by Aderyn Wood
Danael had made an effort in his quarters. He’d wrapped his brightest linen around him and applied a thin line of kohl under each eye. It was a clumsy attempt, far from the elegant lines worn so easily by Zraemians. But it would have to do.
He thumbed the pouch and the ring within, considering whether he should take it with him. He put it back in its crevice in the wall, then took it out again. Finally he made a decision and tucked it under his belt.
When he arrived at the king’s suite the guards let him through without question, and Danael entered the royal reception room.
It was elaborate in its size and grandeur. A mixture of gold, silver, alabaster and lapis lazuli panels lined the walls, all engraved with scenes that told of Azzuri’s greatness: armies sundering armies, a king on his throne, never-ending fields of wheat. Huge potted palms filled each corner and the furniture was elaborate. Chairs and settees with golden arms and blue silk cushions.
Danael stood beside one of the palms. The king was still in conversation with one of his brothers, the city chief administrator, Thedor. The princess was with them too. They seemed to be discussing works to be done to the temple.
Danael patted his belt where the pouch rested as he waited. His gaze returned to the princess more than he meant it to. She wore the simple linen tunic, tied at the waist with a cord, plain sandals and naught but a feather in her headband for adornment. But his eyes still appreciated the fullness of her lips, her silken hair, the curve of her breasts.
“King Amar-Sin will see you now, Danael.” Qisht appeared as though from nowhere, and Danael tore his attention from the princess.
Administrator Thedor gave his brother-king a nod and exited the room.
“Prince Danael, please sit.” The king gestured to a settee before turning to Qisht. “Have some refreshments brought in.”
Quisht nodded and took his leave.
Danael sat, glancing at Heduanna, but she seemed to be avoiding his attentions purposely. She reminded him of some of the khanalla’s in Drakia. Many of them were very beautiful too. Just like Heduanna they used their beauty to manipulate others around them. For some reason Danael felt as though Heduanna was trying to manipulate him whenever he was within an arm’s reach of her, just by fluttering those lashes. He clenched his jaw and fixed his gaze firmly on the king.
“Thank you, daughter,” the king said. “You may retire to the temple, and inform Blessed Siduri of our discussions with my brother-administrator. If she has concerns tell her to come and see me.”
Heduanna nodded and kissed the ring on her father’s hand. She gave Danael the briefest of glances, but when their eyes met the tension between them was tighter than a longboat’s mooring rope. She stepped quietly out, leaving behind the scent of rose and almond oil. Danael forced his head to remain still, his eyes forward.
“You are well, I trust?” the king said.
Danael cleared his throat. “Very well, Exalted.”
“Good. I understand you lost your overseer during the battle at Sakaad.”
Danael blinked back tears that threatened to rise. “Yes, Alangar. He was a good friend to me. He helped me… when I first arrived here.”
“I’m sorry to here it. Good friends are the rarest of treasures.”
Qisht returned with wine and poured them each a cup.
“Thank you, Qisht,” Danael said, already grateful for a pause in the conversation. It still caused a lump to quicken in his throat whenever he spoke of Alangar. And the leather pouch with the prince’s ring seemed to burn a hole in his waist. He sipped the wine.
Qisht left them and the king took a slow breath. “And what did you make of the way we do battle here in Zraemia?”
“Battle?”
“Our strategy. The fighting. Is it different to the way things are done in Drakia when you go a warring?”
Danael considered the question. “The fighting itself is much the same. Poking holes in the enemy, making them bleed to death is the goal of every battle in Drakia, just as it is here in Zraemia. Though, there are some minor differences. Our swords for one thing. They’re not as hardened as your metals. And we don’t use the flaming swords which seem to be a favourite for many soldiers here.”
The king touched his knot beads to his lips. “I wouldn’t pay too much attention to those who can afford the expense to make their swords ablaze. It’s for show. It makes sense that the fighting itself would be similar, but I’m interested in any differences you noted.”
Danael nodded. “Well, it seemed odd to me how the battle was organised. The general sent an emissary to Sakaad’s palace with the message that our soldiers would be waiting on the western plains come sunrise.”
“You think that strange?”
“It’s different to our methods. On the isles we keep very good lookouts and we see incoming enemies over the sea well before they get to our bay. Our warring boats are kept ready with armour and equipment. It’s a simple matter for every warrior to board and we meet the enemy on the sea.” Danael leaned forward. “You see, our land with its cliffs and dense forests provide poor footing for warring. Our battles occur at sea, mostly.”
“You don’t fight on land at all?”
“Of course, when it’s necessary, but mostly we stay on our boats and battle it out on the water.”
The king rubbed his smooth chin. “Interesting.” Then he also shifted forward to sit on the very edge of the settee. “Danael, I am keen to learn all I can about your people. About your warfare strategies, your weapons, your defences, and more. I want to know about your gods, your food, your women. Everything, right down to how you wipe your arse.”
Danael’s eyebrows shot up and he nearly coughed on a mouthful of wine. “I don’t think there’s much difference between Drakians and Zraemians there.”
The king flicked his knot beads. “We must begin training our soldiers in the way of your people if we are to convince them to return with us to fight our Great War to Come.”
Danael licked his lips. “You really intend to go through with that?”
“You think it unwise?”
Danael stared down at the marble floor. “No. Not any more. Not if you offer my people something in return.”
The king smiled. “See, this is why we must begin sharing our knowledge you and I. Tomorrow, I’ve arranged a meeting between you and my brothers. It is time we started planning for the journey back to your lands.”
“So I will be returning after all.” Danael had convinced himself he’d never see the green forests of his homelands again.
The king pursed his lips and sat back on the settee. “Your father was promised that you’d be returned to him after high summer. That time approaches.”
Danael swallowed. Home – it all seemed so long ago. So far away.
“Tell me,” the king continued. “How do you feel about returning to your people?”
Danael shook his head. In truth, he had become so accustomed to life here. It felt almost as natural, no, more natural than his homeland. “It would be good to see my mother,” he admitted. “But, what of the general? Will he be meeting with us?” Danael hadn’t come face to face with the general since the duel.
The king’s eyes moved from side to side, as though searching for any unwanted spies listening to their conversation. “It is unfortunate,” he said, finally, “that my brother-general has had to leave this morning for Urgash. Another uprising.”
“I understand.”
The king’s eyes narrowed on Danael. “You know, I’m more sorry than you may think about your friend, Alangar. He carried something for me. Something very valuable.”
Danael patted his belt once more.
The king didn’t move his gaze from Danael. “I would appreciate it if such a thing could be given to Qisht, when it is safe to do so.”
Danael held the king’s stare, before giving a small nod.
Heduanna
Heduanna dreamt the bell was tolling its mournful peel over the city signaling the
death of someone important, just as it had done when her mother died. But its song wasn’t for her mother, or the high priest, or anyone else. The bell tolled for her. She lay in a funerary boat on the pebbly shore in Praeta. The sky was grey, and drizzle filled the shore. Lotus flowers had been weaved in her hair. The priests said their rites and she was towed in a violent and hungry sea, out to its dark depths. The waves loomed furiously high, so large they blocked the sky. They crashed down on her. Panic filled her lungs, and enormous dark wings consumed the grey.
Heduanna bolted up in her bed, fully awake. Outside, the temple bell tolled twice. Two loud gongs no more, heralding only the dawn. No one had died.
She put a hand to her sweaty forehead. “Just a dream,” she whispered.
Once again it took her a moment to recognise her surroundings. She wasn’t in her familiar suite in the palace with her lush bed, silk curtains, and golden furniture. She was here in the temple. In a drab room that wasn’t even rendered, so the raw mud brick greeted her glumly every morning she woke, and every evening before she closed her eyes to sleep. Her bed was nothing more than a straw pallet on the floor. At least she had her own room. The other initiates shared a dormitory on the first floor.
The room was barely furnished. A writing table and chair stood along one wall, and a trunk along another. The trunk held the paltry possessions they allowed her here in the temple. She drew herself out of her bed and stepped over to open it. Inside, her linen tunics were folded, a number of expensive oils she’d smuggled from the palace sat nestled beneath them, along with her hair brush and mirror. The brush wouldn’t be necessary once she said her vows and her hair was cut. One item drew her eye. The phial she’d collected from the old witch. She’d tried to make love on Aktu, the last night of the Reaping, but she’d made a poor choice for a lover. Ubranum was supposed to be apt enough, or so she’d heard from palace gossip, but he was so drunk he was good for nothing but snoring. In any case they were barely alone together before the palace guard interrupted and escorted him away. They’d been watching.
She picked up the phial. The dark liquid inside made her think of the shiny orb in the witch’s house. What had drawn her to it? Perhaps she should return and insist the old woman give it to her. Heduanna placed the phial carefully back in the trunk. No, she must focus on finding an able lover, and a willing one. One who would help her access the goddess. So many things needed answering. Her father’s questions, the future of Azzuri, and Heduanna’s place in the destiny that awaited them. Not to mention, the duplicities of Qisht. It had been too long since her last vision.
A knock at the door made her start and Heduanna placed the phial back into the folds of her tunics, and closed the trunk.
Belanum stood outside, a look of irritation plain on his ever-serious face. “Your father requires your presence. The guards await you outside.” He turned to leave.
“I may miss this morning’s workshop.” Not that Heduanna cared. Cutting up rats to discover what their innards looked like was gruesome in the extreme, and Heduanna had no interest in it whatsoever.
Belanum turned his head to the side. “It’s not my concern,” he said, before walking off.
Heduanna watched him leave. Since her arrival in the temple, she’d got the measure of most of the priests and initiates alike. Her high status brought a gleam to their eyes, a nervousness. Even Blessed Siduri revealed her respect for Heduanna’s status as princess, and their future High Priestess, with her shifty eyes.
Not Belanum though. When he looked at her, he radiated poorly disguised contempt. It didn’t bother her in the slightest, but she couldn’t help wondering why.
Heduanna was doubly grateful for her father’s summons as she sat down to his breakfast table filled with delectable fruits and sausages, and the best beer in the realm. A far cry from the plain barley gruel and thick beer they served at the temple every morning.
She’d kissed her father’s ring and nodded immediately for one of the servants to fill her plate.
Hadanash joined them not long after she arrived. “Good morning, brother.”
“Sister.” He looked at her today, and for once the glimmer of hostility on his face was gone, even with the two new battle scars.
Their father dismissed the servants, all except Qisht, and told them he had something important to discuss.
Heduanna glanced at her brother, whose eyes followed Qisht as he circled the table filling their cups.
“The King of Urul will be returning in less than a quarter-moon,” Father said.
“And what type of reception do you think we shall have when he learns of your broken promise?” Hadanash asked.
“I expect he will be displeased. Though I’m sure he already knows.”
Hadanash thumped his cup of beer down. “He’ll be furious. It will mean war. We’re already at war, let’s face it. Their push for the Sisters has begun, probably because, as you say, he already knows about Heduanna.” He shook his head. “This is just what I was attempting to avoid with the offer of Heduanna’s hand. It’s fortunate we’ve been drilling the contingents all summer.” Hadanash stood, giving Qisht a glare as he did so. “Speaking of which, I have duties.” He turned and marched out, anger fuming from his hunched shoulders.
The king waited patiently for him to leave, then looked at Heduanna. “Daughter, have you received any messages from the goddess, perhaps in your dreams?”
Flashes of her dream came to her, her funerery raft, those dark waves, and the shadows of impossibly large wings. It hadn’t felt like a vision from Phadite, but perhaps it was. Doubt filled her mind and mixed with frustration. She needed to feel the goddess more closely. “No, Father,” she replied. “I’ve still not received any messages.”
Her father’s jaw clenched almost imperceptibly.
Once again, Heduanna’s uselessness was brought to light. It had been nearly a year since she’d given her father any fresh news from Phadite. Perhaps he was doubting his decision to send her to the temple. For once, Heduanna hoped he wasn’t.
A shadow crossed her father’s brow. “I hope the goddess has not abandoned us at our hour of need.”
“No, she wouldn't do that,” Heduanna said, her voice a little too desperate in its tone. She licked her lips. “I can still feel her presence.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Phadite was with her still, but she grew more distant every day, and communing with her now was impossible.
The king’s eyes went to Qisht, briefly, before returning to Heduanna. “Your life in the temple, it has been one of… abstinence?”
A warm blush sprung up to her cheeks. It was the second time they’d spoken of her desires of the flesh, and it proved no more comfortable. “Yes.” She frowned, glancing at Qisht herself. The weasel wore a neutral stare on his pretty face. “I attempted to give of myself on the last night of the Reaping, like every other Azzurian. But I was stopped.”
“What if I told you there could be another way for you to access the goddess?”
Heduanna squinted, watching Qisht once more. What has the weasel planned for her now? “What other way?”
Her father took a steady breath. “Zamug, the desert seer—”
“Please no, Father. Not that again.”
“It is worth considering.”
Heduanna put a hand to her brow. She liked Zamug, and she liked Enlil even more so, but since she was young Zamug had tried to convince her father to allow him to take her with them, deep into the desert, so that he may guide her, teach her to use her gift and the secrets of being a seer.
“I have summoned the desert seer back to Azzuri,” her father said. “We shall hear his thoughts on the matter. I am eager to do what we can to gain the goddess’s visions once more. Particularly as we hope to be reunited with Sargan after high sommer.”
Heduanna looked up. “Are you concerned for him? I thought you said he would be safe.”
“Safe enough. Still, as you say, I will remain somewhat concerned until he is back here where he belon
gs.”
Heduanna’s fear for her brother rose once again, and a flash from her dream came to her. Dark wings, impossibly large. “I will see Zamug, when he returns.”
Heduanna headed out of her father’s reception room and into the dim narrow passage that would take her to the large Hall of Gold where her guards waited, but a hand gripped her arm and another covered her mouth and she was hauled into the little dark room, her father’s office. She was spun around to see her brother standing before her.
“Hadanash—”
“Shhhh!” He put a palm back up to Heduanna’s mouth. “We must be quiet, and brief, sister.”
Heduanna frowned. “What are you doing here?” she asked, straightening the feather in her headband.
“Listen to me. Things have changed around here since you entered the temple.” He gave her a grim stare. “I’m afraid Qisht continues to spy for Urul. It’s because of his treachery that Eshu would have learned about you entering the temple. That’s why he’s begun his claim for the Sisters. All because of Qisht.”
Heduanna’s eyes widened. “You’re sure?”
He nodded. “Father trusts no one but the slave. Qisht has put himself into such a position of power that only the king stands above him in terms of his influence. Father no longer seeks the guidance of his brothers, nor even his son.”
“Well,” Heduanna said. “I know Father no longer trusts Uncle-general. He believes he poisoned his blade during that duel with the barbarian.”
Hadanash let go a slow breath. “Our Uncle-general denies any knowledge of the poison. We both believe he was set up for it to appear like a threat on the barbarian’s life.”
“Set up? By Qisht?”
He nodded. “I believe father keeps sending Mutat away on the pretense to deal with the uprisings at the Sisters, but in reality, it’s to keep him out of all political strategizing.”
Heduanna frowned.
“I’ve also attained proof that old Lipit was poisoned. But the matter has been kept utterly silenced.”
“Poisoned? But why would father want that old crone dead?”