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They followed Arslan along a walkway. As they passed a side alcove, a young woman sat on a cushion with her knees drawn up and her face buried in a book. Her hair was the color of pale apricot wood, and under her cloak was the faint shape of concealed wings.

In another alcove, deeper in, a tall man stood with his back to the walkway, head bowed, with the scorch of djinn magic in the air around him.

Alexis didn't stop and stare, but when he was past, he asked, "How many supernaturals are you sheltering right now?"

"Four at present. The peri and a djinn, both of whom you saw. A child with oracle gifts, whose grandmother died in November. A drosos who has lost her spring and is mourning. I don't turn them away, and Anubis hasn't asked me to. I'll keep them safe as long as they need it."

"Fortunato," Phaidros said softly.

"Lucky for me too," Arslan replied. "The supernaturals fear the siege as badly as the humans. Worse, sometimes. They have nowhere to run that knows them."

"What about Akamos? He isn't helping?" Alexis asked.

"He's a fallen angel, not a benevolent one. He's trying to keep the dark ones under control, and that's a big enough job with all the blood and violence in the air."

They came at last to a wider stone platform where cushions were laid around a low table and a hookah sat unlit beside a copper tray. A young brother in a dark robe stood at the table and set down a tea tray. He bowed to them without speaking and went away across the bridge the way they had come.

"You have the guard shifts down here as well," Alexis commented.

"It would be foolish to ask men to keep watch in the dark above and leave the work below to no one." Arslan gestured for them to sit and began pouring tea. The steam curled up between them, sweet with cloves. "Drink. You have been on a boat for a week, and that does not improve anyone's temper."

Phaidros took his cup. "Especially when Alexis is driving."

"And Phaidros is a passenger," Alexis added. "What can you tell us about the city?"

"Mehmed is at our doorstep, and his damn cannons shake the city day and night," Arslan replied.

"What about the ships in Horn?"

"The clever little sultan took them over land, behind Galata." Arslan made a gesture of helplessness. "No one expected it, and Galata is still holding ground as neutral territory."

"Who is running the defense of the rest of the city?" Alexis asked, half expecting Constantine's name.

"The city has seven thousand fighters altogether. Most of those are Genoese under Giustiniani, who arrived in January with seven hundred of his own men and has been raising the morale of every man on the walls since. The rest are Greek regulars, a few Venetians who have refused to leave, the household guards of the great families, and what monks and tradesmen can be persuaded to carry a spear. Against them, Mehmed will bring eighty thousand. Some say a hundred." Arslan's mouth turned down, finally showing how tired he really was. "The walls have stood for a thousand years."

"They have not faced this Hungarian's new gun," Alexis said quietly.

"No one has. I have never heard anything like the Basilica. I didn't think such a thing could ever be built."

"Nothing is impossible." Phaidros set his glass down. "Anyone else noteworthy leading the troops?"

"A man has been seen on the walls almost every day since November," Arslan said, staring at Alexis over his tea. "He's at Saint Romanus Gate from the third hour of light until the third hour of dark, and again most evenings after the second supper. He walks the parapet with the Greek captains or Giustiniani. He inspects the breach works. He drinks with the Genoese mercenaries at their fires at night. They have begun to call him Strategos."

Phaidros made a long whistle through his teeth. "Oh, dear, I wonder who that sounds like?"

Of course he is at the Romanus Gate. He would be nowhere else.

Alexis rubbed at his temple, the throb already starting.

It was the gate where the walls were weakest, and where Mehmed would press the hardest. Con would never choose a hill to die on that wasn't the right shape.

"Porca miseria. I will go to him tomorrow," Alexis muttered.

Arslan nodded. "I have a token that will get you to the Greek captains, and they will get you to the wall."

"Grazie, old friend. What else can you tell us about the state of things?"

"Only bad news." Arslan lit the hookah and inhaled deeply. "We had a blood moon eclipse two days ago. The oracles in the city all had the same prophecy: That Constantinople would fall when the reigning emperor was named Constantine and his mother was named Helena, just like the emperor who first founded it."