“Uncle, you are remiss! You promised to write me but you never do and now I do not know the name of your wife!”

Thyatis grunted in surprise and touched her face. She had forgotten she was veiled in traditional garb. Jusuf laughed, seeing the movement. The woman spun on her heel, little golden bells tinkling at her ankle.

“Uncle! Do not laugh at me!”

Jusuf held up his hands to ward off the spark of anger in his niece’s eyes. “Wait, wait! Your mother has not married me off yet! This is a traveling companion of mine. Please… may I introduce you in the proper manner?”

The niece turned away, her face haughty, her arms crossed under her breasts*. “I suppose.”

Thyatis grimaced under her veil and tugged at the cloth. It didn’t want to unwind. She bent over and untucked the tail of the scarf from her neck.

“My dear, may I present the lady Thyatis Julia Clodia of the House of Clodia?”

Thyatis threw her head back, long golden-red hair spilling out, and brushed the tangle of locks from her face. She breathed a great sigh-it was suffocating in those things. The niece’s eyes widened in surprise. Thyatis grinned, her even white teeth flashing in the light of the crystal lanterns.

“Thyatis, my niece, the Princess Shirin, the junior wife of Chrosoes, King of Kings. Our host here in the Palace of the Swans.”

“Pleased to meet you, Princess. Nice place.”

Thyatis made a sketchy bow, trying to remember what the Duchess had taught her about foreign royalty. The only thing that came to mind was Anastasia’s voice saying and stay out of their bedrooms!

Shirin took a step backward, amazement and anger warring in her face. She placed her hands on her hips and turned to Jusuf, her brow clouded with dismay. “Dear uncle, this woman is a Roman!”

“Yes,” Jusuf said with an innocent expression on his face, “so she is.”

“You can’t bring a Roman into the Palace of Swans! If you hadn’t noticed, my husband is at war with the Empire of Rome!”

Jusuf rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful.

“Why,” he said slowly, “I believe that you’re right. We are at war with Persia.”

Shirin, her finger raised and poised for a tirade, stopped, her mouth open. Fear crept into her expression.

“We are at war with Persia?”

“Yes,” Jusuf said softly and took Shirin’s hand, leading her back to the couch. “We left Tauris weeks ago, but the Roman Emperors and the Kagan were in accord. Even now they may be marching on this city.”

Shirin sat heavily, a bleak look on her face. Thyatis looked away and wandered to the doorway to the garden. Behind her, Jusuf also sat down on the couch, holding his niece’s slim little hand in both of his.

“The Emperor of the East,” Jusuf said, “made an alliance with the Kagan. Ziebil brought forty thousand men into the south with him. The best forty thousand of our warriors. That is why we are here.”

“Oh, Jusuf, how could Sahul do this? He promised Chrosoes peace at our wedding! How can he be allied with murderers?”

Thyatis looked around and pinned Jusuf with her gaze. “So… friend Jusuf, you want to explain how our missing companion fits into this?”

Jusuf met her stare but then looked away. Shirin stared at Thyatis with concern.

“Sahul is missing?” Shirin’s voice was faint. “Is he dead?”

“No,” said Jusuf, slumping back into the couch, “he was as hale and hearty as ever when last I saw him in Tauris.” He raised a hand to ward of the explosion about to erupt from Thyatis. “Please, my lady, the Kagan asked me to say nothing to you until he saw you again himself.”

“That’s a pretty low trick, friend Khazar, to let me think he was dead for all this time!”

“I’m sorry,” Jusuf said. “My brother found it relaxing, I think, to be one of your troopers for a while. He didn’t want to make your task more difficult in Tauris.”

“Surely!” Thyatis spat, “kings usually give the orders to centurions, not the other way around!”

“Wait!” Shirin said, holding up both of her hands, jeweled platinum bracelets tinkling. “Tell me the entire story, then the two of you can bicker like crows in a farmyard. Where did you meet and why? Then what happened?”

“And then,” Thyatis finished, “your uncle got a wild hair and decided to bust into the palace and see someone important.” She swirled the wine in her porcelain goblet and then took a long drink. Storytelling was thirsty work. The wine was a joy on her tongue, like rich velvet. Shirin, curled up around a velvet pillow with her small feet tucked under her, stirred under the quilts she had dragged out of a closet.

“You really made Sahul follow your orders,” she said sleepily. “And Dahvos and Jusuf? They always ignored me when I was little. He was the worst,” she muttered, pointing a long lacquered nail at her uncle, who was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, his back leaning against the end of the couch. “He picked on me all the time and put frogs in my hair.”

Thyatis smiled, remembering her own- brothers. “That just meant he loved you.”

“Maybe.” The Princess yawned. “Can I see your sword?”

Thyatis nodded and sat down next to the Princess. She had carried the blade with her into the palace, strapped to her back under the heavy robes. Now it gleamed in the lantern light as she slid it slowly out of the silk-lined sheath. The metal shimmered, the watery surface seemingly filled with glowing light. Shirin traced the patterns with her fingers, but she did not touch the surface of the blade. She fingered the leather hilt, her fingertips tracing the grooves worn by Thyatis’ hand.

“It’s sleeping,” Shirin said, “and warm. Have you killed many men?”

Thyatis returned the blade to its sheath and tugged the leather strap over the hilt to hold it snug. She turned to the Princess, her gray eyes distant and shadowed.

“I’ve killed men,” she said simply. “I take no joy in it.”

Shirin hugged a pillow beaded with tiny pearls to her chest, peering over the top at the Roman woman. Thyatis felt a tingle in her arms and stomach when she met the Princess’s eyes. They seemed bottomless, a liquid brown, swimming with vulnerability.

“Are you going to kill my husband?”

Jusuf hissed in alarm and began to rise from the floor. Thyatis waved him back down.

“Shirin,” she said, “my lord, the Emperor of the West, sent me into Persia to prepare the way for his army. Your husband and my nation are at war. I am beholden to do everything I can to help win this war for my lord. But…”-she paused-“I am not here to murder your husband.”

“What will you do, then?” Shirin’s voice was even, though Thyatis thought there was a tremor of fear or panic hiding behind it.

The Roman woman shrugged her shoulders at Jusuf. “He’s the one who wanted to come see you.”

Jusuf levered himself off of the floor and knelt by Shirin, holding her hand. “Little bug, I know you love the King of Kings, but the stories I’ve heard made me fear for you. I came here, and, yes, Thyatis, I came because of Shirin, not because of your mission, because I thought you might need help.”

Shirin stared at her uncle and took her hand back. “My husband has not been well since Maria died.” Her hand crept to her face, “He thinks that he is ugly now, scarred and disfigured by the fire.”

Thyatis shook her head in puzzlement, saying: “I don’t understand. What fire? Who was Maria?”

Jusuf sighed and sat back down. He looked up at Shirin, but she saw only her own fears.

“Maria was the first wife of Chrosoes,” he began, “the daughter of the Emperor of the Eastern Empire, Maurice.“

“A Roman!” Thyatis said slowly, remembering Galen’s words in his tent at Tauris. “How…” Jusuf glared at her and she shut up. “Please,” he said, “let me tell the story. ”When Chrosoes was a very young man, younger than you, his father-the great king Hormazd-was murdered by one of his generals, Bahram. Chrosoes himself was set up as a puppet king for this warlord, but in time he escaped from Ctesiphon and fled into the north. He would have died in the wilderness, even with the help of his good friend, the Eastern lord Shahr-Baraz, but he had the good luck to stumble upon a camp of the Khazars.