by Aderyn Wood
“You have done well tonight, sister.” Hadanash cut through her thoughts. “I was concerned this afternoon that you and father weren’t taking my proposal seriously.” His eyes scanned her dress. “I am glad to see I was mistaken. I know the king’s manner, and I can tell you he is well pleased with his future bride.” Hadanash smirked. “He can barely take his eyes from you, sweet sister. It is well you left the mask behind tonight.”
And you think the King of Urul will reward you for proposing the arrangement. Heduanna lifted her chin. “It just happens that he pleases me. He is quite possibly the most handsome king in all Zraemia.”
Her brother laughed. “Of course, that is all that matters to you.” His eyes narrowed, before turning their usual shade of sinister. “I've heard some interesting rumours about you. Rumours that are not befitting for a princess of Azzuri.” His lips thinned. “I suggest you keep your slave lovers at a distance while the Urul king is guest here. Such affairs would not sit well with his Radiance. The royal women of Urul are not so free or indiscriminate with their affections.”
Heduanna’s skin bristled. “His Radiance? Has my future husband got an ally in you, brother, or a groveling pet?” She turned her back on him and walked toward a servant holding a jug of wine.
A shout sounded. The music stopped and all eyes turned to watch King Amar-Eshu re-enter the hall and stalk through it like an angry lion, heading for the exit.
Heduanna took a breath and placed her cup on the table. Had her father managed to insult the king after all the peacekeeping efforts so far? Had he failed? Was war, after all, imminent?
Heduanna moved toward the entrance with the swiftness of a heron. She had to try and make amends.
But someone tapped her shoulder. Enlil. Not now! She managed a thin smile and said, “Enlil, I look forward to talking with you, it has been too long. Please, I shall return.” She ignored his sad expression and continued towards the entrance and placed herself in front of the king in time to stall his exit.
The King's gaze, filled with anger and vengeance, fell on her and immediately softened.
Heduanna pounced on the transition in his emotions. She gave him a smile meant for lovers and stepped toward him bowing her head. “King Amar-Eshu, it is my great pleasure to greet you. Ever since we received word of your offer for my hand in marriage, I have thought of naught but you. Dreaming of the moment when I could finally meet you in the flesh.”
The King’s frown smoothed a notch more. His fists unfurled as he touched his chest with one broad hand and bowed in return. “Princess, I have heard much of your beauty and it has all been lies.”
Heduanna held her breath.
“Your beauty is frankly, indescribable. Even a poet such as your brother would fail to capture it with any accuracy.”
Heduanna lowered her chin and smiled through her eyelashes.
“However, it appears our happiness together shall not come to fruition.”
She looked up, trying to smooth the sense of alarm on her brow.
“Your father has refused to accept my offer to acquire your hand.”
No. “Exalted, my father's sometimes too quick to judge, too hasty with his decisions.” It was lie. Her father was never quick. Never hasty.
“Quick? I sent word of my intentions three moons ago. He’s had ample time to consider. His decision-making has been nothing but slow and deliberate.” Eshu’s words were clipped.
“What is wrong?” Hadanash stepped beside her.
“What is wrong?” The king turned on Heduanna’s brother, anger making his face a shade darker. “Your counsel is what is wrong, Hadanash. You told me your father was a reasonable man. That he would agree to my offer—”
“And my brother told you true, King Amar-Eshu,” Heduanna interjected. “My father is a reasonable man.” She reached out and touched his arm, his muscles as hard as rock. She opened her gate of divinity, reaching for her essence and fed a sense of the goddess’s serenity to the king. “Let me convince him otherwise. He listens to me. He listens to the goddess. She will help me to make him see reason.” She lowered her voice. “I was so very pleased when I first cast my gaze over you this afternoon. I already look forward to becoming your wife, Radiance.” She bent her chin and looked up at the king, arranging her most winsome expression.
She was rewarded by his smile in return. Then he folded a hand over her own. “May I share a cup of wine with my future wife?”
“Come,” Heduanna gripped his hand and led him back into the dining hall. “I will pour it myself.”
Heduanna stepped on to her terrace to enjoy a cool breeze that blew gentle gusts over the river. Below, the city continued to thrive. Blazes from fire dances lit the streets, and the sound of applause drifted now and then from the bazaar where a small company of actors performed the love story of Argmon and Chia. Above, the sky was brighter than most nights, the moon was almost full and Gayat’s star added more light. Tomorrow eve, the comet would return to the night sky after eight sommers, and the nights would be rendered almost as bright as day. It would mark the beginning of the festival, Azzuri’s most important celebration in which thanks was given to Phadite. Heduanna would be expected to recite a poem, one filled with her messages from the goddess to the people of Azzuri.
And the people of Azzuri would be expected to give their thanks to the goddess in the form of love. A night of pleasure for all couples was about to ensue, and Heduanna began thinking through her options. The thought of making love with the guest king, his strong hands on her body, his full lips on her skin, made her aroused. Yes, they were meant to be together. But then she remembered Enlil. His gaze had followed her all evening and she felt sure a night with him would be as wild as fire. They’d both come a long way since their innocent fumblings as new lovers.
Her hand touched the gold cords of her three-piece top, and slipped through to hold her breast. One of her lovers had told her that her body was as lovely as Phadite’s own. She grew more excited at the thought of Amar-Eshu seeing her nakedness for the first time and she wished she had arranged for Ri to meet her in her suite after the evening’s entertainment. Perhaps it was not too late. Perhaps she could send someone to fetch him. She turned to call for Kisha, normally asleep by her bed, but then she remembered, and she let go her breast. Tears welled once more and she shook them away. She had to be strong. “Ah! Phadite!” she shouted to the sky. “I need a distraction.”
A branch of the potted palm moved with too much force to be caused by the breeze, and Heduanna snapped her attention to it. There behind the palm lurked a shadow. At first she thought it was Smite, but the shadow was too tall for a cat.
“Who's there?”
The figure stepped forward. The young bard's eyes roamed over her and her prior exhilaration returned in a heartbeat. She raised her arms into the air in the shape of a V to expose her skin and her breasts between the slivers of gold threads of her top. Enlil's mouth opened and she once again relished the sense of power her beauty held over men. This was just the distraction she’d asked for.
“Princess –” was all he could manage.
“Come here, Enlil.”
He eagerly strode to her and she embraced him. He caressed the soft crook of her neck with hungry kisses. Her eyes looked up to the near full moon. Thank you, Phadite.
Sargan
“It was a beautiful recital, Sargan.” Qisht’s rouge lips quivered.
Sargan swallowed his mouthful of sausage to give his tutor a smile.
“And the symbolism.” Qisht handed Sargan a cup of morning beer. “Nothing could have been more fitting. It eased tensions.”
“It didn’t last though. My sister calmed the enemy king in the end. Not my poetry.”
Qisht looked down his long nose at Sargan. As always, his father's servant-lover wore heavy makeup. Both eyebrows and eyes were lined with kohl. His cheeks and lips were rouged with ochre. And his short hair was well oiled and combed back. But despite his grooming, Qisht looked t
ired. The festival was taking its toll on the head slave. He had to run the palace and ensure all the official guests were attended to throughout the city, as well as maintain his role as key advisor for the king. Nevertheless, Qisht's tunic remained white and crisp all day, every day.
Sargan glanced over his own tunic. It had already been soiled with food stains. It seemed he always managed to dirty his skirt within a hand of putting it on. “Thank you, Qisht,” Sargan said, returning his attention to the slave. “It makes me happy to get such praise from my tutor.” He took a sip of morning beer to wash down the rest of the sausuage. “I just hope my father can avoid angering our guest any further. What do you think went wrong? What made Eshu storm out like that?”
“The main point of contention – your sister’s hand. Your father refused to agree outright to the arrangement.”
Sargan blinked; it hurt to admit it, but his brother’s idea was a good one. A marriage between Heduanna and the enemy king would assure peace for Azzuri and its leal cities. “Why wouldn’t Father agree?”
“He hasn’t disagreed. I assume he wants to negotiate the terms more stringently before he commits to the pact.” Qisht raised his perfect eyebrows. “Trust your father, Sargan. He knows what he is doing.”
“What do you make of Eshu’s other request? Yesterday, after Hadanash and Rabi had been exchanged he said he was still missing someone from his contingent. Did you catch that? Did he mean Heduanna? Seems a bit presumptuous if he did.”
Qisht had been helping the other servants clear the table, but he paused for a moment before resuming collection of used platters and spoons. “Games. It’s all games.”
“Games?”
“It seems your brother has had his own fun in the city of my birth. He has a Urulan slave that pleases him and he wishes the slave to be included in the exchange, in the new deal between your father and King Amar-Eshu.”
“But… that would mean one of our slaves would be required to go to Urul.”
“That’s right.”
Qisht continued to stack the platters, but Sargan detected a subtle change in his composure, his shoulders slouched.
“Who?” Sargan almost whispered.
Qisht pursed his lips. “Are you going to finish your breakfast? Everyone else is long gone. It is well after mid-morn and your father wishes you to attend the negotiations.”
Sargan’s stomach dropped, his breakfast suddenly a heavy rock in his gut. “What do you mean? Why would he want me?”
“Sargan, you of all people have studied the histories, the epics, you should have a greater insight into the machinations of politics than anyone else in this palace.” Qisht tutted as he shook his head. “I suppose reading is one thing, doing quite another.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re quite exasperating at times, my dear prince.” Qisht turned to face Sargan fully. “I’ve no time to explain. Now go. You are required. And for Phadite’s sake, Sargan, think!”
Sargan’s chest swelled with a turbulent mix of pride and terror as he stepped through the Hall of Gold toward the king’s private office. Father wanted to include him in important matters of state. Was it finally a sign his father-king considered Sargan’s ambitions of becoming high priest serious? That Sargan had something to offer the highest office of Azzuri? But he’d also promised to meet with Enlil that afternoon to share their poetry. On top of that, today was the official commencement of Phadite’s Long Night, and the Tarzyshtan fire dancers were expected to put on a special performance in the square. There’d be a plethora of other entertainments too. Sargan’s heart was just about bursting with the excitement, but now he had to sit in a stuffy room with a lot of stuffy men to talk politics, and he began to doubt he could offer anything meaningful to their deliberations.
Qisht would tell him to square his shoulders and face the responsibility that was a prince’s to bear. He came to his father’s office entrance, pausing where two guards stood, and straightened his stance. He had to be more princely, and this was the time to do it.
Sargan stepped through the passageway and a raised voice cut the air. Hadanash.
“The King gave me his word,” Hadanash almost shouted. “He will give me Xethra as a sign of goodwill. But only if you agree to his proposal of marriage to Heduanna, and only if you agree to send back Qisht.”
Sargan froze. Qisht?
“And as I told the king,” father responded slowly. “I am open to suggestions, but first I intend to consider all matters carefully.”
Sargan frowned. His father was open to surrendering Qisht? The palace couldn’t function without Qisht. He was the head slave, his father’s most trusted advisor, Sargan’s teacher.
And he’s my friend.
Sargan’s stomach roiled with panic and he suddenly wished he hadn’t had so much blood sausage and beer for breakfast.
“You’ve had an age to consider the options,” Hadanash continued. “What have you been doing these last three moons? Kissing your lover goodbye?”
Sargan’s jaw dropped. No one spoke to their father like that. No one. Had Hadanash forgotten?
“That. Is. Enough, Hadanash. Now, be seated.”
Sargan stepped fully into the room. More chairs had been arranged around the oval table. Hadanash flung himself into a seat next to their father-king. On Father’s right sat the king’s two older brothers, Uncle-General Mutat and Uncle-Admiral Dannu. They were always present at these meetings. Sargan suspected his father trusted Dannu’s opinions more than almost anyone else. The Admiral was a humorless man, and like his brother-king he wore little in the way of makeup and jewels, a single gold earring in his left ear was all the only adornment. He kept his speckled hair rather short for a Zraemian noble, and it was always tied back in a severe tail. He rarely smiled, and had no patience for pleasantries and platitudes, but Dannu was utterly honest. At his affirmation ceremony, when he’d turned sixteen sommers, he’d vowed to never tell a lie, and while it never won him friends, everyone knew Dannu’s mind.
Sargan was grateful and not at all surprised to see Zamug and Enlil also present in the room. His father had always valued the desert seer’s counsel. Enlil’s eyes seemed red and heavy, as though he’d slept badly. Sargan still hoped they could meet after the negotiations to share poetry.
The king nodded at Sargan who bent to kiss the gold and lapis ring on his father’s hand before taking a seat next to Enlil. “I’m glad I do not have to send a search party for you today, Sargan,” Father said.
Sargan flushed. “Yes, sorry, Father.”
“Father,” Hadanash began again, flicking an irritated glance Sargan’s way. “You cannot deny that Heduanna’s hand provides us with our most prudent path. Linking two great cities in marriage will be the most effective way for Azzuri to maintain the Five Sisters as leal cities, I can assure you of that.”
Father let go a long, steady breath which signaled his growing impatience. His hand clutched a new set of knot beads made from a black wood, native in Urul and speckled with gold. A gift from Hadanash. Sargan’s brother either misread or ignored their father’s tension, for he didn’t stop his relentless argument.
Hadanash took a breath. “As for Xethra she is a trained slave in Urul, and will bring with her—”
“I am not interested in anymore slaves,” the king said.
Hadanash pursed his lips and snapped his head to look at their father fully. “Your own pleasure is all you care about,” he said between gritted teeth. “Would it not be a kindness to allow your son some pleasure of his own?” Hadanash asked, his voice tight. “After sending me away for so long, I though a little gift of compensation would be justified.”
Sargan licked his lips as he glanced around the room. Enlil now looked positively sick. Uncle Mutat stared at his hands, while Dannu focused ahead looking bored, his weathered skin and deep wrinkles gave him a permanent scowl. Only Zamug looked Hadanash in the eye. But, this was awkward. Sensitive issues should not be aired in front of ot
hers. Not only had his brother taken a slave to his bed in the enemy city, it seemed he’d fallen in love with her too.
“Will you at least accede that this marriage for Heduanna is wise?”
Everyone looked at the king. As usual he wore very little kohl, and no rouge whatsoever. His features remained ever-composed. “I am not yet convinced. That is what we are here to discuss.”
Hadanash threw his hands in the air and gave their uncle-general a knowing look. But Mutat kept his gaze on his broad hands, and Hadanash seemed resigned to the fact that his breath, for the moment, was wasted. He slouched in his chair and placed his attention on the floor like a sulky child.
“Sargan.”
Sargan jolted. “Yes, Father?”
“Where are your tablets? I wish for you to scribe for me.”
“Ah—”
“I have them here.” Qisht had entered the room and now handed Sargan a stack of tablets wrapped in a damp cloth, and a stylus.
Sargan nodded and put the stack on the floor.
“Very soon King Amar-Eshu will arrive to begin our negotiations.” Sargan’s father spoke, looking at each of them in turn with his amber eyes.
Sargan took one of the tablets and began the entry at the top of the tablet as his father continued speaking: First day of the Festival of Light, Phadite’s Long Night, Eighth sommer of the reign of King Amar-Sin, son of King Amar-Yassur.
“This will be the first of many gatherings,” his father said. “The longer we prolong negotiations, the more likelihood we have of extending peace.”
Sargan wrote the names of those present in the room. King Amar-Sin, Heir-Prince Hadanash, Prince Sargan, General Mutat, Admiral Dannu, Desert Seer Zamug, the bard Enlil, the slave Qisht.