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swear –’
    Rakhsar stood up. He paced about the little manicured clearing as the shadows went back and forth across his face, the ancient trees above him creaking in the breeze.
    ‘What have I heard? I hear everything, Roshana.
    ‘I have heard that all is not well in the west. The enemy were given battle at the Haneikos river, and our troops were routed. The satrapies of Gansakr and Askanon are wide open to the invaders – all the land between the Haneikos and the Sardask is theirs now, right up to the city of Ashdod.’
    Rakhsar paused, eyes gleaming, as bright and hard as shards of glass. ‘There will have to be another levy – a real one this time. And if I know anything, I believe the Great King himself will lead it.’
    ‘Our father, off to war? But he’s an old man, Rakhsar.’
    Rakhsar smiled sourly. ‘He has my brother’s broad shoulders to carry some of the load for him. In any case, the preparations have already begun. They’re moving cattle west to Hamadan. It’s my guess he’ll take the Honai, too. And if they want to cross the Magron before the first snows, then the thing must be got under way very soon.’
    Roshana shook her head in disbelief. ‘How many years has it been?’
    ‘Since Kunaksa? Thirty. A generation, since Ashurnan the Great won his empire and killed his brother. Now he must do it again.’
    ‘And what of us?’ Roshana’s dark eyes widened. ‘Are we simply to be left here?’
    ‘That is my point, sister. The Great King leaves his capital. He takes with him his eldest son and heir. Do you really think he will leave me behind? He would be a fool to even consider it. No.’ Rakhsar looked down at his slender fingers. His hands began to clench in and out of one another, as if he were washing them. It was as though he could not bid them to be still.
    ‘No. This is my time. Kouros will have me killed before they leave for Hamadan, and our father will not interfere. That is the way it will be.’
    A low chime carried through the air, a shimmering echo of noise that carried through the gardens like some tremor set off by the sunset.
    ‘We are called,’ Rakhsar said. ‘Our beloved father bids us dine with him.’
    ‘Do you really believe all this, brother?’ Roshana asked. She offered Rakhsar her hand and he helped her up from the embroidered couch. He smiled down at her with real affection, but there was still that hard light shining in his eyes.
    ‘You’ve lost one. Here, let me.’ He knelt before his sister and placed her slim foot within the thin, scarlet leather of the slipper. Then he straightened, and took both her hands in his own.
    ‘I am certain enough to act on it, and to risk death to avoid death,’ he said in a low voice. ‘For you, it is not the same. You have no stake in this – be married, have children, try to be happy. I will speak no more of these things to you – it is not your concern – but I wanted you to know, Roshana.’
    ‘You’re leaving,’ she said. ‘But how can you? Rakhsar, they have you watched night and day.’
    ‘I have the thing in hand.’ He bent and kissed her. ‘I should not have told you, but I wanted to say goodbye. I had to let you know.’
    ‘Take me with you –’
    ‘Impossible. Do you know what it would mean? You have never left the city, Roshana. You do not know what the world is like.’
    ‘Nor do you.’
    Rakhsar’s mouth curved in a scimitar sneer. ‘I have a pretty good idea.’
    Again, the low chime of the gong, carrying over the birdsong. They heard footsteps on the flags of the path, and turned as one. Into the clearing stepped a small girl, a dark hufsa in the livery of the household.
    ‘Great ones,’ she stammered, eyes downcast, ‘I am sent to beg you to come to table.’ She went to her knees and then bobbed up again.
    ‘One of yours?’ Rakhsar asked.
    Roshana shook her head. ‘She’s one of Kouros’s slaves, I think.’
    Rakhsar strode over to the girl and kicked her in the ribs, sending her