Myrad felt panic shooting through his chest. The king had found the weakest link among them, and he leaned forward wearing a victor’s smile.

“I have a report from the Roman centurion who searched your caravan in Antioch,” the king went on. “Among the silk you carried, he also found a large quantity of gold and spices, strange gifts for a simple visit to the land of your fathers.”

Hakam didn’t reply, but his face reddened, and beneath the onslaught of Herod’s gaze he began to tremble.

“What brought you to Judea, magus?” Herod pressed.

Hakam’s head came up, losing its deferential cast, until he stared at the king eye to eye. “We received a dream from the Most High God.”

Herod leaned forward, all signs of pain from his affliction absent. “What was this dream that brought magi all the way to Judea with such extravagant gifts?”

The courtyard stilled until nothing but the soft crackle of the burning braziers could be heard. Myrad closed his eyes and prayed Hakam would find some answer that would satisfy the king and let them live. The tone of his first words dashed his hopes.

“A dream of the voice of God.” Hakam paused, but the lot was cast. There was no way to keep Herod from the whole truth now. Hakam’s voice sharpened until it cut the air like a Roman gladius. “We have come searching for the one who has been born king of the Hebrews. We have seen His star in the east and have followed it here that we may worship Him.”

Myrad couldn’t breathe, and sudden spots swam in his vision. The fool had just sentenced them all to death.

Herod’s laughter, caustic and tinged with physical distress, filled the courtyard. “And this is the truth you thought to keep from me? By the time the child is grown, I will be dead.” His laughter scaled upward until it echoed among the buildings. “I wish your god luck in finding one who can wrest Judea from the grip of Rome.” Then his mirth softened and he became dismissive, waving away the magi and Walagash’s company. “Come, my guests, let us eat and celebrate the peace, however temporary, between our kingdoms.”

Myrad and the others were escorted to an area to one side, where servants brought them dishes of food and wineskins. After a few moments, the tension in Herod’s courtyard eased and Myrad was able to breathe freely again. The meal stretched for hours into the evening, the Romans showing no signs of retiring.

At one point during the meal, Myrad glanced toward the dais only to find it empty. “He’s gone,” he said to Masista.

The magus nodded. “The king left an hour ago.”

Despite his dislike of the man, Myrad found himself seeking Masista’s reassurance. “Are we in danger?”

The magus’s smile held none of its usual superiority. “We were always in danger, but your friend Hakam has made sure that Herod sees us as an enemy.”