Crown in the Stars

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  Adoniyram made his words sound as if he were musing aloud. “I can imagine how my mother and our Lord Kuwsh would resist any suggestion that the Lady Keren’s daughter should take her place.”

  Ra-Anan looked around, as if uninterested. “Our Lord Kuwsh desires only what is best for the Great City. Your Lady-Mother, too, desires the best for her people, I’m sure.”

  And I’m sure you know she doesn’t, Adoniyram thought. Sighing, he asked, “Do you believe that Shoshannah was intentionally spreading rumors last night?”

  Ra-Anan looked at him blandly. “I’m sure she believes she was right.” Without a word, Ra-Anan conveyed a sense of triumph, a silent, I shall outlive you, Adoniyram, so your ambitions to rule this kingdom are useless.

  Adoniyram stifled the urge to smash Ra-Anan in the face; he would probably lose a physical conflict with his tall uncle. Ra-Anan was a devious, unprincipled fighter. Keeping his voice pleasant, he only said, “She might be hiding secrets from us.”

  “We will learn whatever she knows,” Ra-Anan promised.

  “If our Lord Kuwsh and my mother allow her to live.”

  “If they do,” Ra-Anan agreed, bland again, staring at the water-and wall-encircled tower, seeming more interested in its emerging form than in the life of the unhappy Shoshannah.

  Adoniyram looked over his shoulder briefly and changed the subject. “I see you are training some new guardsmen. I should find some others; mine are becoming complacent and bored with our morning hunts.”

  “I’ll let you know if I acquire any exceptional bowmen during our scoutings.”

  Bowmen who are also exceptional spies for you, Adoniyram told himself grimly. “I’d welcome your suggestions, Master-Uncle. Will you join me for a hunt tomorrow?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “If not, then don’t worry. My Lord Kuwsh might go with me.”

  Ra-Anan gave him a sidelong look that was surely intended to discourage any hunting or talking with Kuwsh. “Let’s see what we can accomplish today; I might have time to ride out with you in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Uncle.” Pretending to think aloud once more, Adoniyram said, “That Shoshannah wore a quiver of arrows yesterday. Do you suppose she hunts?”

  “Undoubtedly, if she is Zehker’s daughter. We should test her during our hunt tomorrow.”

  “As you say, Master-Uncle,” Adoniyram agreed, smiling inwardly. His mission had been easily accomplished: He would see the girl tomorrow.

  After their evening meal, when Zeva’ah had gone to supervise the servants in cleaning and putting away the food, Ra-Anan beckoned his daughter.

  Demamah approached and knelt before him quietly, folding her hands in her lap. Her unfailing obedience pleased Ra-Anan. She never argued or behaved sullenly, and her looks and manners were perfect. Her mother had trained her well.

  “Did Shoshannah say anything to you last night?”

  Demamah looked distressed. “She asked my forgiveness for causing a scene. And she insisted that she had told the truth. She also spoke of the Ancient Ones.”

  “What of them?” Ra-Anan demanded, scornful. “Another story?”

  “She spoke of the Great Flood, but not much more. She loves the Ancient Ones.”

  “Did she say anything about their worship of the Most High?”

  “No, Father.”

  “The next time you see her, find out if she worships their Most High. I want to know if she is as devoted to such foolishness as her mother was.”

  “Yes, Father.” Demamah hesitated, uncertain. “I haven’t seen her all day. She’s been barred alone in my room.”

  “Then she will be eager to talk when she sees you tonight. Be sure you ask her. And tell her that you’ll both ride out with me to hunt in the morning.”

  Demamah bowed her head. “Yes, Father.”

  Shoshannah curled up in a corner of Demamah’s room, homesick and upset at having been left in solitude all day. She’d never been alone for so long in her life. To pass the time, she had created a straw whisk and cleaned the corners of the room. But Zeva’ah was apparently a fervent housekeeper; there hadn’t been much dirt to gather, so Shoshannah had given up.

  All day, too, I’ma-Naomi’s tender voice had haunted her, saying over and over, I am sure the Most High has made wonderful plans of His own for you.

  Shoshannah closed her eyes hard now, crying to the Most High, “I don’t like these plans! Do You hear me? How are they so wonderful? Why did You even bring me here, when I’m obviously so useless?” Then she buried her face in her hands. “Forgive me.”

  She wept, longing for her parents, for her brothers and sisters, for Mithqah and Ma’khole, and more than anyone else, for Kaleb. He would find humor in this “adventure.” He would make her laugh.

  A shifting, rasping sound alerted Shoshannah, making her sit up and wipe her face. Someone was lifting the bars that blocked the reed door. A grim, pale-clothed manservant stepped aside, allowing Demamah to enter the room with a small tray.

  Demamah set down the tray and gently motioned the servant away. He bowed, glared at Shoshannah, and departed, his footsteps fading in the passage beyond.

  “Do they all hate me?” Shoshannah asked, suddenly feeling very tired and forlorn.

  “I’m sure they don’t.” Demamah lifted a fine linen cover from the tray, revealing flat bread, dried fruit, and a bowl of broth. “Look, I’ve brought you some food. Mother said you haven’t eaten.”

  “Why eat? They want me to die.”

  “And you’ve said I’m too serious.” Demamah’s attempt at lightness made Shoshannah stare at her in surprise.

  “Do you pray to your Most High before you eat?” Demamah asked softly.

  Shoshannah’s despair returned, swathing her miserably like wet clothes. “I doubt it would help; He doesn’t seem interested in my prayers.”

  Sighing, Demamah offered her the bowl of fragrant broth, which was garnished with pungent herbs and meat. “I’m sorry, Cousin. But don’t be unhappy, please. Listen: Father said that we’re to go hunting with him in the morning.”

  “A hunt? Really?” Shoshannah’s spirits lifted—though she was cautious too. “Can I see my poor Ma’khole?” She doubted she would ride Ma’khole; the little mare was never used for hunting and would probably be considered useless by Ra-Anan’s men. “If I could just see her…”

  “Your mare?” Demamah wrinkled her forehead. “I don’t know, but I’ll ask Father while you eat. Though I won’t tell you what he says until you’ve eaten everything.”

  “I’ll eat!” Shoshannah took the delicate red-glazed clay bowl, inhaling. The food did smell wonderful. Feeling better, she sipped the broth.

  Demamah left the room.

  “She didn’t pray before eating,” Demamah reported, hating her role as a spy. “And she said that the Most High wouldn’t help her… that He doesn’t seem interested in her prayers.”

  Her father raised one dark eyebrow, as if surprised. But he spoke calmly. “Perhaps she will be easier to manage than her mother was. We’ll see.”

  Easier to manage? Demamah didn’t like what those words implied. She longed to warn her cousin. And she warned herself too. Don’t become fond of Shoshannah; it will hurt too much when you lose her.

  Seven

  “HOW DO I wear this?” Shoshannah wondered aloud, holding up a long, wide piece of linen.

  “That will be similar to those leather leggings you wore beneath your tunic when you arrived,” Demamah said, busily securing her own garments around her slender waist with a long linen sash.

  Shoshannah eyed her cousin’s flowing apparel doubtfully. “I think my leather garments covered more. How did you put these on?”

  “Like so…” Demamah pulled a short-sleeved linen gown over Shoshannah’s head and arms, covering her undergarments. Then she tied one end of the long linen cloth around and behind Shoshannah’s waist and coaxed her to draw the loose fabric between her knees and wrap the other end around her waist, knotting
it in front. Demamah folded, tucked, pinched, and pulled the linen into place deftly, making Shoshannah feel swaddled like an infant. “Demamah,” she began hesitantly, as her cousin offered her a long, open-fronted, slash-skirted outer robe, “Don’t you have any brothers or sisters? I never hear you speak of any.”

  “They’re all older. And busy. And brothers,” Demamah said tersely. “Father sent them to other smaller cities to keep them in order.”

  “The cities or your brothers?”

  “The cities. My brothers are very much like my parents—or they try to be.”

  “And you never see them?”

  “Rarely.” Demamah’s voice lowered as she wrapped a wide sash around Shoshannah’s waist, securing the robe. “My brothers and I don’t have much to discuss with each other.”

  “But you have friends…”

  “My parents are careful.” Demamah tied Shoshannah’s sash, tucking in the ends neatly. Finished, she turned away.

  No sisters. No friends. No one like Mithqah to laugh and fight and play with, and to whisper secrets to, which couldn’t be shared with anyone else. Shoshannah shook her head, unable to imagine such isolation. “You’ve never been in trouble at all, have you?”

  “Not for years, Cousin, but I’m afraid you’ll change that. Come now; we have to hurry.” She dug into a small wooden box and produced delicate ivory containers of face paints. When Shoshannah began to plead against using the paints, Demamah said, “You’ll get me into trouble with my parents if you don’t cooperate. Now hold still.”

  “You’re as bossy as my sister Adah,” Shoshannah complained. But she submitted to the paints for Demamah’s sake.

  At last, finished with Shoshannah’s lips and eyes, Demamah retrieved a small, heavy obsidian mirror from her box. Tilting her head this way and that, Demamah applied her own face paints.

  “You’ll have to wear your boots,” she informed Shoshannah. “If Mother dislikes them, she will have sandals made for you instead.”

  “If I live long enough to wear them,” Shoshannah muttered wryly, pulling on her boots.

  “Don’t say such things!”

  Shocked by Demamah’s fierceness, Shoshannah blinked. “I was joking.”

  “Please don’t joke about death.”

  Demamah laced on a pair of leather sandals, then went to the doorway, pointedly waiting for Shoshannah to follow.

  Feeling disgraced, Shoshannah trotted after her in the gloomy passage. “Are you very angry with me?”

  “No.” Changing the subject, Demamah said, “I’m sure we’re going to be drenched by the rain. But don’t let my father hear you grumble.”

  “I love rain.”

  “I’ll remind you of that later.”

  As they pushed aside the heavy curtains and hurried through the main room, Shoshannah could feel her “skirt” hugging her waist and hips and dragging at her ankles and calves uncomfortably. “May I grumble about my clothes? They feel too tight.”

  “Perhaps they’ll restrain you a little.” Demamah half smiled, softening the effect of her words. “I beg you… don’t even breathe unless you’ve considered it carefully. Then think several times more.”

  Shoshannah bit down a teasing response; Perek was waiting just outside in the courtyard. The misty gray morning hadn’t dampened his belligerence. Immediately, he grabbed her arm and led her to a dull tawny-and-black horse, threatening, “Do one thing wrong, Daughter of Keren, and I’ll strike you.”

  Don’t worry; I won’t even breathe. And it’s not because you’re smelly.

  Perek linked his big hands and leaned down, scowling at her. “Step up.”

  Squeamishly she obeyed, then gasped as he heaved her gracelessly onto the waiting horse—jarring all the bruises and strains he had inflicted upon her earlier. As she struggled to rearrange her tangled garments, the Son-of-Heaven Adoniyram rode into the courtyard. He grimaced—clearly he must consider her undignified—and Shoshannah made a face at him. Perek swatted her arm and snatched her reins.

  Perek, I hate you. She rubbed her arm. Master Ra-Anan was staring at her critically. Demamah, however, turned away. Shoshannah knew she had disappointed her cousin yet again. It had been stupid and childish to make a face at Adoniyram—she had to stop being so impulsive.

  Adoniyram was riding toward her now. She expected him to scold her. Instead, he gave her a searching look through his long, dark eyelashes, then produced her bow and quiver as elegantly as he might offer a gift.

  “Yours, Cousin?”

  Sighing, ashamed and grateful, she accepted her weapons—which her father, Zekaryah, had made. “Thank you. Please forgive me for being so rude just now; I deserved that swat on the arm.”

  Adoniyram smiled suddenly, his copper-brown face disturbingly attractive. “No doubt you keep Perek busy. Try not to shoot anyone this morning; we don’t want any new disasters, Cousin.”

  She stared after him as he turned his horse to follow Master Ra-Anan’s out the mud-brick gate. Adoniyram had been remarkably courteous, despite her telling him that his lifespan would be shortened. Perhaps he’s planning to shoot me instead. Grimly she slung her quiver across her back and resigned herself to being treated like a child as Perek—now ahead on his own tawny horse—led her spiritless mount outside the courtyard.

  Demamah rode up to Shoshannah as they turned from the southernmost street out toward an open field. Very softly, eyeing Perek, she said, “Be careful of Adoniyram; I’m sure he’s plotting something.”

  “As everyone here seems to be doing,” Shoshannah agreed beneath her breath. “Except you.”

  Demamah seemed saddened by her words. Shoshannah watched her curiously, wondering why she seemed so grieved.

  She was behaving. She didn’t complain about her pathetic creature-horse, Perek’s merciless attitude, the sticky mud that might ruin her boots, or her uncomfortable new clothes. And when Ra-Anan spoke to her, she was as mild as Demamah.

  Adoniyram seemed disappointed. Waving Perek off, he rode over to her while Ra-Anan was conferring with one of his huntsmen. “I expected some courage from you, Cousin.”

  “I don’t always create scenes,” Shoshannah told him, raising her eyebrows. “Anyway, it’s a very quiet morning. I think we’re scaring everything away.”

  “You’re bored. I apologize. Next time, I’ll have someone bring my leopards.” Adoniyram watched her as if he expected her to be nervous or disbelieving.

  But her mother had mentioned the leopards so prized by the Great-King Nimr-Rada. “I would like to see them,” Shoshannah murmured.

  “You’ve heard about my leopards?”

  “I was told your father hunted with them.”

  “What else have you been told, Cousin?” he asked, leaning closer. “You know more than you’ve already said, don’t you?”

  “About our lifespans?”

  “About my mother,” Adoniyram whispered, his voice beguiling.

  Unsettled, Shoshannah asked, “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  Your mother had two husbands. She abandoned her infant son, your brother… It would be so easy to tell him. And so dangerous. Shoshannah looked away. “You must speak to Master Ra-Anan instead. Or talk with your mother.”

  “I want to hear the truth from you.”

  “There’s nothing I can tell you.”

  “I understand your fear.” An edge suddenly cut beneath his soft words. “But you know I’ll persist. Eventually you will tell me.” He sat up now, looking amiable, as if they had just ended a friendly, unimportant conversation. Ra-Anan was heading toward them, goading his sand-pale horse, clearly displeased.

  You don’t like it that I was talking with Adoniyram without your permission, Shoshannah realized, anxious. But Adoniyram is upset that I didn’t talk with him as much as he’d hoped. And his mother—that Sharah—would hate me for breathing any of her secrets. Meanwhile, our Lord Father Kuwsh longs for my death—which Perek will gladly take care of, I’m sure.
Silently, closing her eyes, turning her face heavenward, she pleaded, Most High, how will You save me from them? Or won’t You?

  Rain was falling now, like the tears she longed to shed. Somehow, she had to escape.

  “Thank you for summoning me,” Shoshannah told Ra-Anan and Zeva’ah. She bowed politely, then knelt on the mat in their luxurious main room, now cleared of the evening meal. Zeva’ah raised her eyebrows at Shoshannah, seeming skeptical, but Ra-Anan watched her narrowly.

  “Why do you thank us?” he asked, his face and words expressionless.

  “Because I am thankful. I need your advice, Uncle. Today Adoniyram demanded that I tell him about his mother—and I don’t think I should.”

  “Tell us what you know, child,” Zeva’ah urged, smiling, though not pleasantly. She obviously despised Sharah.

  Uncertain, Shoshannah faltered, “Perhaps you know… It’s clear that Adoniyram doesn’t. He has a brother. And his mother—I mean, the Lady Sharah—had two husbands at the same time. Her first was—”

  “Bezeq,” Ra-Anan finished, thoughtful. “They had a son, Gibbawr.”

  “Yes.” Shoshannah sighed, relieved that he knew, and that he was so calm.

  Her relief faded as Master Ra-Anan studied her for an unnervingly long time. Then, low and cool, he said, “You are wise to ask our advice. Adoniyram doesn’t know about his mother’s past. But he should. The next time he asks, tell him the truth.”

  “I can’t,” Shoshannah protested, alarmed. “He might be furious. And his mother would certainly be…”

  “Plead that he say nothing to the Lady Sharah,” Zeva’ah interrupted, her dark, lovely eyes gleaming, revealing delight in this conspiracy. “Take Adoniyram into your confidence and gain his.”

  “But…” That’s deceitful, Shoshannah thought. She felt unclean now, staring at her smooth-shaven, authoritative uncle and her exacting aunt. They were unmistakably drawing her into a scheme against Adoniyram, or his mother, or both. Why had she decided to be so open with them—hiding nothing for fear of punishment? She wanted to be left out of whatever they were planning. “Couldn’t you tell him?” she pleaded.