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intensified, and he came to a wall with a grate embedded into it. Though the brightness hurt his eyes, he surveyed what he realized was the Empress’s garden.
    Visible through the three peaked doorways, Djazir paced along the Empress’s throne room. Six of the Empress’s personal guard stood nearby, each wearing ornate leather armor with a sword and dagger hanging from a silver belt. Djazir wore a white silk robe embroidered with crimson thread, and a ceremonial dagger hung from a golden belt at his waist. The Empress was wrapped in folds of white cloth, her face still exposed. Five bolts of white cloth waited on the marble floor to her left.
    To her right, on another bolt of cloth, was Rabiah, unconscious or dead.
    Please, Rabiah, be alive.
    Djazir continued to pace and wring his hands. A young man, wearing clothes similar to but not so grand as Djazir’s, entered the garden and reported to Djazir.
    As the two of them conversed, too low to be heard, Bela strolled out from the grate. Al-Ashmar tried to prevent it, but Bela sped up just before his fingers could reach her. She walked up to Djazir as if she were asking for a bit of cream.
    “By the spirits, thank you,” Djazir said loudly as he picked Bela up. “Now please,” he said. “Prepare yourselves.” Then he turned to the young man. “Prepare the procession immediately. You will find everything ready by the time you return.”
    The young man bowed and walked back through the garden. Al-Ashmar heard a heavy wooden door close. Moments later, the palace’s bell pealed once more.
    Al-Ashmar, heart quickening, searched the landscape of the grate, looking for any sign of a catch. He found something hard and irregular about halfway down on the left side, but had no idea how to release it.
    As the Empress’s guards positioned themselves on their white cloths, Djazir ladled a thick white liquid from a ceramic bowl using an ornate spoon. He held the spoon to Bela’s lips and waited as she lapped at it. Then he set Bela down on a silk pillow on the Empress’s throne and petted her until her movements slowed.
    Bela rested her head on her crossed paws and stared directly at Al-Ashmar. Her eyes blinked, twice, before slowly closing for the last time. Her lungs ceased to draw breath mere moments later.
    The bell pealed again, long and slow.
    Djazir moved to each of the guards in turn and administered a spoonful of the liquid. Their bodies were already lying down, but each fell slack less than three breaths after imbibing the poison.
    Al-Ashmar worked frantically at the catch. Open, damn it! Open!
    Djazir moved next to Rabiah’s motionless form.
    “Stop it, Djazir!”
    Djazir turned. He moved toward the grate, squinting.
    The catch released.
    Al-Ashmar stepped out into the light, ready to charge for Djazir should he make a move toward Rabiah. Instead Djazir dropped the spoon and pulled his dagger free of its sheath.
    “I was willing to let your children live, Al-Ashmar, but an affront such as this demands their deaths.”
    Al-Ashmar, heart beating wildly, patted his vest for anything he might use as a weapon and found only the leftover phials of Bela’s tonic. He swallowed hard and pulled one of them from his vest pocket.
    Djazir chuckled. “Are you going to heal me, physic?”
    Al-Ashmar unstoppered the phial and waited for Djazir to come close, but Djazir lunged much faster than Al-Ashmar had anticipated. Al-Ashmar dodged, but still the steel bit deep into his shoulder. He flung the phial’s contents at Djazir’s face, aiming for the eyes. Enough of the acerbic liquid struck home, and Djazir screamed and fell backward.
    Al-Ashmar fell on top of Djazir, driving his good shoulder into Djazir’s gut. A long, deep, noisy exhalation was forced from Djazir’s lungs, giving Al-Ashmar time to scramble on top of him. Holding the knife to one side, Al-Ashmar seized Djazir’s neck and applied all the leverage he could as the older man writhed beneath him, sputtering and