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waiting for more facts. One of these three—Dilalu, Yamen, or Zulaya—or someone who commanded one of them had become a hidden and dangerous enemy. This hidden one didn't want to be found; he killed rather than be discovered. This alone was proof of his guilt.
    Meren believed, however, that there was a good chance that someone else, someone far more exalted, was the true hidden one, the man ultimately responsible for Nefertiti's death. None of the three had been closely associated with the queen's household. Ordering and accomplishing the death of a queen—such an act of sacrilege and temerity—would require someone daring, someone like Dilalu, Zulaya, or Yamen. But to conceive of the idea—the murder of the wife of the living god of Egypt—took far more power than any of those men seemed to have.
    The situation was confusing because of the limitations upon his usual power to investigate. He would have to cultivate patience while his servants worked slowly and unobtrusively. The last thing he wanted them to do was attract attention and provoke curiosity among the officials and government workers in this intrigue-ridden city. Meanwhile, he shouldn't make his son suffer just because he was frustrated. Kysen was worried about him. He smiled at his son.
    "I'm being as indirect as I can, Ky. Dilalu may be a merchant of weapons, but he thinks I'm interested in him for his reputation as a breeder of horses."
    Tossing his knife in the air and catching it, Kysen gave a sharp laugh. "He could hardly think the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh in need of extra daggers or spears."
    "My heart's thoughts are as yours." Meren rubbed the scar on his wrist. It was bothering him again. "Have I ever told you about Queen Nefertiti?" He slipped his knife into a sheath at his belt.
    "A little. You said Isis is almost as beautiful."
    "Ah, but Nefertiti was raised and trained by pharaoh's mother, the great Tiye. Unlike your sister, she knew the importance of duty. I never saw two women more skilled in diplomacy, and Nefertiti, may she live forever with Osiris, needed all her skill to remain in her husband's favor while convincing him to do things that were best for Egypt."
    Kysen held his knife by the blade and threw it into the target. The weapon stabbed deep in the straw-stuffed leather, and Meren shook his head.
    "That close to an enemy, you'll have no time to pull your knife, reverse it, and take a throwing stance. Here, watch."
    Meren grabbed his knife from its sheath by the handle. His arm sailed up, forearm in front of his face. He threw the knife in a slashing, diagonal movement. It smacked into the target, the handle shuddering a bit with the impact.
    Turning to Kysen, he said, "You see? Less throwing time, less exposure to your adversary. About these three men Othrys thinks might be interfering with our inquiries into the queen's murder."
    Father," Kysen said in an aggrieved tone, "sometimes you're confusing when you make these sudden shifts of conversation."
    "Forgive me." Meren gave his son a pained smile. "Too many years spent trying to baffle courtiers and enemy ambassadors. What I was trying to say was that there were many at court who might have wanted Nefertiti dead."
    "Not the newcomers Akhenaten brought in to serve the Aten."
    Meren nodded. Tutankhamun's older brother, Akhenaten, called the Heretic, had forced Egypt to abandon her old gods in favor of his choice—the Aten, the sun disk. The priests and temples of the old gods had been disestablished, and their endowed riches diverted to the Aten in the care of new men willing to participate in the heresy. Egypt suffered from the resulting disharmony and chaos to this day. The priests of the old gods, especially Amun, king of the gods, hated Akhenaten's very memory, and all who had supported the heretic.
    "The priests of Amun? Would they have done such a thing?" Kysen asked.
    Meren shook his head. "In the last years before she died, Nefertiti had contacted them and begun to work for a