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all.
    Rustem lowered his head. Said nothing.
    "It will be arranged at the next Accession Ritual before the Sacred Flame in midsummer."
    Rustem swallowed hard. He seemed to have been doing so all night. He cleared his throat. "One of my wives is of the commoners" caste, Great King."
    "She will be generously dealt with. Is there a child?"
    "A girl, yes, my lord."
    The king shrugged. "A kindly husband will be found. Mazendar, see it is done."
    Jarita. Whose name meant
desert pool.
Black eyes, black hair, light step entering a room, leaving it, as if loath to trouble the air within. Lightest touch in the world. And Inissa, the baby they called Issa. Rustem closed his eyes.
    "Your other wife is of the warrior caste?"
    Rustem nodded. "Yes, my lord. And my son."
    "They may be elevated with you in the ceremony. And come to Kabadh. If you desire a second wife there it shall be arranged."
    Again Rustem closed his eyes.
    The world, hammering and hammering at his door, after all, entering like the wind.
    "This cannot take place until midsummer, of course. I wish to make use of you before that. You appear a competent man. There are never enough of them. You will treat me here, physician. Then you will undertake a winter journey for me. You are observant, it seems. Can serve your kins even before you rise in caste. You will leave as soon as I am well enough to go back to Kabadh, in your own judgment."
    Rustem opened his eyes then. Looked up slowly. "Where am I to go, great lord?"
    "Sarantium," said Shirvan of Bassania.
    He went home briefly when the King of Kings fell asleep, to change his bloodied clothes, replenish his herbs and medicines. It was cold in the windy darkness. The vizier gave him an escort of soldiers. It seemed he had become an important man. Not surprising, really, except that everything was surprising now.
    Both women were awake, though it was very late. They had oil lamps burning in the front room: a waste. He'd have chastised Katyun for it on a normal night. He walked in. They both rose quickly to see him. Jarita's eyes filled with tears.
    "Perun be praised," said Katyun. Rustem looked from one to the other.
    "Papa," someone said sleepily.
    Rustem looked over and saw a little, rumpled figure stand up from the carpet before the fire. Shaski rubbed at his eyes. He'd been asleep but waiting here with his mothers.
    "Papa," he said again, hesitantly. Katyun moved over and laid a hand across his thin shoulders, as if afraid Rustem would reprimand the boy for being here and awake so late.
    Rustem felt an odd constriction in his throat. Not the
kaaba.
Something else. He said, carefully, "It is all right, Shaski. I am home now."
    "The arrow?" said his son. "The arrow they said?"
    It was curiously difficult to speak. Jarita was crying.
    "The arrow is safely removed. I used the Spoon of Enyati. The one you brought out for me. You did very well, Shaski."
    The boy smiled then, shyly, sleepily, his head against his mother's waist. Katyun's hand brushed his hair, tender as moonlight. Her eyes sought Rustem's, too many questions in them.
    The answers too large.
    "Go to sleep now, Shaski. I will speak with your mothers and then go back to my patient. I will see you tomorrow. Everything is well."
    It was, and it wasn't. Being elevated to the priestly caste was a stunning, miraculous thing. The castes of Bassania were immovable as mountains-except when the King of Kings wished them to move. A physician's position at court meant wealth, security, access to libraries and scholars, no more anxieties about buying a larger house for a family or burning oil lamps at night. Shaski's own future had suddenly expanded beyond all possible hope.
    But what could one say to a wife who was to be cast off by order of the King of Kings and given to another man? And the little one? Issa, asleep in her cradle now. The little one would be gone from him.
    "Everything is well," Rustem said again, trying to make himself believe it.
    The door had opened to