Slayer of Gods by Lynda S. Robinson

“Father is interested in him because Othrys suggested he had the power to cause the kind of trouble we’ve been
     having. But if he’s involved, it must be indirectly, since he had no contact with the queen.”
    “Perhaps I can find out more,” Bener said. She set the papyri aside and rose. “Dilalu and Zulaya may be secretive, but they’re
     rich men. They employ servants, and servants talk, and it will be easy to find out about Prince Usermontu and Lord Pendua.”
    Kysen jumped to his feet and shook a finger at her. “No. I forbid it.”
    Bener merely raised an eyebrow.
    “Father has forbidden you to interfere! If you get yourself in trouble he’ll blame me.”
    “I’ll tell him it wasn’t your fault, but I’m not going to get into trouble.”
    Groaning, Kysen said, “I’ll have you followed.”
    “Oh, very well. If you must be difficult about this, I’ll come to you with anything I devise, and you can carry out my plan.”
    Kysen bit his lip, pondering the likelihood of any of Bener’s schemes being any good. He smiled. “We have an agreement.”
    “Excellent, then you’d better be on your way.”
    “On my way? Where?”
    Bener paused as she opened the office door. “Oh, did I forget to tell you? The king sent word that he wishes to bestow a gift
     upon Father for saving his life. You’re to go to the workshop of the royal jeweler Basa.”
    “Damnation, Bener, why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
    “You have time,” she replied calmly. “It’s hours before sunset.”
    Grumbling under his breath, Kysen left word of his destination with a charioteer and set out for the jeweler’s. Basa, like
     many of the finest master craftsmen, had been well rewarded for his talents. He lived near the temple of Ptah in a large house
     that also contained his workshop. Kysen took the long avenue that led to the temple, skirted the boundary wall, and hurried
     down the Street of the Twin Moons. Giving his name to the porter at the gate, he was led down a short path, past a shrine
     to Ptah, and into the house itself. The anteroom was crowded with customers, each being attended to by an assistant. Above
     their conversation Kysen could hear the pounding of dozens of hammers, the grating of saws, and the whoosh of bellows coming
     from the workshops behind the house.
    A porter immediately led Kysen into the reception hall and to the lustration area where he could wash away the grime of the
     streets. Two men conferred over a papyrus on a table beside the master’s dais. When he was ready, the porter preceded him
     to the table.
    As he approached, the men turned. One was the master jeweler, Basa. The other was an Asiatic dressed in a long robe that stretched
     from his neck to his ankles. Diagonal folds of the finest blue wool hugged his body, and appliqués in geometric forms glittered
     from the fabric. A headband of the same design bound his long hair. He wore a beard arranged in a profusion of tight coils
     that concealed his face from nose to chin, except for dark lips that had pressed together as Kysen approached. His feet were
     encased in gilded sandals, and thick electrum bands encircled his ankles.
    The jeweler bowed to him. “Ah, great one, you honor my poor house. May the blessings of Amun shower you.”
    “Greetings, Basa.”
    “Lord Kysen, this is Zulaya, who has presented me with a commission from the temple of Amun.”
    Taken unaware, Kysen managed to conceal his surprise at this unexpected encounter. Zulaya’s reaction was hidden, for he’d
     swept down into a bow the moment the jeweler began speaking. He straightened to reveal an expression with all the impassivity
     of a lizard. Kysen studied him closely. Zulaya exuded the confidence one might expect from a wealthy man, but there was something
     more. Kysen sensed power, watchfulness, and a burning intensity. Most, however, would detect only the man’s air of cosmopolitan
     polish, and Kysen almost began to feel he was imagining Zulaya’s