Palace of Darkness

by Tracy L. Higley

  She swallowed her fear and lifted her chin, trying to sound as though she had a right to be here. “I have come to see King Rabbel. On an important family matter.”

  Both slaves bowed at the waist, then stepped aside to let Alexander and her pass. She looked back and forth at each of them, surprised beyond measure to be treated thus. But they were letting her pass, so she took Alexander’s hand and entered the shadowy front hall of the palace. A shudder passed through her, an evil portent such as she had felt in the Siq.

  Another slave met them inside, appearing out of the darkness and startling Cassia. She gripped Alexander’s hand.

  The slave dipped his head. “I am to take you to the throne room.” He extended a hand ahead of them.

  He is only a slave. You are the mother of the prince! But the words were hollow even in her own mind. She knew exactly what she was.

  Following in the slave’s footsteps, she finally voiced her suspicion. “Are we expected?”

  He did not turn. “The queen has been informed of your presence.”

  The queen? So Rabbel had married again after Aretas’s mother, Gamilath, had died. The news raised Cassia’s anxiety. She had hoped to present Rabbel with his grandson, had imagined a tearful reunion of long-lost family. To be ushered to the second wife seemed less promising.

  “I wish to see the king.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

  The slave said nothing, and they could do nothing but follow. Cassia barely took notice of the palace halls and frantically tried to formulate what she would say to the queen.

  They reached the throne room all too soon, passed through its entryway and into the gleaming chamber with its grand fluted columns, shining white. Alexander slowed and Cassia slowed with him, taking in the luxury and wealth of the room. She felt embarrassed of even the yellow silk, and the overwhelming surge of inferiority nearly swept her from her feet.

  The slave was behind them now, pushing them forward to the throne, across white marble stones, their square outlines framed in dark mortar. Cassia’s throat felt like hot sand and her eyes burned. She forced her gaze from the floor to the throne.

  She had still hoped to find Rabbel in the throne room, but there was no doubt it was the queen who sat there. Every bit of the woman spoke royalty, from her purple robes to her haughty eyes. She had hair the color of raven’s wings, beginning from a delicate point in the center of her forehead and waving away from her face and past her shoulders. She had eyes as dark as her hair and thin bloodred lips. She was easily the most beautiful woman Cassia had ever seen, a beauty that stole one’s breath and made Cassia want to fall to a knee in front of her.

  And in fact, she did. Pulling Alex down with her, Cassia bent a knee and lowered her head to the queen, then waited to be summoned to stand. When the instruction came and she lifted her head, Cassia found the queen smiling—but it was a smile that chilled.

  Alexander stood as well, and Cassia heard a gasp from the side of the room. She turned to the sound and saw a younger woman, about the same age as she, with dark hair that hung in straight strands about her face. The woman’s gaze was fixed on Alexander, and her lips were slightly parted as though she had received a shock.

  The queen, too, had shifted her attention to Alexander, and her look made Cassia queasy.

  “I am Hagiru, queen of Nabataea.”

  Cassia dipped her head once more. “My name is Cassia.” She hardened her voice until the tremor was gone. “And this is my son, Alexander.” She breathed for a moment. “We have come to see the king.”

  Hagiru reclined backward on the throne and watched them through lowered eyelids. “The king is unavailable. You may speak with me.”

  Cassia met the queen’s stare. Speaking to Rabbel would be far better, but what choice did she have? She was in no position to make demands. “I have brought the king’s grandson.” She rested her hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “This is the son of his son, Aretas.”

  The queen’s expression did not change, which could mean only one thing: she had foreknowledge of the claim. How had the news traveled so fast? Was it the people she met in Zeta’s home? Had one of them run ahead with a choice bit of gossip?

  “Impossible.” For all the queen’s haughtiness, it was clear she did not believe her own words. “Aretas is dead.”

  Cassia lowered her gaze. “That is true. But he has been dead these fifteen days only. Before that we were living in Damascus.”

  “And we are to believe that you were his wife?” The disdain dripped from her voice.

  Cassia hesitated, closed her eyes briefly. “Yes. And Alexander—”

  “Impossible!” The queen waved the young woman forward from where she stood near the wall. “This is Bethea. She is Aretas’s wife.”

  Cassia’s knees wobbled for the first time since entering, and she felt Alexander’s eyes turn upward to her. At only six years old, he was still old enough to understand. She had kept the truth from him all his life. But today was a new beginning, and beginnings were sometimes painful. She lifted her chin.

  “It is true. I was not his wife. Aretas—acquired me—some years ago. But that does not change the fact that Alexander is his son.”

  The queen waved her hand as though Cassia were an annoying insect plaguing her. “We have no reason to believe you. Already you admit that you are a liar. Take your misbegotten son and leave.”

  But Cassia’s feet remained rooted to the marble floor. She was not leaving yet. “I am not lying—”

  The sudden shuffle of slaves to her right silenced her. A man entered, largely built, with a frame that had at one time been muscular, no doubt, but had since turned to extra weight. He walked slowly, with the gait of royalty, but Cassia also sensed physical weakness. It took her only a fraction of a moment to see Aretas in the man’s features.

  The Nabataean king, Rabbel.

  Cassia’s heart thudded in relief, and with the anticipation of this next encounter.

  In front of her, Hagiru vacated the throne, clearly reluctant to do so, but necessitated by protocol. Two slaves brought another, smaller chair and set it beside the carved throne, but she did not sit. Instead, she stepped down from the platform, passing Rabbel on his way up, and acknowledged him with a nod. “You do not look well today, my king.” Her lips pursed. “Perhaps you would be wise to stay in your bedchamber.”

  Cassia used her ability to read the three principal characters in the drama before her. From Rabbel she sensed apathy toward the queen. From Hagiru, disdain for her husband and the girl. And the girl, Aretas’s wife . . . a seething jealousy.

  Rabbel shook his head, reached his throne, then turned and sat heavily. His gaze traveled across the room, as though he assessed the state of his kingdom by the activity in the chamber. His attention came to rest on Cassia, and his eyebrows lifted slightly with an interest men often showed in her body. She tried to smile. He shifted his attention to Alexander.

  Cassia did not expect such a reaction. The king’s face drained of color, then flushed red. His jaw fell open, and he gripped the arms of the throne as though he feared he would be knocked from it.

  “Who . . . who is this?” His glance flicked between Cassia and Alexander.

  “Some slave girl.” Hagiru stepped in front of Alexander to block him from the king’s view. “Trying to swindle the throne—”

  “My name is Cassia. And this is your grandson, Alexander.” Cold sweat broke over her neck, but she did not drop her gaze from the king. This was her moment and she would do what it took, for Alex’s sake.

  The king looked to Alexander again and he breathed heavily.

  Alexander, oblivious to the drama, peeked from behind the queen to get a better look at the man on the throne.

  “She has no proof—” Hagiru was saying, but Rabbel raised a hand and the queen went silent.

  “The proof stands before me.” His voice was heartbreakingly soft. “It is like my own Aretas, come back at last.” His words caught with emotion, and Cassia felt a rush
of joy and pride.

  “Come here, son.” Rabbel extended his arms.

  Alexander looked to Cassia, and she nodded, smiling. He hid his face against her hip. Cassia patted his back. “Go.”

  Hesitantly, Alexander climbed the few steps to the platform and walked to the throne. When he was still a few steps away, Rabbel leaned forward, gathered him up in his arms, and crushed the boy to his chest.

  Tears spilled from Cassia’s eyes and tracked down her cheeks. An immediate sense of belonging here in Rabbel’s palace washed over her, despite the queen’s angry presence.

  Hagiru made a little sound, low in her throat, and when Cassia turned to her, the hatred in her eyes was palpable.

  Alexander sat on Rabbel’s lap. Hagiru circled around Cassia, sizing her up like a piece of market meat. “I hope you have not forgotten what trouble Aretas caused here, Rabbel—”

  “My son?” The king’s attention was on Cassia. “He is here as well?”

  Cassia wiped her tears with the back of her hand and lowered her eyes. “I am sorry, my king. Aretas died fifteen days ago, in Damascus. He told me of his family here in Petra, and I came, hoping to find a home for my son.”

  Hagiru snorted. “Yes, I am certain you did.”

  Cassia lifted her gaze to the queen. “Aretas did not tell me his father was the king.” Her voice took on strength. “I came hoping only for a good family, an honest place to make a home.” She looked back to Rabbel and nearly regretted her words, seeing the pain that Aretas’s denial of his family caused his father.

  “So”—Hagiru still paced around Cassia—“we have the concubine of the rebellious son and their child. We should throw them both out, Rabbel.”

  But the queen was beaten already. Rabbel had not taken his arm from around Alexander and barely heard his wife’s speech, so taken was he with his grandson.

  Hagiru must have sensed it too. Her features took on a harder edge and she faced Cassia. Her dark eyes burned and Cassia felt a coldness burrow through her body, as though the queen were chilling her from the inside out with only a look. Evil flared in the gaze that Cassia did not fully understand.

  Another boy ran in at that moment, a few years older than Alexander, and bounded toward the throne. He stopped, surprise painting his features when he saw Alexander on Rabbel’s knee.

  Hagiru went to the boy at once and put her arm around his shoulders. He twisted from her grasp.

  “It appears this is your nephew, Obadas. Your brother Aretas’s son.”

  Cassia tried to assimilate this new appearance. Clearly this boy was far younger than Aretas, too young to be his brother. And Malik had said the king’s first wife, Gamilath, died many years ago. The boy had to be . . . Hagiru’s son.

  And then the pieces fell into place.

  TWELVE

  THE TRUTH OF THE SITUATION HIT CASSIA LIKE A BLOW. With no heir present from the first queen and the first son, Aretas, Obadas was heir to Rabbel’s throne. But Alexander . . .

  Alexander was the eldest son of the eldest son. A direct line, and one that bypassed Hagiru’s son.

  And Hagiru.

  The realization sent another chill through her. She and Hagiru were rivals of a sort, both mothers of royal princes. Alexander’s claim was greater, and in one way it put Cassia in a position above Hagiru. The thought weakened her knees and made her sweat. The queen was clearly not a woman to relinquish power.

  Hagiru was speaking, and Cassia tried to follow the exchange in spite of her turbulent thoughts.

  “The Romans are on our doorstep, Rabbel. Waiting to swallow all of Nabataea and make it one of their provinces. It is not a time to appear divided. The boy will make us seem weak, uncertain about the future of our kingdom.”

  Rabbel shook his head. “You would have me cast out the boy, as though he were nothing? You know I have long desired to have Aretas back in Petra where he belonged.” His voice wavered again, and Cassia felt a wash of pity for the man who had just learned his son would never return home.

  Hagiru’s lips tightened. She looked sideways at Cassia, at her own son, whose folded arms bespoke jealousy already, then at Bethea, standing mute at the side of the room. The queen inhaled, threw her shoulders back, and seemed to make a decision.

  “Then we must make it right.” She shot a sideways glance of loathing toward Cassia. “Bethea never bore Aretas a son, but she was his true wife. Bethea should have the boy. This . . . this slave woman is clearly unfit to raise the prince.” She waved a hand over Cassia. “Look at her. And look at the boy.” She pointed to Alexander. “Look at the bruises on his arm. No doubt she has beaten him. Beaten the royal prince!” Her voice lifted to an indignant shriek.

  “No!” Cassia stepped forward. “He was hurt by those who killed Aretas! I would never—”

  “Silence!” The queen had ascended the platform now to stand beside Rabbel as though the two were a united force against her. “You would speak to the king as though his equal? Already you grasp at a position that is not yours!” She half turned to Rabbel. “Think what she would do if we allowed her to stay, husband. She would have the whole palace bowing and scraping before a slave girl by the Festival of Grain!”

  Cassia opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it. She looked to Rabbel for her defense, but the king seemed confused.

  Understanding—and a stabbing fear—went through her. For all the pomp of his entrance and Hagiru’s apparent deference, the king was like wet clay in his wife’s hands.

  Rabbel put a hand to his stomach.

  Hagiru bent to him, her voice much softer. “We will sort this out, my king.” She touched his shoulder lightly. “You should rest. The excitement of finding your grandson—it is enough for one day.” She patted his shoulder, then pulled Alexander from him. “I will come to you soon, dear.”

  Rabbel looked to Alexander.

  “I will bring the boy to you later. After you have rested.”

  Rabbel nodded then and stood. Cassia’s heart seized. “My king—” She searched for the words. “I know I have no claim here. I have no wish for anything for myself. Only allow us to remain for my son’s sake. And for your own.” A note of desperation had found its way into her voice. Her heartbeat seemed to catch and hold, suspended.

  Rabbel sighed and looked to Hagiru. “Take care of the woman.” He made his way down the few steps. Hagiru bowed to him as he passed, and the room fell silent as he exited, attended by several slaves.

  When he was gone, Cassia turned back to Hagiru and found the queen already on the throne. Alexander tried to descend the platform, but Hagiru reached from her seat and grabbed his arm. His eyes widened.

  Cassia felt a pressure in her chest.

  Hagiru called Bethea forward and the woman approached the throne, but her attention stayed on Cassia, her expression a mixture of disdain and curiosity.

  “Do something with the boy,” Hagiru said to her.

  Cassia took a half step forward. “I expect nothing for myself. I will work here in the palace, in whatever way you choose, and I can look after my son.”

  Hagiru laughed, a mirthless sound more like a growl. “Ah, but you have fulfilled your purpose already. You have given Aretas a son. We have no further use for you here.”

  “Alexander is the king’s grandson—”

  “Yes.” Hagiru’s voice was a hiss. “And it appears he will be claimed as such. What has that to do with you?”

  The pressure on her chest increased. Cassia shook her head, refusing to acknowledge what was becoming clear. Alexander would belong here in the palace. He would have the family and the security she had always desired for him.

  But what of her?

  Cassia indicated the slaves lined at the edge of the hall. “Let me be a slave here in the palace. Nothing more. Only let me remain—”

  Hagiru stood, towering over Cassia from her perch on the throne platform, a dark shadow in the white room. She spoke as if giving a formal pronouncement, and the words were like a death
sentence.

  “The boy will be raised a Nabataean, without foreign influence.” She took another step toward Cassia. Alexander pulled away from Bethea and came to stand beside Hagiru, looking up at her with frightened eyes. Hagiru positioned herself behind him and clutched his shoulders possessively. She spoke to Cassia. “You will give up all claims to the boy.” Alexander winced beneath her grip. “From this day forward, you will be dead to him.”

  Cassia’s legs trembled beneath her, and she reached out to steady herself, but found nothing.

  “You will leave Petra.” Hagiru’s voice plunged into her like a piercing knife. “Today. There is nothing for you here.”

  The trembling overtook Cassia’s whole body, and her blood chilled. “No. No! I will not leave my son!” She held out a hand, and Alexander broke away from the queen and fled to her. She gathered him to herself and lifted her head. “You cannot separate a mother from her son.”

  Hagiru laughed again and inclined her head to the nearby slave who had attended her earlier. “Take the boy.”

  Cassia pushed Alexander behind her body. Hot tears sprung to her eyes, and she blinked furiously. “Come, Alexander.” She turned them both to leave the palace.

  At the back of the throne room, three male slaves stepped into the arch that led to the front halls.

  Cassia turned a slow circle in the center of the room, still clutching Alexander. There was no other way out.

  Hagiru’s slave reached her and wrapped a hand around Alexander’s arm.

  “Mama?” His terrified voice ripped open her soul and called her tears forward, not to be denied. He wrapped his arms around her waist.

  The slave pulled him away, but Cassia followed, reaching for him. “You cannot do this!” She called out the words to the entire room, surrounded as she was by the hostile glances of royalty and slave alike.

  Another slave appeared at her side and snatched her hand away from her son.

  Cassia’s vision blurred and her stomach roiled. She lunged for Alexander. The second slave pinned her arms behind her and held her fast.