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She went stiff with shock； as if slapped。 Her body arched backwards in the first uncontrolled movement she had made all evening。 For a long moment she remained that way； rigid； motionless； and then； with real grief and a simultaneous relief； Ammar heard her make one harsh； unnatural sound as if something had been torn in her throat； or in her heart。
He drew her slowly down until she lay along the length of him； but in a different fashion from all their touchings of before。 And in the dark of that room； notorious for the woven patterns of desire it had seen； Ammar ibn Khairan held the woman beloved of the man he'd killed； and offered what small fort he could。 He granted her the courtesy and space of his silence； as she finally permitted herself to weep； mourning the depth of her loss； the appalling disappearance； in an instant； of love in a bitter world。
A bitter； ironic world； he thought； still struggling upwards as through those scented； enveloping green waters。 And then； as if he had； truly； broken through to some surface of awareness； ibn Khairan confronted and accepted the fact that she had； indeed； been right in what she'd said on the terrace as the sun set。
He'd killed a hard； suspicious； brilliant； cruelly ambitious man today。 And one whom he had loved。
When the Lion at his pleasure es
To the watering place to drink； ah see！
See the lesser beasts of Al…Rassan
Scatter like blown leaves in autumn；
Like air…borne seedlings in the spring；
Like grey clouds that part to let the first star
Of the god shine down upon the earth。
Lions died。 Lovers died； or were slain。 Men and women moved in their pride and folly through deeds of pity and atrocity and the stars of Ashar looked down and did or did not care。
The two of them never left his room that night。 Ammar had trays brought again； with cold meats and cheeses and figs and pomegranates from his own groves。 They ate by candlelight； cross…legged upon the bed； in silence。 Then they removed the trays and blew out the candles and lay down together again； though not in the movements of desire。
They were awake before dawn。 In the grey half…light that slowly suffused the room she told him； without his asking； that at the end of the summer her two sons had been quietly sent for fostering； after the old fashion； to King Badir of Ragosa。
Ragosa。 She had made that decision herself； she said quietly； immediately after ibn Khairan's poem had arrived in Cartada； lampooning and excoriating the king。 She had always tried to stay ahead of events； and the poem had offered more than a hint of change to e。
〃Where will you go？〃 she asked him。 Morning light had entered the chamber by then。 They could hear birds outside and from within the house the footsteps of busy servants。 She was sitting up； cross…legged again； wrapped in a light blanket as in a shepherd's cloak； her face paint streaked with the tracks of her night tears； hair tumbling in disarray。
〃I haven't； to be honest； had time to think about it。 I was only ordered into exile yesterday morning； remember？ And then I had a somewhat demanding guest awaiting me when I came home。〃
She smiled wanly； but made no movement； waiting； her dark eyes； red…rimmed； fixed on his。
He truly had not thought about it。 He had expected to be triumphantly home in Cartada as of yesterday morning； guiding the policies and first steps of the new king and the kingdom。 A man could make plans； it seemed； but he could not plan for everything。 He hadn't even allowed himself； through the course of the night just past； to think much about Almalik ibn Almalik； the prince…the king； now…who had so decisively turned on him。 There would be time for that later。 There would have to be。
In the meantime； there was a whole peninsula and a world beyond it full of places that were not Cartada。 He could go almost anywhere； do so many different things。 He had realized that much yesterday； riding here。 He was a poet； a soldier； a courtier； a diplomat。
He looked at the woman on his bed； and read the question she was trying so hard not to ask。 At length he smiled； savoring all the ironies that seemed to be emerging like flower petals in the light； and he accepted the burden that came not from killing； but from allowing someone to take fort with him when no fort had been expected or thought to be allowed。 She was a mother。 He had known that； of course； but had never given any thought to what it might mean for her。
〃Where will I go？ Ragosa； I suppose；〃 he said； as if carelessly； and was humbled by the radiance of her smile； bright as the morning sunlight in the room。
Eight
Ivories and throngs of people； these were the predominant images Alvar carried after three months in Ragosa。
He had been born and raised on a farm in the far north。 For him； a year before； Esteren in Valledo had been fearfully imposing。 Esteren； he now understood； was a village。 King Badir's Ragosa was one of the great cities of Al…Rassan。
He had never been in a place where so many people lived and went about their business； and yet； amid the bustle and chaos； the swirling movements； the layers of sound； somehow still a sense of grace hovered…a stringed instrument heard in an archway； a splashing fountain half…glimpsed beyond the flowers of screening trees。 It was true； what he had been told： the Star…born of Al…Rassan inhabited an entirely different world than did the Horsemen of Jad。
Every second object in the palace or the gracious homes he had seen seemed to be made of carved and polished ivory； imported by ship from the east。 Even the handles of the knives used at some tables。 The knobs on the palace doors。 Despite the slow decline of Al…Rassan since the fall of Silvenes； Ragosa was a conspicuously wealthy city。 In some ways it was because of the fall of the khalifs； actually。
Alvar had had that explained to him。 Besides the celebrated workers in ivory there were poets and singers here； leather workers； woodcarvers； masons； glassblowers； stonecutters…masters of a bewildering variety of trades who would never have ventured east across the Serrana Range in the days when Silvenes was the center of the western world。 Now； since the Khalifate's thunderous fall； every one of the city…kings had his share of craftsmen and artists to exalt and extol his virtues。 They were all lions； if one could believe the honey…tongued poets of Al…Rassan。
One couldn't； of course。 Poets were poets； and had a living to earn。 Kings were kings； and there were a score of them now； some foundering in the ruin of their walls； some festering in fear or greed； a few…a very few…conceivably heirs to what Silvenes had been。 It seemed to Alvar； on little enough experience； that King Badir in Ragosa had to be numbered among those in the last group。
Amid all the strangeness surrounding him…the unknown； intoxicating smells from doorway and courtyard and food stall； the bells summoning the devout to prayer at measured intervals during the day and night； the riot of noise and color in the marketplace； Alvar was grateful that here in Al…Rassan they still measured the round of the year by the white moon's cycling from full to full as they did back home。 At least that hadn't changed。 He could say exactly how long he'd been here； in another world。
On the other hand； it felt like so much more than three months； when he paused to look back。 His year in Esteren seemed eerily remote； and the farm almost unimaginably distant。 He wondered what his mother would say； could she have seen him in his loosely belted； flowing Asharite garb during the summer past。 Actually； he didn't wonder： he was fairly certain he knew。 She'd have headed straight back to Vasca's Isle； on her knees； in penance for his sins。
The fact was； though； summer was hot here in the south。 One needed a headcovering in the white light of midday； one less cumbersome than a stiff leather hat； and the light…colored cotton tunics and trousers of Al…Rassan were far more fortable in the city streets than what he had been wearing when they arrived。 His face was darkened by the sun； he looked half Asharite himself； Alvar knew。 It was an odd sensation； gazing in a glass and seeing the man who looked back。 There were mirrors everywhere； too； the Ragosans were a vain people。
Autumn had e in the meantime； he wore a light brown cloak over his clothing now。 Jehane had picked it out for him when the weather began to change。 Twisting and pushing…expertly now…through the crowds of the weekly market； Alvar could hardly believe how little time had really passed since the two of them and Velaz had e through the mountain pass and first seen the blue waters of the lake and the towers of Ragosa。
He had been at pains to conceal his awe that day； though looking back from his newly sophisticated vantage point he suspected that his two panions had simply been generous enough to pretend not to notice。 Even Fezana had intimidated him from a distance。 Ragosa dwarfed it。 Only Cartada itself now…with Silvenes of the khalifs looted and gutted years ago…was a more formidable city。 Next to this high…walled； many…towered magnificence； Esteren was as the hamlet of Orvilla； where Garcia de Rada had e ra