Crown in the Stars

by Kacy Barnett-Gramckow

  Ra-Anan shook his head. “My Zeva’ah is right. He would be more likely to confide in you. But we will confirm your story—for he will certainly complain to us afterward. We’ll go hunting again in a few days. You’ll have another chance to speak with him then.” Smiling politely, he said, “The hunt today was a disappointment; you didn’t try your weapons.”

  Frustrated that he was manipulating her, Shoshannah looked down, pressing her palms hard upon her fabric-clad knees. “Forgive me. I didn’t have my wrist guard or any of my gear; I left it with Ma’khole.”

  “Who is Ma’khole?” Ra-Anan asked, suspicious.

  “My little mare.” Shoshannah looked at him now, determined to gain at least one favor. “Do you know where she is, Uncle? Or if I might see her and find my gear?”

  “If you behave tomorrow,” Zeva’ah said, “then in the evening you might see your Ma’khole.” She seemed to emanate a silent warning that Shoshannah must include her when dealing with Ra-Anan.

  Shoshannah lowered her head, sickened. She was trapped by these terrible people, who were also her relatives. Why do You let them thrive, O Most High? They’re so sly; they should be crawling in the dust like snakes.

  She feared they would begin to question her again, but Ra-Anan said, “Go. Get some sleep.”

  Sleep? Did they think she could sleep after this? She bowed to them quietly and crept off, aching physically and emotionally. Kal would be ashamed of her for giving in to them, for being so intimidated. What else can I do? she wondered. If only she could escape.

  As soon as Shoshannah was gone, Zeva’ah looked at her husband, smiling, determined to know his thoughts. “What are you planning? Mischief against our precious Son of Heaven, or his dear Lady-Mother?”

  Seizing her hand, pulling her close, Ra-Anan whispered, “Why should we tell Adoniyram such terrible news? Let Shoshannah do it and turn him to us. I give you my word, dear wife; soon he will be so tangled in his own troubles that he won’t be able to breathe unless we approve. As for his mother… she’s destroying herself. But I’ll be sure she doesn’t destroy us as well.”

  “And what of the Lord Kuwsh?”

  “What of him?” Ra-Anan kissed her hair absently. “Our people hate him more than they hate me. They want Adoniyram to lead them, but we will control him. Kuwsh will be isolated and ignored.”

  Zeva’ah lifted her face to his, hoping he wouldn’t become irritated with her. “Tell me how you will control Adoniyram.”

  Smiling secretively, Ra-Anan looked into her eyes. “I could destroy Adoniyram with a few words; I know his most devastating weakness. And don’t ask me what it is—I won’t tell you.”

  To hide her disappointment, Zeva’ah laughed at him quietly, kissing his cheek, his lips, teasing, “But I want you to tell me your weakness, beloved.”

  Kissing her lightly in turn, he said, “I don’t have one.”

  Zeva’ah sighed. His self-confidence was endless, which was one of the reasons she had been attracted to him; he had provided for her even more splendidly than she had dared to hope. And yet there were problems. The most recent annoyance came to mind—being forced to shelter her bothersome niece. She couldn’t help grumbling, “At least that Shoshannah seems a bit easier to control than her mother was.”

  “She’s already been useful. But you, dear wife, are perfect.” He kissed her again, becoming ardent now, one hand gliding down her bare arm.

  Zeva’ah knew when to stop asking questions.

  The next morning, sitting in Demamah’s private courtyard, Shoshannah unwound fine woolen yarn off a spindle and wrapped the threads around her upper left arm and hand, making a skein. Usually this was mindless work, from years of experience. Today it provoked memories and longings for her family.

  Shoshannah sighed, half dreaming. “When we do this at home, my sisters usually argue about what color the skeins should be, who received the previous woven garment, and who didn’t, and why. Usually, I’m so tired of working the wool that I don’t care.”

  Seated beside her, equally busy, Demamah asked, “Where is ‘home’? You always talk about it, and I wish—”

  Before Demamah could finish her question—which Shoshannah had no intention of answering precisely—Zeva’ah entered the courtyard, squinting against the sunlight. Her voice displeased, she said, “Shoshannah, you have a visitor.”

  “A visitor?” Immediately nervous, Shoshannah carefully removed the half-wound skein from her arm and placed it in a basket with the spindle. After a prodding glance from Zeva’ah, Demamah did the same.

  “You will say as little as possible,” Zeva’ah instructed Shoshannah severely. “Be polite, but don’t encourage her to visit again.”

  Her? Who? Wondering, Shoshannah smoothed her hair off her shoulders—a futile effort, she was sure. She would never look as graceful and lovely as Demamah, who walked ahead of her now through the narrow passage to the main room.

  As she stepped past the thick curtains, Shoshannah saw a tiny woman kneeling formally on a mat in the center of the room, her small brown hands clasped upon a folded pile of leather and woolen garments. My own clothes, Shoshannah thought, delighted, spying her precious gray cloak. But why had the Lady Achlai sent this woman to her? Any servant could have returned the clothes without a word. And this tiny, pretty woman’s dark eyes were filling with tears, though she smiled.

  “Shoshannah,” Zeva’ah said stiffly, “this is Meherah, your father’s adopted mother.”

  Shoshannah knelt before Meherah, shocked, staring until she remembered her manners and bowed her head. “Forgive me for being rude.” Lifting her head, she studied Meherah, who was weeping, exultant.

  “Child, you look just like your mother!”

  Meherah was so delightfully unexpected that Shoshannah laughed. “I’m glad you’re happy about my looks—most people aren’t. You’re truly my father’s I’ma?”

  “Oh, you have his dimples!” Meherah cried, touching Shoshannah’s face. “Though he smiled so rarely. Is he still very grim?”

  “When I misbehave,” Shoshannah said, feeling tears start to the corners of her eyes. She longed to fling herself into Meherah’s arms and hug her. How wonderful to meet someone who loved her parents.

  “Where is he now?” Meherah asked. But then she shook her braid-wrapped head, clearly regretting the question as soon as it emerged from her lips.

  Sorely aware of Zeva’ah’s prying eyes and listening ears, Shoshannah smiled. “He’s in a safe place, I’ma-Meherah. And I pray he stays there.”

  Meherah sighed, drooping visibly. “I pray so too, child.”

  Zeva’ah cleared her throat and flung Shoshannah a firm, nudging glance. Unhappily, Shoshannah said, “Thank you for coming, and for bringing my garments from the Lady Achlai. Please, tell her that I thank her with all my might—she didn’t need to trouble herself for me.”

  “Oh, but she did,” Meherah protested, leaning forward. “It would shame her before the Most High if she didn’t help you when you were so…” Her explanation faded beneath a fierce look from Zeva’ah. “Pardon me, Lady.” Meherah bowed to Zeva’ah, who lifted her chin indignantly.

  Clearly their visit was finished. Zeva’ah and Demamah stood, as did Meherah. Shoshannah followed them out to the main courtyard, hating to see Meherah leave. Swiftly, before Zeva’ah could stop her, Shoshannah hugged the startled Meherah and kissed her cheek. Father would want her to, she was sure. And so would I’ma. Kissing Meherah a second time, Shoshannah said defiantly, “That’s from my I’ma, and from Father! I hope I see you again, I’ma-Meherah.”

  Meherah departed, on foot, and in tears. As Shoshannah faced the tight-lipped Zeva’ah and the wincing Demamah, she realized that she had lost any chance of seeing her precious Ma’khole for many days. But I’ma-Meherah was worth it.

  You believe in the Most High, Shoshannah thought to Meherah, amazed, as does the Lady Achlai. Most High, I beg You, let me see them both again.

  Kneeling alone in Demamah’s
room, disgraced, Shoshannah thankfully inspected her clothes. As the Lady Achlai had promised, her cloak was clean, and so were her other garments. But most surprisingly, Shoshannah found her knife—in its woven grass sheath—stitched securely inside her cloak. She wondered why Achlai or Meherah had sewn it there. Did they simply want to be sure it wasn’t lost? Or were they silently encouraging her to conceal her weapon until she could escape?

  Troubled, she folded her cloak and tucked it beneath the coverlets on her bed.

  Dressed again for a hunt, which she didn’t look forward to, Shoshannah followed Demamah to the main courtyard. But as they stepped outside, Shoshannah saw Ra-Anan threatening two of his men, who knelt before him, obviously terrified. “I don’t tolerate drunken fools who wake peaceful citizens, then beat them and steal their belongings! You will never forget this day if you live, I assure you!”

  His dark glittering eyes flashed to Demamah and Shoshannah, who bowed. Shoshannah quaked inwardly, trying not to stare.

  Furious, Ra-Anan snapped, “You’re early! Get out. Go to the stables and find your gear!”

  Shoshannah fled with Demamah, who seized her hand and hauled her outside the gate. There they almost collided with Perek, who was approaching, carrying a long, thick, menacing whip.

  “Are you escaping, Daughter of Keren?” he demanded.

  Shoshannah cowered, but Demamah spoke breathlessly. “My father told us to go to the stables and find her gear. We’ll wait there until he sends for us.”

  “Be sure you do,” Perek said, brandishing the whip at Shoshannah.

  Already Demamah was pulling her away, fleeing again. Shoshannah couldn’t believe how fast her cousin could run in those sandals and tight clothes, her long hair and robe fluttering behind her. Demamah rushed Shoshannah into a plain, low, mud-brick building, which was horse scented and set apart from Ra-Anan’s residence. Inside, Demamah collapsed onto a pile of straw.

  As Shoshannah dropped beside her, Demamah shut her eyes, gasping, “I don’t want to hear them scream when they’re punished. I can’t bear it!”

  Shoshannah looked around, wondering if they were being overheard, though the brick-stalled stable seemed deserted by its servants and all but a few horses. Hushed, she asked, “Do these punishments happen often?”

  “Often enough.”

  “Perek wouldn’t kill them, would he?”

  “No.” But Demamah looked uncertain. And wretched. Glancing at Shoshannah, she murmured, “It’s horrible… knowing Father has such power. I keep telling myself that he must be severe. He has to maintain order.”

  “And you wish he could be like anyone else.”

  “Yes.” Seeming determined to change the subject, Demamah stood. “Father said we should find your gear. Where is your Ma’khole?”

  Taking a halter from a peg near the door, they found the little mare in a pen in the far corner of the stable. Also, in the corner of the pen, Shoshannah found her battered leather pack. She scooped it up and led Ma’khole to the open area near the doorway. There she inspected the mare’s dark coat, her eyes, her sides, and her legs. She was well-groomed, placid, and fed, wearing protective leather “boots” strapped to her hooves. Shoshannah eyed her approvingly.

  “She’s beautiful,” Demamah sighed.

  “You should ride her sometime,” Shoshannah said, stroking the mare’s neck, delighted. “She’d love you. Wouldn’t you, Ma’khole? I’m so glad to see you!”

  A low voice interrupted, “I was told you were here.”

  Startled, Shoshannah looked up.

  Adoniyram sauntered into the stable, his handsome face smiling, yet subtly truculent, daring her to argue. “While our Master Ra-Anan is disciplining his men, Cousin, we can finish our conversation.”

  Shoshannah’s courage wavered. She didn’t want to quarrel with Adoniyram, particularly while they were un-supervised in this half-empty stable.

  Demamah begged, “Adoniyram, don’t create trouble, please!”

  “Would I be so rude?” He caressed Ma’khole’s dark back. “I merely want to know what our Shoshannah has to say about my mother. And, whatever you say, of course, it will be the truth, won’t it, Cousin?”

  Was he mocking her? Did he believe she would lie? Revived by her indignation, Shoshannah said, “Of course it’ll be the truth, but you won’t like it.”

  “The truth about what?” Demamah whispered, her eyes wide, bewildered. “Does Father know?”

  “Yes, he knows. And I have his permission to tell Adoniyram.”

  Though Shoshannah spoke softly, Adoniyram heard. He inclined his head, polite.

  “Of course my Master-Uncle knows everything. And, Demamah, I know you have to tell him whatever we say here, so we’ll be sensible; don’t worry.”

  It’s true; She’s bound to tell Ra-Anan, Shoshannah thought, transfixed. She’s probably had to tell him everything I’ve said. She stared at Demamah, her emotions torn.

  Demamah looked humiliated and upset with Adoniyram. He seemed not to notice. Smiling at Shoshannah charmingly, he said, “Tell me what you know, Cousin.”

  Eight

  SHOSHANNAH GLANCED around the stalls, praying they wouldn’t be overheard. “Give me your word that you won’t tell your mother what I’m about to say.”

  He leaned forward, seeming amused. “If I swear by our Shemesh, who rules us from the heavens, will you believe me then, Cousin?”

  Quashing her temper, Shoshannah answered nicely, “Truly, if you have any sense of honor, Cousin, your word is enough.”

  To her satisfaction, his dark eyes widened, confounded, as if his integrity had never been doubted before.

  “Shoshannah, don’t argue,” Demamah pleaded. “Just tell him whatever he wants to know so he will leave.”

  Adoniyram looked from Demamah to Shoshannah, his expression changing, hardening. “I’m glad you trust me so much, both of you.”

  “You’re the one who doubts I’ll tell you the truth,” Shoshannah reminded him. “I doubt the truth will be safe with you. Give me your word.”

  Ma’khole shifted between them, her ears flickering at their voices. Shoshannah rubbed her soothingly, determined to say nothing more unless Adoniyram obeyed. He was too proud. And spoiled.

  He sighed, sounding disgusted. “You have my word, though you don’t need it, I assure you. And I do believe you’ll tell me the truth—though, you have to admit most of what you say is upsetting. Now, tell me this secret my own mother has hidden from me.”

  Shoshannah looked him in the eyes. “You have a brother. Your mother abandoned him and his father—her true husband—for the chance to ‘marry’ the Great-King Nimr-Rada.”

  Adoniyram stared at her, silent, clearly struggling within himself, believing her against his will.

  Gently Shoshannah continued, “Your brother is named Gibbawr. He’s about ten years older than you, and he lives among the northern tribes with his father. He was an infant when your mother left him, forcing my mother to come with her to this Great City. My mother still grieves for his sake.”

  “Of course she does. She’s honorable, unlike my mother!” Adoniyram snapped, smoldering, “Don’t worry, Cousin. I’ll keep our secret.” Bowing almost rudely, he turned on his booted heel and strode out of the stable.

  Shoshannah realized she had wounded him deeply. Distressed, she looked at Demamah, who looked away.

  When Demamah finally spoke, she sounded miserable. “Shoshannah, I give you my word… I hate telling my father about our conversations, but I have no choice. If he ever catches me lying to him, I’ll be like those poor men out there in his courtyard, wondering if I’m going to die.”

  “I believe you.”

  “But do you forgive me?”

  “Yes.” Softly, Shoshannah added, “I hope you have less to tell him from now on.”

  “I hope so too. Be as dull as you can. Please.”

  Shoshannah laughed wryly, then sighed. Being dull was far less inviting than an escape. And now that she kne
w where Ma’khole was sheltered, now that she had her warm, sturdy clothes and her weapons, an escape was possible. She began to make plans.

  Adoniyram left the stables, stormed through the hushed courtyard, and entered his uncle’s home. In the main room he halted, staring at Ra-Anan, who lounged on a mat drinking from a small gold cup.

  Ra-Anan frowned. “Sit down, Adoniyram, please. Since our hunt has been delayed this morning, we might as well talk. Shoshannah told you about your mother?”

  “She did.” Adoniyram half knelt on a mat, facing his uncle, still staring at him, loathing what he saw. “As you commanded her.”

  “Did she say that?” Ra-Anan asked, setting the cup on its matching gold tray.

  “No, Uncle, she said she had your permission, which was very tactful of her; don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, amazingly, she’s learning some manners. But I must correct one misunderstanding: She did ask my permission to tell you, after you frightened her during your previous conversation.”

  Feeling a reluctant twinge of guilt, Adoniyram said, “I regret frightening her, Master-Uncle, but I wish to discuss her news, not her. It’s true then: My mother wasn’t rightfully married to my father when I was born?”

  Ra-Anan paused, then lifted his cup again. “No. She was not. But don’t let it concern you; Shoshannah will remain silent about this, and so will I—as I have been all these years. For the best interests of the Great City.”

  For the best interests of Ra-Anan, Adoniyram thought defiantly. He managed a polite smile. “May I ask, Uncle, what other secrets are being kept from me?”

  “If the need arises,” Ra-Anan said, “rest assured, I will tell you whatever you must know to govern this kingdom.”

  Adoniyram seethed, infuriated by his uncle’s secretiveness and arrogance. “Why should you say that I will govern here? If it’s true that you’ll outlive me, and if it’s true that my mother wasn’t rightfully married to the Great King, then it’s obvious that this kingdom will never be mine.”