After our first fortnight stationed in Bhar, I concluded that a gurgling pool and Nirvana were one and the same. My heart hitched at the sight of the blue rectangle. I spent my day riding on dirt baked by the sun into pottery shards. I deserved a dip into the pool at the villa that had become my headquarters.

"It's fed by water from the hills backing our plateau," Phedoxia gushed, following the direction of my gaze. "There are secret drains cut through the valley's walls filling up a reservoir. The clever engineering is a marvel!"

"Guard it against poison," I said.

She sketched a bow. "Goes without saying, Your Grandissima."

I pointed at the scrolls filling her sleeves. "Tomorrow, unless there is a letter from the Queen's spy."

She bowed again and left. No letter then.

I ripped off my travel-stained cloak and everything else. My feet tingled the moment they touched the water. Alas, it didn't look quite so crystalline and pure after the contact with my body.

I swam from a palm tree to a palm tree surrounding the pool, enjoying the unwinding of my tired muscles. Like I said, a pool and Nirvana are one and the same...

Since precision meant beauty in Bhar, the gardeners spaced the trees evenly. The shrubs beyond the palm trees displayed purple and red flowers on perfect green shapes created by the tireless sheers. Butterflies opened and closed symmetrical wings. Birds alone showed no respect to this artificial beauty, dashing to and fro, close to the ground, chasing their prey. For such is the life of a predator, the breaker of harmony.

The villa was one of the royal summer palaces, so one could see the pyramids, the obelisks, the ribbon of Jteru from nearly everywhere on the grounds.

If I was in the Queen's shoes, I'd gnash my teeth every time I glimpsed the other shore, because the construction of her own pyramid was sluggish and one could already see that next to the monuments of her ancestors it was a pimple on an elephant's arse. Luckily, I wasn't burdened with upholding the royal prestige race, so for me the other shore was just a pretty picture in the golden rays of the setting sun. And yet, I couldn't help making a note of it.

Not all is as it appears in Bhar.

"Bhar is more glitter than gold," I commented after I had left the pool with a wistful sigh, climbed to the second floor, wiggled my way through the muslin sheets shielding the bed and stretched next to Ondrey.

He rumbled in agreement, then drew a hand down the length of my spine. "I'm afraid to touch you, you are so wonderfully cool. Like one of their obelisks. They are always cold, no matter how hot the sun is... weird, eh?"

I reached over and draped his arm around my shoulders. "Where is that wondrous agent Her Majesty had promised us? So far we unleashed the wrath of the Divines on pathetic villages and eradicated a few dozen rebels."

"And found poisoned wells, had horses stolen and scouts vanished on this miserable expedition."

"Are the years of glory behind us, sweetheart? Are we now executioners to the Queens?"

"I hope not, because when Marezhka is of an age to ride with us, I don't want her to see the dirty side of our business."

I did a subtraction in my head. Marezhka was going on six, which meant... "Six more years, Ondrey. Maybe eight. We'll find an honest war by then."

"We will," he echoed.

The sun burned red after gold and took the last dive into the sands. I dove into Ondrey's arms. Among the simmering hatred of the population, love was our only refuge. It was like the rectangular pool in the garden against the day's heat.

After we made love, I dozed off, but not for long. I woke up and listened...

Jackals mocked the calls of the sentries walking the villa's grounds. Normally, I slept through their disgusting songs, Ondrey's snores and the Killer's pointy paws whenever the darn cat used my body as a shortcut to my husband's chest. But tonight, there was something disturbing in the air. A suspicious smell intruded between the sweetness of the flowers, cooling mudstone and exhausted bodies. It wafted through the blackened opening to the balcony.

Ashanti.

I listened harder, but nothing moved in the room or without. Tired of the cicadas' screeching and the jackals' forlorn calls, I slipped the dagger from under my pillow and fumbled with the bed-curtains.

A disembodied voice said in the darkness, "I'm the wonderful agent in Her Majesty's service, Ismar. Sorry for waking you, but now we have time to talk... join me, but please, don't wake your husband. Fighting a man his size is tiring."

There was no hint of fear when he spoke about fighting Ondrey nor an explanation why Ondrey would attack him. His words smoothed their way into my ears, promised without promising, coated my mind in silk. Disappointment sank my stomach: it wasn't Parneres' rich singing voice.

"I shall atone for the disappointed sigh I hear," the owner of the voice—and of a cat-like hearing—continued.

I parted the two sheets of muslin that covered the exit to the balcony and peeked through.

The balcony wound its way along the entire second floor. Her Majesty's agent was sitting in a meditation pose a few steps away from me. Nothing in his figure indicated a strain from infiltrating a heavily guarded villa perched at the edge of a barren rock. Probably, it was par for the course.

Two sources of light illuminated my midnight visitor's face: the starlight from the just out stars, and the violet glimmer of his eyes. I had never seen an Ashanti addict who had the glow that bad. As if in response to my thought, the agent lifted a pomander ball perforated with infinity spirals to his nose and inhaled.

"How else was I supposed to survive your marital delights, Ismar?"

The face, unmistakably, was that of the assassin I had chased through Palmyr years ago. The one I gleaned in the Ashanti's fumes. He gave me a horse who looked exactly like my lost Breva.

He smiled, his chipped front tooth gaping between the white, even ones. "Ismar, valeira. Ust convinir pratiksatum in'arkeya veyona."

Fueled by the whiff of the cursed herb, his eyes shone brighter violet, fixed on me. So strange after the downcast gaze proper for a man. I became aware that my shift was the thinnest linen and I was back-lighted by the stars. So I made sure that this light, however faint, also caught on the blade in my hand.

"I don't speak the Mother of All Tongues," I said.

"I had been waiting for the longest time to meet you," he translated with a wave of his hand. "I thought you weren't instructed in it, regrettably so... but you said your wedding vows without an accent and I wondered ever since. Maybe you'll be open to learning a few words from me...but never mind." He waved his hand through the air again, dismissing the linguistic chit-chat.

"I'm glad for an opportunity to finally introduce myself. My name is Taffiz."

"Are you still under orders to kill me, Scorpia? Or is it a... Scorpion?"

"I would prefer it if you called me Taffiz. Far less dramatic that way." He scratched his neck. "My orders depend on the outcomes of our mission here. I suggest we call a truth until then. Yes?"

I chuckled. "I hope you're a better spy than murderer, Taffiz."

He leaned forward with a boneless efficiency of an asp. "Don't judge my abilities based on our history, dilectisima ame. I define success differently where you're involved. Not to brag, but intentionally not killing your target while striking overtly is far more complicated than a kill."

The absurdity of our half-whispered conversation and the late hour brought on a giggle from my throat. I bit my lips, but it was too late. I giggled. "If that was modesty, I want to hear you bragging."

"I would be delighted to oblige, but alas, the time you bought us for pleasantries by waking up is now gone." He lifted one finger up, and I heard the guards call out the first hour past midnight. So they were alive, on duty, and the only reason a Scorpia assassin didn't enter my room was because he wanted a smoke while Ondrey and I cavorted in the sheets.

"I'll strip a few hides tomorrow," I muttered.

He smiled pleasantly. "Please, attire in the full Commander regalia and meet me at the camp within the hour. I have somewhere to take you."

Apparently, Taffiz had to play dress-up too. A folded cape he was sitting on went over his head and shoulders, pinned at the throat with an invisible fistula. Then he made a few slight movements with his shoulders and his face and--

"You're ugly as a woman too," I told him.

Night owls make more noise in flight than Taffiz did clearing the railing, then landing on stony ground.

"It might be better if you don't bring Ondrey," was his last admonition to me.

***

Naturally, I brought Ondrey.

I pretended not to notice Taffiz' quirked brow, but beamed at my husband before ordering to move out. Taffiz had already assembled a party at the camp's gates, consisting of Phedoxia and six women.

I raised my brow at him ordering women. Nobody saw through his thin disguise. A cape, a higher-pitched voice, the attitude... Was it really all that it took to distinguish a man from a woman?

"Where are we going?" I asked him.

Taffiz opened the palm of his hand to show me a signet ring, twisted around his finger to hide the Queen's crest. "The city."

I nodded.

The ring and Taffiz's whispered words admitted us to Tongola through the side-gate. The same means got us past every patrol we had encountered so far on the echoing streets.

"What's next?"

"We shall collect a gift I had left for you. Her Majesty neglected to transfer it into your custody."

Despite the light tone, Taffiz's lips pinched into a thin line. A man displeased by a Queen—the night was turning stranger and stranger.

Silence, interrupted only by the clopping of hooves and suppressed yawns, thickened as we cut through the ramshackle houses squeezed into crooked lanes by the city walls, then the merchant neighborhoods with better smells and less shady characters scurrying out of the way.

Finally, we came onto the palm-lined avenues connecting the estates and palaces.

The Sunlight Castle, one of the royal residences, loomed directly ahead of us. The graceful manors of the other nobles were set back from the thick black walls, as if in reverence. Or dread.

"If we are going to the royal Castle, why did we wait until this ungodly hour?" I asked.

"Because that's when the rookie guards come on duty. They'll be easier to bamboozle by your authority," he replied.

"Her Majesty is sabotaging my efforts?"

"Bravo on faking your surprise! I almost believed it." After this jape, the chatty man from my balcony turned as silent as a gravestone. Perhaps, pitching his voice high taxed his vocal cords. Perhaps, his reasons were more serious. We were going against the Queen's unstated wishes after all.

I no longer fought with the desire to doze off in the saddle. My gaze scanned through shadows searching for dangers. But the posh neighborhood was eerie quiet in the dead of night, making me miss the guttersnipes always out and about in the slums.

***

Riled by the ride and the suspicions, I burst into the guard station of the Sunlight Castle like a Bhuta, yelling at the guards, "You're moving like drunk snails. Hop to it! Her Majesty's business!"

Taffiz snuck up to my side and waved the Queen's ring around. "Take us to the oubliette."

Oubliette? A cell designed to bury someone so deep in the bowels of a dungeon as to keep her forgotten? The Queen really didn't want me to receive Taffiz' gift, whoever it was.

The young guards snapped to attention. Their beautiful black complexion didn't let them turn pale, but their gaping was telling. Chill went down my spine. Every Queen has her own black cells, and Makeda was no exception. For those cells, the jailers' job was undemanding—put the unfortunate soul in, forget it, clear their bones out when they needed the accommodations for the next unfortunate soul.

After exchanging glances, one of the guards grabbed a torch to lead the way. I left all my women except for Phedoxia to keep an eye on the second guard. We couldn't afford for her to come to her senses and dash for an officer.

Down a narrow tunnel we went past the cells with prisoners crying in their sleep. Down a spiral staircase. Another floor, more stairs. Always downward.

The air grew closer and hotter, and the prisoners—fewer.

The deeper we went, the less of the prisoners were asleep. They rattled chains or muttered madly, unaware what time of day it was outside. Each floor had guards, but we marched past them with purpose, stopping all inquiries.

The last spiral staircase turned into steps cut directly into bedrock in some ancient age. It ended in a chamber with a ceiling so low, that Ondrey couldn't enter it without crouching. Even Taffiz' head brushed the rough ceiling. A stone slab was fitted tightly in the opening carved in the back wall.

The guard lifted her torch and looked at me expectantly.

"Taffiz?" He better not come all the way here, defying the Queen, without a plan for opening the tomb-like door.

He must have been sniffing Ashanti non-stop, because his eyes shone brighter than the torch. "Illustrious High Scribe, if you please..." he said.

Phedoxia produced an inkwell and a brush to draw a rune on the stone surface. Then, she cross-hatched carelessly, splattering ink on her face and the floor.

Taffiz stood motionless during her frantic activity, but his eyes darted left-right, right-left, left-right over the cross-hatched area, alive with violet flame.

Once Phedoxia stepped back from her artwork, Taffiz darted forward, unblinking, fingers fanned out. He pressed the palms into the stone, adjusted his fingers to the spots only visible to him, then pressed the fingertips in.

The scraping of stone on stone came as a relief after a moment of nail-biting silence. The slab groaned down the grooves cut into the floor, revealing the gloomy space inside. Everything that is foul about us, the humans, wafted over to me from that gap.

I grabbed the torch from the guard, covered my mouth with the flap of my cloak and went in.

The stone cell was no bigger than the other one, but had a higher ceiling with a grated opening cut through three feet of stone. They might have squeezed food or a water jug through it once in a while to prolong the prisoner's suffering. The architects didn't provide for other necessities.

The awful stench wasn't what brought the sting of tears to my eyes.

On the wall, twisted and broken, hung Parneres.