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shadow, a woman who once had claim to a wanton’s beauty. The collar around her neck proclaimed her as much property as pupil. Farouk, a poor cousin and her father’s scar-faced adjutant, brooded by the entrance to the pavilion. Mari noted the coldness of his gaze where it rested on Armal. Of her other brother, Kasra, there was no sign.
    Mari came to a surprised halt when she saw Nehrun. Both Nehrun’s and her father’s faces were set, their eyes narrowed. In his gold and dark-blue silks, the Näsarat reminded Mari of a peacock rather than the phoenix of his House. It was clear from the way Belam caressed the hilt of his sword, Tragedy, he would have liked nothing better than to kill his fellow prince. Nehrun spared a glance for her when she entered.
    “I want what was promised me,” Nehrun growled.
    “Your father is still alive,” Corajidin said irritably. “How can you be rahn while he still is?”
    “Excuses,” Nehrun countered. “I warned you that Far-ad-din had discovered your excavations in the Rōmarq. I have broken faith to help you, so neither my father nor the Teshri would know what you were doing. Were it not for me, you’d be trying to breathe with a yellow silk cord wrapped around your neck! It’s time for you to honor your side of our agreement.”
    “Settle yourself, pup,” Corajidin growled. “Do not come here and yap at me. You will be given what was promised when I am able to do so.”
    “You were supposed to have had my father killed on the battlefield. You promised me my inheritance!” Nehrun stood his ground, though Mari noted the tremor in his voice. “While my father lives, the Federationists still outnumber you in the Upper House of the Teshri. You need Imperialist allies to get what you want, and I want what’s rightfully mine.”
    “I do not believe a pampered little man like you has even the slightest idea what I want.” Corajidin gave Nehrun an appraising look. “When your father’s dead, we will see about settling debts.”
    “I could reveal our arrangement,” Nehrun said, too quickly to hide his desperation.
    “You will not.” Corajidin waved his hand dismissively. “Even if you retained your freedom, or your credibility, you would then have to assassinate Ariskander yourself, and I do not think you have the testicular fortitude to go through with it.”
    “But—”
    Belam’s fingers lingered on Tragedy’s pommel. Nehrun’s eyes narrowed as they flicked to the pavilion door. The Widowmaker smiled as he said, “Are you sure this is the smartest place for you to run your mouth, Nehrun?”
    “I share your vision, Rahn-Corajidin. I know you want to return us to the glory days of the Awakened Empire. I can help you become Mahj and unify the Avān people once more. The Näsarat will be a different power under my rule. Remember it!” Nehrun glared at Belam, then strode from the pavilion without another word.
    “A different power?” Wolfram repeated in his incongruously beautiful tenor. “I hope so. Ariskander is too formidable by far, and the Federationist faction in the Teshri too strong. At least Nehrun is inexperienced enough to be manipulated.”
    “Productive morning, Father?” Mari interrupted.
    “Where have you been?” Corajidin looked Mari up and down, a frown of disapproval furrowing his brow. “Are you drunk?”
    “No,” she said. “Though I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungover. Where’s Kasra?”
    “Of course you have.” Belam grinned. He handed her a cup of thick coffee and Armal came forward, his head ducked low, to spoon cinnamon and honey into her cup. “Our esteemed brother has headed into the Rōmarq. He much prefers playing with his magic toys and digging in the mire of old cities than fighting wars.”
    “Kasraman will be your rahn one day,” Corajidin reminded them. “Maybe more if our plans come to fruition. We are on the verge of great discoveries that will help our people.”
    “But only after they’ve helped our