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On the autumn morning when Mazur's messenger brought her tidings from Cartada and bade her follow him to court that jest didn't seem particularly witty any more。
Someone had been poisoned； it appeared。
In the palace of Ragosa； as Jehane arrived and made her way to the Courtyard of the Streams where the king was awaiting the newly arrived visitor； no one's thoughts or whispered words were of anything else。
Almalik of Cartada； the self…styled Lion of Al…Rassan； was dead； and the lady Zabira…more his widow than anything else…had arrived unannounced this morning； a supplicant to King Badir。 She had been acpanied only by her steward in her flight through the mountains； someone whispered。
Jehane； who had made the same journey with only two panions； wasn't impressed by that。 But neither was she even remotely close to sorting out how she felt about the larger tidings。 She was going to need a long time for that。 For the moment she could only grasp the essential fact that the man she had vowed to kill was somehow dead at Ammar ibn Khairan's hand…the story was not yet clear…and the woman who had birthed a living child and had herself survived only because of Jehane's father was soon to enter through the arches at the far end of this garden。
Beyond these two clear facts confusion reigned within her； mingled with something close to pain。 She had left Fezana with a sworn purpose； and had proceeded to spend the past months in this city enjoying her work at court； enjoying…if she was honest…the flattering attentions of an immensely civilized man； enjoying the determined skirmishing for her professional services。 Taking pleasure in her life。 And doing nothing at all about Almalik of Cartada and the promise she'd made to herself on the Day of the Moat。
Too late now。 It would always be too late； now。
She stood； as was her custom； on the margin of one bank of the stream； not far from Mazur's position at the king's right shoulder on the island。 Wind…blown leaves were falling into the water and drifting away。 As many times as she'd been in this garden； by daylight and under torches at night； Jehane was still conscious of its beauty。 In autumn only the late flowers still bloomed； but the falling leaves in the sunlight and those yet clinging to the trees were brilliant； many…colored。 She was aware of the effect this garden could have on someone seeing it for the first time。
The Courtyard of the Streams had been designed and contrived years ago。 The same stream that ran through the banquet hall had been further channelled to pass through this garden and to branch into two forks； creating a small islet in the midst of trees and flowers and marble walkways beneath the carved arcades。 On the isle； reached by two arched bridges； the king of Ragosa now sat on an ivory bench with his most honored courtiers beside him。 Flanking the gently curving path that approached one of the bridges members of Badir's court waited in the autumn sunshine for the woman who had e to Ragosa。
Birds flitted in the branches overhead。 Four musicians played on the far bank of the stream that ran behind the isle。 Goldfish swam in the water。 It was cool； but pleasant in the sun。
Jehane saw Rodrigo Belmonte on the other side of the garden； among the military men。 He had returned from Fibaz two nights before。 His eyes met hers； and she felt exposed by the thoughtful look in them。 He had no right； on so little acquaintance； to be regarding her with such appraisal。 She abruptly remembered telling him； by that fireside on the Fezana plain； that she intended to deal with Almalik of Cartada herself。 That made her think of Husari； who had also been there that night； who had shaped the same intention 。。。 who would be experiencing much the same difficult tangle of thoughts and emotions that she was。
If someone doesn't do it before either of us； he had said that night。 Someone had。
Husari wasn't here now。 He had no status at court。 She hoped there would be a chance to talk with him later。 She thought of her father in Fezana； and what had been done to him by the king now slain。
Between coral…colored pillars at the far end of the garden a herald appeared； in green and white。 The musicians stopped。 There was a brief silence then a bird sang； one quick trilling run。 Bronze doors opened and Zabira of Cartada was announced。
She entered under the arches of the arcade and waited between the pillars until the herald moved aside。 She had arrived without ceremony； with only the one man； her steward； two steps behind her for escort。 Jehane saw； as the woman approached along the walkway； that there had been nothing at all exaggerated in the reports of her beauty。
Zabira of Cartada was； in a sense； her own ceremony。 She was an exquisite supplicant in a crimson…dyed； black…bordered gown over a golden undergown。 She had jewelry at wrist and throat and on her fingers； and there were rubies set in the soft； night…black silken cap she wore。 They gleamed in the sunlight。 With only one man to guard her； it appeared that she had carried an extraordinary treasure through the mountains。 She was reckless then； or desperate。 She was also dazzling。 Fashions； thought Jehane； were about to change in Ragosa if this woman stayed for long。
Zabira moved forward with effortless； trained grace； betraying no wonder at all in this place； and then sank down in full obeisance to Badir。 This was not； evidently； a woman for whom a garden or courtyard； even one such as this； held the power to awe。 She wouldn't even blink at the stream running through the banquet room； Jehane decided； just before something took her thoughts in another direction entirely。
Most of the court was staring at Zabira in frank admiration。 King Badir had ceased doing so； however； in the moment she lowered herself to the ground before the arched bridge leading to his isle。 So； too； even before the king； had his chancellor。
A high cloud slid briefly across the sun； changing the light； lending a swift chill to the air； a reminder that it was autumn。 At this moment the newest physician in Ragosa； following the king's narrowed glance past the kneeling woman； encountered a difficulty with her breathing。
Nor； as it happened； was Zabira of Cartada continuing to hold the attention of the newest and most prominent of the mercenary captains at King Badir's court。
Rodrigo Belmonte admired beauty and poise in a woman and evidence of courage； he had been married for almost sixteen years to a woman with these qualities。 But he； too； was looking beyond Zabira now； gazing instead at the figure approaching the bridge and the isle； two dutiful steps behind her； preserving a palpable fiction for one more moment。
The sun came out； bathing them all in light。 Zabira of Cartada remained on the ground； an embodiment of beauty and grace amid the falling leaves。 She hardly mattered now。
The woman's panion； her sole panion； the man who had been announced as her steward； was Ammar ibn Khairan。
For a handful of extremely subtle people in that garden further elements of the death of King Almalik were now explained。 And for them； although the woman might be the most celebra