by Aderyn Wood
Heduanna drew herself up as tall as she could, reaching Kisha’s shoulder height. She had to be strong if she was to be a queen.
Heduanna remained silent, and after a moment her order seemed to be accepted by Kisha.
Yes, I meant it.
Kisha retrieved the whip, her feet leaving water marks on the tiled floor of the chamber.
Heduanna took the whip from Kisha’s shaking hand. Dust had caked thickly in every crevice of its plait. She unfurled it, but it was stiff from years of disuse. It needed oiling, but its tail was loose enough, and tiny threads of sharp shells had been threaded within the leather. It would suit Heduanna’s purpose. She returned her attention to Kisha. “On your knees.”
The tears streamed freely from Kisha’s eyes now. “Princess, if I’ve—”
Heduanna flicked the whip. “I said, get on your knees. Show me your back.”
Kisha nodded, a look of horror and confusion on her face, but she followed her princess’s orders. She turned and crouched, pulling her braid over a shoulder and revealing her long back.
Tears came to Heduanna’s eyes and she shook them off. She thought about her brother, Sargan. She loved him, but he was weak. His dueling at swordplay a farce. Heduanna must prove she was stronger. Like their father. She must do this and prove to herself she was capable of bearing the duties of a queen.
“I do not want to hear such lies about my future husband from you again,” she said.
“Yes, Princess.”
Heduanna gripped the whip’s handle with a sweaty palm and flicked the whip at Kisha with all her might. It missed its mark but hit the bench with the phials of oils and tinctures. The little bottles went spinning and tinkling over the tiles.
Kisha turned her head to the side. She was breathing hard.
Heduanna cleared her throat. “I am sorry for that, believe me. But ready yourself, for I will find my target with the next one.”
Kisha tucked her head back under.
This time, Heduanna calmed her breath and focused. She took aim and thrust the whip once more. It found its target with a sickening sound, a stinging slice, and she drew a sharp breath as Kisha’s screams echoed throughout the chamber. A thin line of blood trailed down Kisha’s back.
What have I done? She’s my friend! Heduanna shook her head, trying to keep her emotions from spilling out like a river flood.
She summoned as much strength as she could to shout over Kisha’s sobs. “Tell Qisht to fetch a priestess to minister your wound. And send one of the others to finish attending me here.”
Heduanna swallowed.
Kisha remained crouched, still sobbing. Slowly she began to move.
Don’t turn around. Do not face me. Heduanna clenched her hands tight and between gritted teeth gave her final command. “Go!”
Kisha stood with shaking shoulders and hastily tied a stretch of linen around her. The very moment she disappeared through the exit Heduanna threw the whip aside, crumpled to the floor and howled like a baby.
No other servant had come to attend her in the bathing chamber. Heduanna had oiled her own arms and legs and donned a stretch of linen. It proved to be a blessing, as the tears took their time to resolve, and it was better that no one saw them.
In her suite, Heduanna considered what to wear for the evening’s banquet. A servant had still not appeared, so she was forced to fetch the gowns herself and lay them out on the bed.
Her hands shook, and her heart wouldn’t calm with the knowledge of what she’d done. Kisha is my friend, repeated in her head, no matter how she tried to stop it and memories of them as children, playing in the palace garden streams, or gossiping about boys as young women, would come unbidden to her mind.
She struggled with a clasp on a dress, before throwing the garment on her bed. “Where’s a servant?” she whispered, and turned to face the entrance to her bedroom, peering out into the reception hall. I need wine.
Finally, footsteps approached and she looked up again, but her shoulders quickly slouched. It was her royal cousin. Her least favourite cousin, Phaeda. Phaeda was the eldest granddaughter of their late grandfather-king, and had been named after the goddess when the desert seer announced a princess would be born to the royal family as a natural-born seer. A gift from the gods.
Of course it was many years later that Heduanna was born, the true hand of the goddess. Phaeda seemed to have held a grudge about it all her sorry life. She’d wanted to enter the temple and become a priestess, apparently, but before his death, Grandfather had forbidden it, and married her off to a merchant to settle a debt, but her husband had died barely a year after. Now Phaeda lived in the palace with the other royal cousins – she-jackals, all of them.
“Good evening, Princess.” Phaeda always managed to speak in condescending tones, just the way the priestesses did.
Heduanna pressed her lips together as she bowed her head. “Cousin. To what do I owe this pleasure? I would offer you wine but my servant is not present—”
“Because you whipped her?” A smugness rippled over Phaeda’s haughty face. She wore her hair tied back tight and it added an edge to her already sharp features.
Heduanna stood tall, but Phaeda was a full head taller and continued to look down on her. “I-I had to discipline her.”
“Really?” Phaeda began handling the gowns laid out on Heduanna’s bed. “I cannot recall the last time a slave had to be disciplined in this palace.” She made a play of considering it, placing a slim finger to her lips. “Not since our grandfather was king. Your father has taken such pride in his gentle approach.”
Heduanna felt her face flush. Phaeda was baiting her, as she did best, and it was difficult not to take the bait offered. “Father is just and strict, you know as much as I that he delivers punishments when necessary. He’s turned this city around.”
“Of course. As you say.” Phaeda picked up the gowns examining them.
Heduanna snatched them from her. “What are you doing here, Phaeda?”
The older woman looked down at her once more. “Qisht sent me. He’s not happy with you.”
“Qisht is a slave. His happiness does not concern me.”
“No, though I’m sure your father will care.” She leaned closer, the smugness spread into a twisted smile. “I can just imagine their pillow talk tonight.”
“Do not speak of my father.” Heduanna’s breath quickened. Phaeda always had a knack for finding the spot that vexed Heduanna most, and Qisht’s relationship with her father lay at the centre of her web of worries, or very near it.
Phaeda laughed. “I do apologise. I see you’ve still not come to terms with the fact that your father has replaced your mother in one way at least.” And there it was, the centre of the web.
Heduanna clenched her jaw and squinted. “What are you doing here?”
Phaeda sighed. “Qisht says the servants are all busy, he’s sent me to attend you. Now—” She reached for the gowns. “Were you thinking of one of these or did you intend to wear the red robe and mask again?”
Heduanna snatched the gowns back and threw them on the bed. “Neither of these, nor the robe.” She gestured to the chest. “Fetch me the gold three-piece with the matching sandals.” She nodded toward her dresser. “Then the turquoise necklace and arm-ring. My hair needs combing, and I’ll wear the lotus perfume.” She turned toward her settee. “And before you do anything you can fetch me a cup of wine. I need to go over my poems.” She sat and allowed her own smugness to quell her anger.
Phaeda glared down at her.
“What are you waiting for, cousin? Chop, chop.”
Heduanna entered the dining hall and all eyes shifted to her. She took the moment, placing a hand delicately on one hip and smiling at the two rows of tables, her royal family on one table, the Urul royal family facing. Her father gave her a stiff nod, and she froze for a moment. Could it be her father-king had already heard of the whipping she’d given Kisha? She faced the other table. King Amar-Eshu’s eyes widened as
he took her in and she relished the thrill his hungry look gave her. His brothers and sister surrounded him, and the strange-looking foreigner with almond eyes and dreadlocks. He was a seer of some kind. Heduanna sensed a strange energy from him, one that gave her pause, like an icy winter dawn.
She walked to her father’s table and sat. The old desert seer and his novice, Enlil, were also present. Heduanna gave them both a smile before the slave boy Ri came over to fill her cup. “Good evening, Princess,” he whispered in her ear.
She smiled again as she took a sip of wine and spied Addu standing guard by a southern entrance. The guard’s eyes flicked her way now and then. All my lovers are present. And their attentions were firmly planted on her. She was the last to join the banquet and her father gestured to a servant to begin bringing out the food.
“Nice of you to join us.” Hadanash was seated to her right, next to her father, the place she’d occupied in her brother’s absence. He’d shaved off the beard and appeared more as he should – a prince of Azzuri. He seemed much too happy with himself. No doubt savouring his idea for the King of Urul to join houses with Azzuri through marriage.
Heduanna raised her cup at her brother. You’ve done me a favour, brother-prince. She would have more power then he would attain for a long time yet. Not until he inherited rule from their father. Hadanash gave her a slight frown before turning his back to speak to their father.
Sargan sat on her left. He was dressed in a fine tunic of bight blue linen, and his makeup was unsmudged for once. He looked much better than earlier. But her younger brother seemed restless in his chair. His hands would clasp together, then clutch a piece of fruit or cheese without bringing it to his mouth. Then he’d wipe his hands on his linen skirt or grasp the arms of the chair. Heduanna studied his face. He was biting his lip and puffing his cheeks.
“Sargan.” She touched his shoulder.
He looked at her with panic in his amber eyes. He had to pull himself together or they’d get a repeat performance of his recital that afternoon. “Sargan, look at me. Look me in the eye. Now take a slow breath and listen.” Heduanna glanced around the room. Everyone was busy talking. She drew closer to Sargan and accessed that inner gate that gave her direct contact with the goddess’s power. Already she felt dizzy for it, but she took a deep breath and spoke calmly to her brother. “When you recite your poem know that you are the greatest poet Zraemia has ever seen. Greater than Zanthes, better than Herodot. Better even than myself. Your voice is beautiful. Your performance will be perfection itself.” She let go his hand.
Sargan blinked. “Thank you, sister.” He filled his plate with figs and apricots from the platters that had been laid out.
His colour looked better. Heduanna hoped her little enchantment worked when he stood to perform.
The first course was brought out, heralded by the the delicious aroma of flamed meat.
As the servants began laying the platters and serving the guests, Heduanna’s father-king spoke, “Greetings, once more to you, King Amar-Eshu, and to your family.” Her father’s voice, calm and resonant bespoke his apparent ease as it always did. He took his cup of wine and raised it before him. “I must say, first and foremost, it has been a great pleasure to have accommodated Prince Rabi in our palace. He’s proven a useful companion to my children.”
Rabi, sitting next to his brother-king, smiled like an idiot. Heduanna schooled her face, keeping her expression neutral. Rabi had been an irritating flea. The only way Rabi had been useful was as whetting stone for her sharp tongue.
Her father continued, “He has also proven to be one of the best swordsman we have seen. He won nearly every combat he entered in the ring. He is a great treasure to your city. We would welcome him back with fondness.”
King Amar-Eshu responded after a pause. “Rabi’s skills in swordplay are excellent. The direct result of his training in Urul. Yet he is not the best swordsman we have. Far from it in fact.”
The hairs on the back of Heduanna’s neck shot up. She glanced at her father. How would he respond to such a thinly veiled threat? Part of her hoped for him to stand up for Azzuri, but another part, the part that wanted to be queen, hoped he would ignore the slight.
The younger king stabbed a piece of meat with his table dagger and nibbled it briefly before dumping it back on his plate.
The tension in the room was already high. All eyes were set on the two kings.
“Come,” King Amar-Eshu spoke. “Let us begin our negotiations. You know what I want – the Sisters. They were promised.”
Heduanna froze, as, it seemed, did everyone. Such negotiations were fragile, and should not be cast about in such a public way.
The guest king gave an impatient sigh and glanced at Hadanash. “Your son has been a noble and dignified guest at our palace this past year. He has spoken to me of your great capacity for reason. It is that to which I appeal now. He has also spoken to me of your desire for peace. Not surprising, considering your city’s patron goddess, and I am willing to deliver it. So what say you? Shall we retire you and me to some private room to begin the requisite talks?”
Heduanna’s father took a slow breath. As in most cases she had no notion of what her father would say next. She waited with everyone else in silence, only the flickering flame in the sconces and the muted steps of the slaves could be heard. Finally he opened his mouth to speak. “King Amar-Eshu, it has been a long day. You have travelled far and through the heat of the desert. It is my wish to welcome you and your family in a manner befitting your great status. Please let us enjoy nourishment and fine entertainment.”
King Amar-Eshu pursed his lips, and shifted in his chair.
Heduanna wondered if she ought to try and read his essence and calm him with the goddess’s reach, but perhaps it was best she observe what came next.
Her father gestured to the servants who began filling goblets with wine, starting with the guest king and his family. Then her father took his goblet in hand and said, “I welcome you, King Amar-Eshu, to my house. Please eat of my bread, and drink of my wine.”
It was a guest rite. A ritual done in every house throughout Zraemia. A meaningful gesture in which the host opened his hospitality and his trust to his guest, who received it in good faith. Heduanna’s eyes found the grim gaze of her future husband. Her heart raced. If he denied this toast, and refused to say the words, it would mean only one thing. War.
Heduanna gave him a smile as her own cup was filled. She clutched it and raised it before her. Something seemed to register in those lion eyes, and the king’s gaze softened. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak, and turned to face Heduanna’s father. “I thank you, friend, for your hospitality.”
A communal sense of relief seemed to sweep throughout the room as the two kings sipped from their cups, and the entire company followed suit. The silence was broken, music played, and dinner guests began to dine.
Heduanna allowed the tension in her shoulders to dissolve.
After two courses, it was time for the entertainment and the king called on Sargan to perform his poem.
Sargan stood and walked around to position himself between the two tables so that both royal families had a clear view of him. He took a breath and began.
“I call on you, my brothers and sisters, to bare witness to my song. For herein lies a lesson of love that sheds light like that of the sun.”
His voice was musical and could be heard with clarity in the very corners of the reception room. Heduanna closed her eyes and enjoyed the lilting song of it. As always, Sargan's words were genius. He told a story from ancient times in which two great kings had settled their disputes with reason and words rather than hatred and swords. She watched King Amar-Eshu. His eyes were locked on Sargan and it was clear he heeded the message. A thread of hope lifted Heduanna’s spirits. Perhaps the goddess would attain her much valued peace after all. Perhaps, Gedjon-Brak would remain nothing but a sleeping threat.
“And therein lies a tale most wise. May we h
eed it well.” Sargan came to the end and gave a small bow.
Father’s eyes sparkled with pride. Heduanna glanced at King Amar-Eshu, who also looked admirably at Sargan. She gave him another smile. Her brother had succeeded, their intent perfectly conveyed.
Applause followed and Sargan returned to his seat.
“You did well, brother,” Heduanna whispered.
“Thank you, sister.”
Next came the dancers and the servants brought out the sweet dishes. Sugared figs, honeyed apricots and baked dates in camel-milk curd, amongst other Azzurian favourites.
Heduanna kept her gaze on the guest king, who more often than not glanced her way. Heduanna also cast sideways glances at Enlil, whose gaze, in turn, remained steadfast. At one point she raised her hand and waved to the young desert bard. He quickly averted his eyes and pretended to make busy with his food. The thrill of making love to him started to bring that peculiar feeling back to her stomach and to her heart. She should be with him one more time before she was promised to King Amar-Eshu. It would feed the goddess’s insatiable hunger.
After the singing Heduanna’s father spoke again. “I think it is time, King Amar-Eshu.” Her father stood. “You and I shall now begin our negotiations. Please follow me.” He descended the dais and walked across the dining hall to a concealed exit at the back. The guest king rose also and followed him out. Qisht flitted along behind them shortly after carrying two cups and a jug of wine.
The mood in the room lifted and a sense of the festival seemed to come through the palace walls from the city outside, where people were sure to be enjoying themselves. Musicians sat in a corner of the hall and played flutes and drums. Beer and wine flowed and the guests began to mingle. The longer the kings talked, just the two of them, the better for the two cities, and for all Zraemia. Heduanna watched the guest king’s family. The uncles, aunts and cousins on Urul’s side of the hall. For all their king’s subtle, and not so subtle, hints of war, nobody wanted it. War only ever brought death and disease. Heduanna began to understand how the goddess was working – through her marriage to Urul, peace could be achieved. She frowned. But what of the mysterious ally to the west?