Palace of Darkness

by Tracy L. Higley

  They had trusted him to lead.

  Where would he take them?

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  CASSIA PASSED INTO THE STREET FROM MALIK’S HOME, but she did not turn east toward the road to the Siq. Instead, she lingered near the door watching Marta and Tabatha and the others hurry off to the palace and to their tasks. Gratitude washed over her and, with it, a determination to be part of this rescue. How could she simply wait while others cared for her son?

  Hozai headed toward the market, away from the others, to fetch his donkey and wagon. She followed him at a distance until they reached the main street and he crossed it to slip between a spice stall and a shop of ceramics. Shop owners were beginning to lift their flaps, and the smells of grilled meats and honey bread wafted in the morning air.

  Cassia hugged her traveling pouch, the one Talya had lovingly sewn, against her body and retraced a few of her steps back into the housing district and into a narrow alley. Already people were climbing to their flat rooftops to burn frankincense and offer libations to the sun god.

  Cassia had more than traveling clothes in the pouch.

  Talya had not noticed when one of the palace servant’s robes had been missing from her mending basket. Cassia slipped it over her own simple tunic, then twisted and secured it at her waist. The string of beads she wove through her hair was an inexpensive one she had purchased in the market, but it would pass for something more at a distance.

  When she felt adequately dressed, she pulled one more thing from the pouch.

  The short dagger with its basalt handle and blade was a comforting weight in her hand. She pulled her robes aside, then fastened it to the rope that circled her tunic at her waist. She bent to test its placement and winced.

  Must be careful.

  The colorful pouch stood out against the white palace robes, and Cassia hurried through the alley toward the Nymphaeum, hoping she would go unnoticed.

  She reached the fountain house in a few minutes, circled to the west side of the grand building, and found the large clay water pot she had placed around the corner late last night, still waiting for her against the wall.

  With steady hands, she pushed the travel pouch through the wide mouth of the clay jar, then hefted the jar to her hip and strode through the Nymphaeum courtyard toward the street. She forced herself to slow. You’re carrying a pot full of water, Cassia.

  Eyes trained on the street ahead, she walked toward the palace, searching the market for Hozai and his wagon.

  There. The man emerged from the shops, clucking at his donkey, and turned toward the palace. Cassia followed at a safe distance, knowing her disguise would not fool anyone who knew her. Julian would expect her to have reached the Siq by now.

  Julian. Had he entered the palace yet? Did he stand before the queen?

  She stepped over a wheel rut in the street and kept her gaze on the back of Hozai’s brown wagon.

  She felt strangely separated from Julian, unable to read him, and not only because she defied his wishes. Somehow that palace could swallow people, and it was as though he had disappeared into the underworld when he entered, lost to her. She tried to imagine him there in the throne room, strong and sure as he spoke to the king and queen, his head thrown back and those dark eyes fixed on the woman, daring her to defy him.

  The street filled up with early-morning shoppers. It smelled of camel dung and the mixed odors of the market. Cassia moved forward on steady legs, sure of her plan.

  A flash of memory seared her mind, of following Aretas, working his schemes with him.

  But today I am the one with the scheme. The thought gave her confidence, and she touched her hand to the place where the dagger rested under her robes.

  Hozai neared the palace and bore right, up over the sandy path that led to the back of the great house where deliveries were made. He had taken care to cover the back of his wagon, as though he bore goods for the royal family.

  Now came the tricky part. Cassia would need to get past Hozai, into the back of the palace, without him recognizing her.

  Julian’s plan was a good one, detailed and careful. But it had a flaw. Talya would explain what was happening to Alexander and whisk him from the rooms where he spent his days, but she could not venture far with him without raising suspicion. Instead, she would pass him to Rachim, and then Rachim would take him to Marta, who had secured work as the palace washerwoman. Marta would put Alexander into the large basket she used to tote the washing to the banks of the Wadi Musa running behind the palace. Tabatha would join her in carrying the basket out the back of the palace, and once there, Alexander would be transferred to the back of Hozai’s wagon, under the covering.

  And this was where the problem lay. Cassia knew Alexander would be terrified by the time he reached Hozai and might refuse to get under that covering. He had never met Rachim, Marta, or Tabatha, and with Talya far behind in the palace, Cassia could not be certain he would cooperate with strangers.

  She needed to be there when Marta and Tabatha brought him out of the palace in a basketful of dirty linens. They would ride together to the mouth of the Siq, then escape to Jerusalem on Hozai’s horses.

  And Julian?

  Cassia pushed the thought of separation aside and plodded up the path toward the back of the palace, head low. She could see Hozai up ahead. He had circled to face the path, ready to flee. The morning sun had not yet climbed over the palace walls, and the path lay in shadow. Would he recognize her?

  She kept to the wall of the palace, letting her arm nearly brush against its stone blocks. The sandy red path continued, and scrubby green bushes marked her progress.

  Look away, Hozai. Would he be as cautious of discovery as she and avoid an interaction with a palace slave?

  She walked on, her breath held, waiting for him to hail her. What would he do if he recognized her? But she heard only the snort and impatient pawing of Hozai’s donkey, and then she was there, at the back entrance of the palace.

  She slipped inside, breathing again. The immediate coolness of the limestone and marble was like a welcome drink of water, and the market street smells were replaced with the scent of floral gardens.

  Cassia scanned the back hall in both directions, unsure of where Marta would appear. The halls were silent. Nearby, another corridor led deeper into the palace, and Cassia could hear the fountain that bubbled in the center of the courtyard.

  A chamber door across the stone floor bid her to hide there, and she crossed and peeked inside. It appeared to be only for storage, so she slipped in still holding her traveling pouch filled with Malik’s money and Zeta’s provisions, and set her water pot on the floor. She stood near the door, her ears trained to pick up any sound in the hall. Each of her senses felt heightened, but her heart beat in an unbroken rhythm and her hands stilled at her sides.

  A sound behind her in the storage chamber startled her and stole her breath.

  A shadow shifted, then emerged.

  Julian? She started forward, reaching for him.

  But it was not Julian.

  Her hand went to her chest.

  The man hesitated as well, eyeing her warily. She sensed immediately that he was also hiding, that he feared detection.

  “Who are you?” she whispered. Even dressed as a desert dweller, he resembled Julian, the dark wavy hair, the light skin, that Roman nose.

  He didn’t answer. His hand went to his side. So he had a weapon.

  She had not imagined using her own dagger on someone who had never harmed her, who was not keeping her from Alexander. Could she?

  He crossed the chamber before she had a chance to make that decision. In one trained move, he shoved her hard against the wall and covered her mouth with a rough hand.

  Cassia stared into his fearsome eyes and tried to catch her breath. One thought forced itself into her mind.

  No one even knows I am here.

  TWENTY-NINE

  JULIAN LEFT MALIK’S HOUSE ANGRY. THE MARKET STREET disappeared under the
churn of his footsteps, and he felt the older man struggle to keep pace. Nahor and Niv hurried alongside him.

  Why did the queen have to foul his plan with this unexpected summons of Malik? Did she somehow know they would take her prize from her today?

  Did one of the several women working in the palace let something slip to another servant, and the gossip traveled to the ears of the queen?

  The thought fired his blood, even though he knew he should not mistrust his Petra family.

  It is of no consequence. His plan remained unaltered. He needed only to distract the king and queen long enough for Talya to begin Alexander’s removal from the palace, then get himself and the two men with him out of the throne room safely.

  He scowled. Yes, only that.

  The sky lightened ahead, and dawn was upon them fully.

  Had Hagiru spent the night awake, in communion with her gods? The idea drove a chill down his spine and Malik’s warning echoed.

  But he felt filled up with power himself this morning and was ready to face whatever the queen-turned-high-priestess delivered. Beyond the palace, the arched gate that marked the start of the sacred temple district only strengthened his determination.

  He spoke over his shoulder, not slowing. “Malik, let us go in ahead of you. She will be too distracted by our presence to wonder where you are. You can go in after we have finished.”

  Malik said nothing, and Julian interpreted his silence as agreement.

  They reached the palace, then marched up the two sets of steps, Julian leading the point of the three of them, with Nahor and Niv following. Malik remained in the street.

  At the palace entrance, two guards stepped into the archway, and Julian held up a hand. “A message for the king. Word from Rome.” He pushed his chin upward, giving them a good look at his Roman features.

  The guards eyed each other, then one gave a quick nod and stepped aside to allow Julian to pass, though they filed in behind the three and stayed close as they passed through the front halls toward the throne room. Julian strode as though familiar with the palace, though in truth he had only followed Cassia to the central courtyard. But she had given him direction from her terrible moment before the king, and he attempted to look authoritative.

  He passed through the doorway and did not slow at the sight of the lofty ceiling or marble pillars, would not appear awed by the rich fabrics on the walls, nor the superb sculptures that lined the room. The frescoes, the carved vines and medallions with their exotic animals, spoke of artists and sculptors trained in the best of Greek art centers, most likely Alexandria. An illogical jolt of jealousy surprised him, as though the enemy had found a chink in his protection.

  Hagiru sat upon the throne already, purple robes spread around her, and she held out a thin arm when he entered, inviting his approach. He stiffened and remembered he came as an invader, not a cowed peasant.

  “You have returned.”

  Julian tried not to wince. He had hoped she would not remember him from their courtyard encounter. It made things more difficult.

  “I bring a message from Rome. For the king.” He stopped before the throne, legs slightly spread and back straight. Nahor and Niv pulled up behind him and he felt their solid presence.

  “Indeed?” The queen’s dark eyebrows rose and met in the center, under the peak of her hairline. Her bloodred lips pursed. “First you come as protector to the interloper’s peasant mother, and now as emissary from Rome. Explain this.”

  Julian inclined his head as if he would oblige. “I shall explain all. To the king.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Talya’s small face, drained of color, behind a doorway at the side of the throne room. Not yet, Talya.

  “The king is not receiving supplicants today.” Hagiru’s smile was amused, pleased perhaps.

  Julian drew himself up, crossed his arms. “I am no supplicant! I have information for the king from the mighty Roman Empire.”

  Hagiru shrugged one shoulder and her gaze strayed to the side of the room. “So you said.”

  “Surely your soldiers have told you that an entire Roman legion waits on the other side of the Siq. Perhaps you wish me to bring these troops to bear on the palace, to prove that Rome has a word for the king.” He began to sweat and tried to force his heartbeat to slow.

  The first flicker of apprehension crossed the queen’s face. Ah, we have found a weakness after all.

  “The king is quite ill. He has taken to his bed.”

  Julian sensed it was the truth. Very well. A king in bed was no danger. He lifted his chin. It was time, and he would need to improvise.

  “Perhaps I should simply remove the queen, take her to the other side of the rock where Rome waits. Perhaps that would get the attention of the king.”

  Nahor and Niv understood their cue and stepped forward threateningly.

  Two palace guards were at their sides in an instant.

  Julian laughed. “Do you think I would come here with only these two? And them not even trained soldiers?” He shrugged and folded his arms casually. “These are only two senseless thugs I hired for protection since I came to Petra. I have been here all these weeks, reporting your many weaknesses back to Rome.”

  Hagiru’s glance shifted left and right, then over his head to the throne room’s entrance. Clearly she felt concern that a contingent of Roman soldiers might burst into the chamber. She flicked an unspoken command to a guard near the doorway where Talya waited and he disappeared.

  Julian followed the queen’s glance and gave Talya a tiny nod. The girl vanished into the side hall.

  Only a few minutes more. How long would it take Talya to convince Aretas’s wife, Bethea, she should see what was happening in the throne room?

  “I have told you,” Hagiru said, “the king is unable—”

  “Unable or unwilling?” In truth, Julian cared little whether the king appeared or not, but he needed to buy a little more time. It occurred to him now that he should have had Malik enter, for it would have stalled the matter further.

  A new face appeared at the doorway. Bethea was dressed in crimson with her dark hair hanging about her face. She turned hateful eyes on Julian, and he felt that same chill the queen engendered.

  Directly behind Bethea came a pack of palace guards, summoned to protect their queen.

  Now we are ready. With the guards assembled in the throne room and Bethea taken from her post with Alexander, the way should be clear for the boy to be whisked from the palace, to the Siq where Cassia waited. He felt a twinge of uncertainty at that last thought but pushed it away and faced the queen. A murmuring circled the throne room from slave to servant to guard.

  “Very well. The queen shall receive Rome’s message.”

  But Hagiru’s glance had not returned to him. Instead, she stared at Bethea, and Julian sensed a silent communication between the two, like a cold wind that poured out of the younger to the older, somehow giving Hagiru information.

  What is happening?

  He watched both women, trying to regain control of the room. Finally, finally, Hagiru brought her attention back to him, but something had changed.

  The flow of power he had felt when he entered now ebbed as though it had met a dam, and then somehow, impossibly, he felt it reverse. Like a river running upstream, like a tide washing out, like air being sucked from his lungs. He staggered backward.

  The queen stood and raised her arms, like some kind of dark bird poised above him. He half expected her to swoop over the throne room and knock him from his feet. His chest heaved, pressured by an unknown heavy hand.

  “You do not represent Rome!” The queen’s voice roared through the throne room. “You speak for no one but that old troublemaker and his peasant crowd of rebels!” She raised a pointed finger at Julian but spoke to her men. “Take him!”

  The guards were on the three of them in an instant before Julian could ascertain how she had known. But the sense of another presence in the room, a heavy, sulfurous presence that whispered se
cret knowledge, made it clear.

  Julian struggled in the grip of the guards, but his thoughts were on the last time he had breached the palace. The sense of power that had filled him, spreading protection over Cassia and Alexander.

  He had felt powerful today, but it had not been the same. No, today had been only his own foolish confidence. Hagiru was instructing other guards to find Alexander and bring him to the throne room.

  Julian reached out in his spirit for that filling of power, but it was too late.

  Once again, he had failed.

  THIRTY

  CASSIA’S HEAD SMACKED THE WALL AS THE ROMAN’S ROUGH hand clamped her mouth and his body pushed her into the stone blocks. Her legs shook and her mind raced with thoughts of Alexander.

  Her attacker was so like Julian, and yet this close she could see he was also unlike. His eyes were harder, his mouth tighter.

  He had her pinned somehow so she could not move. Not bring up a knee nor twist away. She thought to bite his hand, but the fury in his eyes and the weapon she could feel pressed against her midsection gave her pause. She heard her own blood, a whoosh in her ears.

  “Who are you?” His voice was harsh and guttural.

  She could say nothing with his hand in place but opened her eyes wider and tried to look innocent.

  He leaned in closer. “Do not scream.” He edged his hand away from her mouth. “Who are you?”

  “Cassia. I am also hiding. You are a Roman?”

  His hand clamped over her mouth again. “Who told you this?”

  She shook her head and he lifted his hand. “Only your appearance.” Before he could stop her voice again, she asked, “Are the Romans attacking Petra?”

  He pushed her harder against the wall, and she had the strange thought she would soon be one of Petra’s sculpted figures in a wall niche.

  His dark brows came together in a point over basalt-black eyes. “Why are you hiding?” Before she could answer, he shifted to reach between their bodies—for some unseen weapon?