Palace of Darkness

by Tracy L. Higley

  Cassia fingered the money, more than she had ever seen in her life. More than any pouch of coins Aretas had ever brought home from his market swindles. But it was the letter that brought tears. She had not realized until that moment how fearful she was to leave these people and venture into the unknown yet again. But to have others, followers of the Way, to meet her in Jerusalem! Almost it made the parting bearable.

  The tears spilled over and Malik chuckled. “None of that. Not yet. There will be time for good-byes tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Malik,” she whispered, then turned grateful eyes on Zeta as well.

  The woman grunted. “Makes my contribution look like nothing.” She produced another package. “No need to open it. It’s only flatbread and sweet figs to take you through a day or two.” She grinned at Malik. “In case you have trouble finding a place to spend the old man’s money.”

  Cassia embraced Zeta, then went to Talya’s striped pouch to store the gifts. Her earlier concern at the small store of coins there evaporated, and her nervousness began to lift, replaced by a tense excitement. Tomorrow they would be off!

  Julian swallowed the last of his stew and stood quickly, knocking his bench backward. The three looked to him as though he would speak, and his face reddened. He scratched the back of his neck and looked to Zeta. “I thought perhaps Cassia and I could take a walk.” He seemed to be asking her permission. “To talk over the details of the morning.”

  Zeta lifted her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth twitched. Cassia cleared her throat, feeling a little queasy. “Of course.”

  Zeta added, “Be careful.”

  Without a look at Malik, Julian extended his hand to the entrance of the home.

  But Cassia looked to Malik, and the Elder of Petra seemed to send her messages with his eyes. She crossed to the opening and felt herself at the edge of a precipice, in more ways than one.

  The sky was the purple sort of dark that came in the twilight hour. The street below was quiet, and Cassia and Julian descended in silence. Her stomach still felt knotted with excitement, and she forced her jittery legs to negotiate the narrow steps with care. “I am not certain it is a good idea to be walking about the city tonight.” They reached the street.

  “I know a place.” Julian took her chilled hand. “Come.”

  They hurried across the wide street, behind the merchant stalls that dotted this end of the city, until they walked along the high rock wall opposite Zeta’s home.

  Cassia tipped her head back to try to see the top of the precipice. Somewhere up there, it seemed as high as the clouds, was the High Place where Dushara would be offered a sacrifice during the Festival of Grain. Cassia shuddered.

  Julian read her thoughts. “Alexander will be well away by then.”

  He led her along the rock wall until they reached another set of narrow steps, twisting upward through scrubby tamarisk and nearly invisible in the fading light.

  Cassia pulled back on Julian’s hand. “You’re not taking me up there.”

  “Only a little ways.”

  They reached a weedy outcropping of rock within minutes, and Julian led her along the narrow ledge to where it widened slightly, providing a comfortable place large enough for two people to sit. They settled themselves onto the flat stone, legs hanging over the edge, nearly touching.

  The mountain brow across from them traced a jagged line against the darkening sky above it, and a crescent moon floated in the purple sea. To their left, a winding grove of tamarisk and acacia gave evidence of the Wadi Musa’s wandering, and here and there a silvery gleam peeked through.

  Cassia pointed down the street. “Zeta’s home is at nearly the same height.”

  Julian laughed. “Between Zeta’s house and the work site, I think we have spent nearly all the time we’ve been together perched above the street.”

  Together. The word brought with it a stuttering of her pulse, and Cassia looked away.

  Below them, a farmer returned home late, leading a mule that kicked up dust and snorted.

  She pulled her head covering down around her shoulders and let the evening breeze cool her neck. She tucked errant hairs behind her ears and felt the day’s tension begin to relax.

  “Cassia.” Julian’s voice was low, and she sensed anxiety. “There is something I want to tell you.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I need to speak to you as well.”

  He picked up a pebble and rolled it between his fingers. “What is it?”

  Cassia inhaled and steadied her voice. “I am going with you, into the palace tomorrow.” He began to object, as she knew he would, but she cut him off. “I know we had planned for me to be at the edge of the city, but I cannot be that far from Alexander when all of this happens. If he should need me—”

  “I will be there.”

  “You are not his father!” The words were harsh and she regretted them immediately. “Julian—”

  He shook his head. “You cannot come to the palace, Cassia.”

  Her hands balled into fists. “I will come—”

  Julian threw the pebble into the night air. “If you cannot trust me, then you must at least trust God to keep him safe!”

  She snorted. “And why should I trust this god of yours when even you cannot?”

  His forehead creased and his lips tightened. “You think I do not trust—”

  “All your plans and schemes—you think you can control all that happens, Julian. As though you hold the world in your own hands. That does not seem like trust to me. You are a hypocrite.”

  He closed his eyes, as though her words struck deep, and she regretted them, regretted her ability to see his heart. When he turned to her, his expression was sorrowful. He clasped her hands. “Don’t you understand? I have to keep you safe. I cannot risk losing you.”

  Her hands trembled in his. “You will lose me tomorrow anyway, Julian, when Alexander and I flee to Jerusalem.”

  His fingers clutched at her, like a man drowning. “That is what I wanted to tell you. I am coming with you to Jerusalem.”

  Cassia’s mouth went dry and her eyes burned with unshed tears. She tried to think, tried to find a reason to refuse. “You would leave Petra?”

  His hand cupped her cheek. “What is there for me in Petra without you?”

  She leaned into his hand and closed her eyes. How long since a man had touched her with tenderness? Her years with Aretas had been like living with a wild animal, his moods unpredictable and she was always wary, always careful. With Julian she felt safe.

  She thought of her harsh words moments earlier. Could they truly be a family, the three of them?

  Eyes still closed, Julian’s whisper of her name was surprisingly close, and then she felt his kiss on her cheek, the greeting of a friend. Her eyes fluttered open, but she did not turn her face to allow him to kiss the other side.

  And he did not intend to, for his next kiss found her mouth—and was not the kiss of a friend. She responded in kind, though her heart screamed a warning.

  She pulled away several moments later, breathless.

  “Cassia, you must know I love you.”

  She tried to smile, but her lips wavered with a confusing rush of joy and fear. She loved him as well, she admitted to herself, regardless of her determination to remain alone and strong.

  “I know you need more time. Your heart is only with Alexander.” He returned to gripping her hands. “But later, when we are far from here and he is safe, I . . . I hope you will let me care for you.” He dropped his head, as if he feared her answer now that he had declared himself.

  The evening smelled of cook fires and the smoke from a dozen homes wafted upward to their private perch, a smell of comfort and normalcy. And Cassia longed for what she had not known, had never known.

  But she could not make promises. Not tonight, with so much still at stake.

  “Tomorrow. When I leave the palace with Alexander, if you still want to join us—”

  “When I bring Alexander to
you at the mouth of the gorge,” he corrected, his voice iron.

  She shook her head. “I will be there, Julian. You cannot stop me. I will be near my son.”

  He released her hands. “That is not the plan, Cassia. Not the plan.”

  “I don’t care about your plan!” He lifted his eyebrows and she spread her hands apologetically. “Of course I care about the plan. But it has a flaw!”

  Even in the near-dark, Cassia could see the coldness of Julian’s eyes. “You will not be there.” His lips tightened. “You will be waiting at the Siq, and we will come to you!”

  A strange feeling washed over Cassia then. A strange and yet familiar feeling. How many times had Aretas commanded her thus, telling her what she would do, what she would not do, regardless of her feelings?

  Never again.

  What had happened to her resolve? She had lost it all into Julian’s dark eyes and generous mouth, and nearly let herself be controlled once again.

  There was a time when she would have agreed, to please him. Agreed, to ensure he would love her still. But those days were over. She was stronger now. Both Aretas and Hagiru had seen to that.

  “Do not think you can control me, Julian.” She shifted away from him. “You are not a man I would give myself to.” She searched for the words that would sever their connection. “You ran in fear from Rome, and now you are anxious to run again, to avoid what is asked of you. That is not the kind of man I want.” Her inner sight served her well, for these were the words that would hurt him most.

  Her declaration wounded him, clearly. But she would not call it back. He was not safe.

  “It grows late.” She covered her head with her scarf. “And Zeta will worry.”

  Julian stared into her eyes for a long moment, then climbed to his feet in the narrow space and pulled her to standing on the ledge.

  She had not responded to his dictum about her plan tomorrow. Nor would she. Let him think what he liked.

  When Alexander was snatched from the clutches of the queen, Cassia would be there to welcome him home.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE MORNING WAS STILL DARK WHEN JULIAN AWAKENED to Malik’s gentle nudge.

  “They are here. They are ready.”

  Julian kneaded his eyes with his fists and swung his legs from the bed. The night had been too short. Cassia’s harsh words, her silence when he left her, and his own anxiety about what this morning would bring had kept him stirring on his bed far into the night.

  And now they were to have a sort of repeat of yesterday’s early meeting, although today only those immediately involved in the plan would be present.

  Malik handed him a tunic from a nearby chair. “They are nervous.”

  “As am I.” Julian dressed quickly, then washed his hands and face at the basin beside the door.

  “They want your leadership, your strength, Julian. But you must come to them as a servant.”

  He nodded, impatient to meet the others, but Malik stayed him with a firm hand on his arm.

  “Today must not be about your plan, about impressing others to gain their approval, as you are prone to seek. Without the humility to allow God’s Spirit to work through you, there will be trouble.”

  Julian sighed. Malik’s words were true enough. But not so easily implemented. It seemed better to be in control than to focus on humility. Leadership and servanthood still seemed to conflict in his mind.

  Malik frowned and studied the floor. Julian sensed a wrestling within the man’s spirit. When Malik looked up, it was with the decision in his eyes.

  “You will go. And you will lead these people. I am placing them in your hands.”

  Julian blinked slowly, the weight of it falling on him, along with the discomforting sense that Malik lacked confidence in him. He straightened. “Then we should go.”

  His people had assembled in a small room off Malik’s courtyard this morning, unlike yesterday when there were so many. Julian strode into the room with Malik on his heels and blinked against the light of the oil lamps.

  The faces of each turned toward him, and the murmured conversations ceased, replaced by looks of respect and confident smiles.

  Compared to the warnings of Malik, the clear submission to his authority was a gift. He felt a strong, protective care for them flow through his heart, and almost a desire to gather each in a fatherly embrace.

  Cassia stepped forward, her hands twisting at her midsection. She said nothing, but her eyes spilled over with anxiety. Malik remained behind him, in the corner of the room.

  Julian tried to ignore the pain he felt in her presence and clapped his hands together. “We are ready?”

  There were nods all around.

  “We should have plenty of time to get in our places. Talya”—Julian smiled at the brave girl—“you will stay as near the throne room as you can, to wait for our arrival.” Talya chewed her lip but nodded.

  She will be there. She loves that boy as well.

  “Nahor and Niv, you two are with me. Stay close and stay silent.” The two muscular men, father and grown son, both folded their arms across their chests as one, and Julian smiled at their likeness. “Remember, I am not a friend, but a Roman who has paid you well to guard me.”

  Julian could feel Cassia trembling at the edge of the group and knew she felt helpless. “Cassia, you have all the provisions for the journey?”

  She lifted a pouch slung over her shoulder. Julian chose to disregard her argument the previous night.

  “Good. Hozai, you will have the horses waiting at the entrance to the Siq?” The short man gave a tight nod of his bald head. He had offered two of his fastest horses. A sacrifice, and Julian connected with his gaze for a moment and passed along a silent thank-you. The man dropped his gaze as though embarrassed.

  “And the rest of you.” Julian scanned the other three women and two men. “You will be in your place in line when the time comes.”

  They all looked to him still, as if he held their future in his hands. In a sense he did. The oil lamps had grown smoky, and Julian blamed them for the sudden tears that sprung behind his eyes. He cleared his throat, then remembered Malik still stood behind him.

  He turned to the older man. “Can you think of anything else?” he asked, more from respect than fear of forgetting.

  “We could pray.”

  Julian felt again his slight displeasure but brushed it off. “Yes, we should pray.”

  In the silent moment that followed, it was easy to hear the slap of sandals through the courtyard and the huffing of the servant Shamir as he pushed open the door.

  Malik stepped in front of Julian. “What is it?”

  “Palace guards, at the door.” Shamir swallowed, and his eyes were wide.

  Malik turned to the group. “Stay here.” And then he disappeared behind Shamir.

  Julian hesitated, nearly followed Malik, then decided to stay. They should not be seen together. Not today. He turned to the group. Should they pray now? It seemed wrong to begin without Malik.

  Cassia trembled like a reed at the edge of the Wadi Musa. He crossed the room and gripped her arms. “We will get him, Cassia.” He forced her to look into his eyes. “We will get Alexander out.”

  Her words were so faint, Julian could barely hear them. “They cannot kill him.”

  He pulled her into an embrace, uncaring that she had rejected him. “I know. We will not allow it.” It was not difficult to promise. Every part of him believed it. “We must both trust God, Cassia.”

  Malik returned a moment later, and they all stood as though made of Roman marble, waiting to hear.

  “The queen has sent for the leader of the church of Petra. She does not say why.”

  Julian’s mind raced. How would it affect their plan if Malik was also in the palace?

  “She also did not say who.” Malik’s gaze was on him.

  Julian frowned. “What . . . what do you mean?”

  Malik bowed his head slightly. “I believe she calls for y
ou, Julian.”

  He took a step backward. “No. This is not the plan. It would change everything.” His mind spun, trying to fit in the new information. “No. We are not prepared to go this way. We must stay with what we have already arranged.”

  Malik licked his lips, tilted his head to study Julian, then nodded. “Very well. Then I shall go.” He moved toward the door.

  “Wait!” Julian held up a hand and surveyed the room. “We cannot let you go in there alone. We have no idea of the queen’s intent.”

  Malik waited, silent.

  Julian debated for only a moment. “We go at first light.” The eyes of his people widened, and they looked among each other. “Nahor, Niv, and I will follow Malik. The rest of you, you must go now.”

  Hozai piped up from the back of the room. “What if the king has not left his bed?”

  Julian’s hands formed fists at his side. “Then we will ensure that he does.” He turned to Malik. “We will go in first. Our actions will bring both king and queen to the throne room, and your summons will be forgotten.”

  Malik said nothing, and Julian could not read him. “Well?”

  The Elder of Petra dipped his head once, as though he was simply submitting to Julian’s directive. Infuriating man! Julian half wondered if Malik believed he was being led to his death.

  He spun to the group again. “Hozai, you can be ready with the horses earlier?” At the man’s nod, Julian looked to Cassia. “Go with Hozai. But stay out of sight.”

  He met her eyes and her expression jolted him. She was not agreeing, not submitting, as Malik and the others had done. “Cassia—”

  But there was no time. The blackness outside the chamber window had already turned to a light violet, and if Malik did not appear in the palace soon, none of what he had planned would come to pass.

  He stalked to Cassia, wrapped his arms around her fiercely. She cried out and he loosened his grip.

  “Go,” he whispered into her ear. “Go and be safe.”

  And then they were all gone, all but Malik and Julian, and the father and son who would accompany them.

  In the silence that followed the group’s exodus, Julian felt like his own heartbeat could surely be heard by the others.