha “federator” unless it is in a formal ceremony.

“An easy gift. My cousin grows mistrustful of me, and this is one small way to mollify his suspicions.”

They think they are alone, Telemakos realized. The lion is asleep and the kennelmen have been sent away. They don’t know I’m here.

“What message shall I bring your cousin?” Gedar asked.

“Oh, no message, only the gift. I do not want to raise the Aksumite emperor’s hackles with empty words.”

“Your wish is my command,” Gedar answered Abreha with obsequious humility. “I am your servant.”

Telemakos grinned, listening eagerly, too practiced an eavesdropper to make any noise. This was wonderful luck. He should have guessed there was more to Gedar than met the eye.

“Listen then,” Abreha answered him, speaking low and quickly. “I will tell it once only. Send no more of your cryptic carrion threats, all those foul dead birds, to Gebre Meskal or his counselor Kidane; my vizier is sure now that Kidane is not the man we seek, and you begin to risk yourself. I do not like such underhand methods in any case. We will flush out the emperor’s spies some other way.”

Telemakos lay flat in the lion’s straw, his light breath muffled by Menelik’s purring snorts. Unease and disbelief began to crowd his spirit like circling vultures.

“Grind to pieces any amole salt you have kept from before the new year, for you must not cast abroad any hint you had exchange with Himyar during Gebre Meskal’s quarantine. I will make good your loss.”

Oh, my najashi, go away. Go away. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to know.

“It is all quite old,” said Gedar. “I received nothing after the emperor shut down the operation in the Salt Desert. How he managed to break that apart is still a mystery.”

“He had an informer there.”

The pup began to whine again.

“Ah, the elusive sunbird; the scourge of Afar. The voice crying in the wilderness.”

Oh, my najashi.

Telemakos had never known such betrayal. His heartbeat, fast and furious in his ears, was not loud enough to stifle the sound of Abreha’s voice, relentlessly continuing this unbearable, unbelievable conversation.

“Sunbird is an old name; they no longer use it.”

“What did the Scorpion tell you?” Gedar asked.

“Many contradictory stories,” said Abreha quietly, “and few of them seem true. Hara was desperate, and a liar, and knew that I was making an example of him for Gebre Meskal’s benefit. Oh, he was guilty of every last thing we accused him of, but there was betrayal of our contract on my part as well as his, and he defied and denied me at the end as far as he was able.”

“Ah well,” said Gedar. “How Gebre Meskal unraveled the enterprise in Afar is of little matter now his quarantine is lifted.”

“Still, I should like to know who or what his link was there, and if he will strike against us with the same weapon another day. Anako, the one we called Lazarus, might know more, but he will remain Gebre Meskal’s prisoner until the Hanish Islands are mine. When I went to the archipelago to escape the plague in al-Muza, I was never able to set foot on al-Kabir, the fortress island. I cannot land my soldiers there without being sure of a water supply and a defensible place to make camp. But if we cannot take the islands from without, maybe we can take them from within. If you see to it that a year from now my agents have infiltrated Gebre Meskal’s navy, I will by then have better maps of the archipelago, and we can attempt a mutiny.”

Serpent! Serpent! Serpent!

Telemakos listened to the sounds of them putting the pup back with its mother. The crying began again, briefly, then stopped; the dog would stay with the rest of the pack until Gedar went home.

“See what more you can learn from the boy,” Abreha finished. “I’ll send for him to dine alone with us tonight. It will be appropriate, after our quest today, and you are neighbors in your own land. Engage him in talk of his father; he thirsts for word of his family. I shall turn the talk to my will.”

Your will be damned, Telemakos fumed, his throat constricted with fury and betrayal. Serpent! I will give you nothing. I will give you less than nothing.

Through his anger, fear brushed Telemakos’s spine like fine, cold mist.

I have got to be upstairs before the najashi sends for me.

He managed it. He followed Abreha and Gedar into the palace, slipping soundlessly past them when they stopped to discuss the day’s hunt with Tharan in the steward’s reception hall. Telemakos took the steps two at a time the whole way up to the children’s room.

“You might have come earlier,” said Inas, with good nature. “Your sister has not yet managed to scream herself unconscious, nor eaten anything all day. Queen Muna is looking for you. The najashi sent you some opium.”

Telemakos stared at her blankly, panting. The caged birds chattered and fluted over their heads.

“Why?” he managed at last. His throat was raw with the exertion of climbing twelve flights of stairs at racing speed.

“Shouldn’t you know?” Inas asked in surprise.

“It is because you were hunting today, and they expect you to be all stiff and sore,” put in Malika. “They like to fuss over you. Remember the night you fell down the stairs?” She gazed at Telemakos with interest. “You certainly don’t look very happy. Your face is all tear streaked and you haven’t even bothered to wipe it off. Do they give you opium only when they think you need it, or can you ask for it whenever you like?”

“Whenever I like,” Telemakos said hoarsely, and stalked past them. Athena was in the nursery, sitting on the floor facing Muna and refusing to eat. She saw Telemakos and turned her bowl over.

“Boy! Boy! Tena’s Boy!” She scrambled over to clutch at his legs, looking up at him adoringly.

Muna glanced up as well. For a moment her uncanny eyes met his. Telemakos peeled Athena away from his legs so he could kneel before the queen. He bent his head, still breathing hard.

“I beg your pardon, my lady Queen.”

“You must stop hurling yourself about,” Muna said gently. “We should all like to see you come to manhood without further adventure.”

From one rustling silk sleeve she pulled a slender silver tube and held it out to him. “You are to use this at your discretion, as your father instructed you.”

Telemakos hesitated, still trembling with outrage and bewilderment and sheer physical exhaustion. He generally refused the offer of opium. He parted his lips to make another polite objection, but it suddenly occurred to him he ought to make a dutiful pretense, at least, of clouding his brain. It might be to his advantage if Abreha imagined his guard was lowered.

“Thank you,” Telemakos said, and took the case, wondering how to get rid of it.

Muna’s friend and handmaid Rasha stood at the door.

“The najashi requests the Morningstar to share his meal tonight,” she said. “Tharan Vizier is here to escort you.”

This is happening too quickly, Telemakos thought. I know too much. I haven’t thought any of it through. I need a shield.

Athena still clamored at his side. “Up! Up!”

Her saddle was hanging on one of a row of hooks by the door. Telemakos stood up and tucked the vial of opium inside it, where he had also hidden an unopened parcel of powder given him the day he had taken a fall during his riding lesson.

“Will she try to get at that?” Muha asked.

“She can’t reach it. This pocket is mine. It’s inside the other, and seals.” He squatted on his heels beside Athena, pulling on the leather sleeve and lifting the shoulder strap over his head.

“She has not eaten,” Muna warned.

“The najashi will find something to tempt her with.”

“He will send her back up here, if he means to share a formal meal with his guest.”

Athena climbed willingly into her saddle without being prompted.

“She has him enchanted,” Telemakos said. “She sits in his study every morning while I am riding, and plays with his ink brushes.” He buckled his sister against him and looked up. Muna’s mouth was set in the hard, pursed grimace of someone who is biting back tears; her pale green eyes were too bright. Telemakos took her hand, quickly, and bent to rub noses with her, as the Himyarites did in greeting.

“I will bring Athena back soon, sweet lady, and in a better temper.”

“Stop here a moment, Morningstar,” Muna said. “You look as though you have been weeping.” She pushed the pale hair back from his temples with cool, dry hands. “Now stay still until you stop gasping and can breathe again.”

Telemakos waited. Muna gave her shy, sad smile and took her hands away.

“There. Now you are ready. Rasha, please warn Tharan that the boy has not yet used the anodyne, and has not washed.”

XIV

THE COVENANT

THARAN LED TELEMAKOS DOWN the narrow flights. He made no comment about Athena, who was taking on and off two of Mima’s bangles that were tied to her saddle.

“Did you use your spear today?”

“I couldn’t,” Telemakos said.

“Did no chance arise?”

“I wasn’t able to manage a weapon and the lion together,” Telemakos admitted in a low voice.

“Better fortune next time out,” Tharan said, offering neither praise nor blame. “You must try a hunt on horseback, soon, as well.”

Tharan led them to the najashi’s own apartment, a sprawling suite of luxurious chambers and terraces on one of the palace’s middle stories. There were guards outside the door, but the rooms were empty. No life stirred in them except the flames in the brass sconces. There was not even a birdcage. All was bright and quiet.

“The najashi and his guest are still in the bathhouse,” Tharan said. “They will be here presently. Wash your face at the basin in the antechamber. There’s wine heating on the brazier in the study; I will leave a cup for you on the writing table, and you may administer your potions as you see fit. I must see to the attendants now.”

He left all the appropriate doors standing open, and told the guards to stand within the room while Telemakos was on his own.

Telemakos went into the antechamber and cautiously scrubbed the grime from his face, astonished to discover how filthy he was. Athena grabbed hold of one of the towels and threw it in the basin. It landed with a splash, and she reached for another.

“Behave yourself, or they will send you away,” Telemakos whispered to his sister, trying to restore the small space to a fit state. “Come, I must take this drink they’ve left me.”

Telemakos backed out to the reception room again, nodded to the soldiers there, and stepped through to Abreha’s study. It smelled delicious; the simmering wine was laced with clove and orange. Cup and knife and plate were laid out on the writing table. This must be how Socrates felt, Telemakos thought, expected to prepare his own execution.