Daughter of Egypt

by Constance O'Banyon

  He gave a slight smile that softened his expression. “Answered like one of my blood. By the gods, with the right instruction, you will fare well.” Cunning, intelligent eyes watched her as he asked, “Would you say duty should outweigh matters of the heart?”

  “I know not, since I have never been tested in the matter.”

  The king’s gaze probed harder. “Let us hope you are not yearning for some man back in Egypt.”

  “There is no one,” Thalia admitted, realizing how easily he could pull secrets from her.

  “Understand this—as ruler of Bal Forea, the country’s interests must always take precedence over that puny emotion the very young call ‘love.’ I tell you this because young women are apt to look for love and overlook a worthy husband.”

  Thalia thought of Queen Cleopatra, and how her love of Marc Antony had not conflicted with her ability to rule. “Although Cleopatra is a woman, she is one of the strongest rulers in the world. So let there be no doubt that a woman’s love of her country is no different from a man’s love of his duty.”

  “Bal Forea is at war and in need of a leader with strength to pull us through.”

  Thalia shifted uncomfortably on the stool. “I have observed some of what war has done to this island, and I am told there is yet worse to see. ”

  “So what would you do if you were queen?” He watched her closely, not giving her time to think. “What would you do?”

  “Seek every path to end the war so the people could know peace.”

  “But you are a woman,” he pressed. “What can a woman do?”

  Thalia realized the crafty old fox was trying to trap her, and she took up the challenge. “I would look for a solution that you have failed to find. You are a man, and the war still rages.”

  Laughter crackled from the king, and he met Ashtyn’s gaze. “By the gods, is there another such woman in this world?”

  “Do not speak about me as if I am not here,” Thalia said, her jaw clamped in such a way it brought a smile to Lord Parinez’s lips. Many’s the time he’d seen that same expression on the king’s face.

  “You have not said how you would approach the responsibility of being a queen,” the king told Thalia.

  “I do not want the responsibility. I leave that to men like you, to write your peace treaties or continue with your war.”

  The king choked on a laugh and waved for Ashtyn to come forward. “My granddaughter is not a frivolous lass with naught on her mind but her own needs. I challenge anyone within my hearing to produce such a rarity in a woman. What say you, Count Ashtyn, will she suit?”

  “The princess is everything you had hoped,” Ashtyn replied, knowing he was about to be pulled into the old fox’s trap along with Thalia, and wishing he could postpone it as long as possible. “But we have tired you, Majesty. Let us withdraw so you can rest.”

  King Melik gave Ashtyn a guarded look and then nodded, a smile playing on his thin lips. “Both of you come to me at the hour of sundown. I have much to discuss with you.”

  “Your Majesty, have I your permission to rejoin my troops?” Ashtyn queried, wanting to escape the inevitable.

  The king stared at his most trusted general, knowing he needed him in the palace more than the battlefield for the foreseeable future. But he waved his hand in dismissal. “See that my granddaughter is settled. Then return with her at the appointed time.”

  Thalia had not wanted to be acknowledged by the king. She felt his trap closing around her, and there was no escape.

  The lord high chamberlain closed the curtains. “His majesty will need his rest.”

  Ashtyn nodded at Thalia, and they both backed away, bowing. At the door, they turned into the corridor.

  “I have no feeling for him other than pity,” Thalia said, searching Ashtyn’s eyes for answers. “Should I not feel something more?”

  His brow lifted, and he seemed agitated. “How could you be expected to love a man—any man—who is but a stranger to you?”

  “Now that I have seen him, and the people have seen me, can I not return to my home in Egypt? How many times must I tell you I do not belong here?”

  Ashtyn’s jaw clenched in sudden anger. “Don’t be such a child.” He nodded to Eleni, who had just appeared beside them. “Show your mistress to the suite that has been made ready for her.” To Thalia he said, without looking at her, “Make yourself ready and return to his majesty at sunset.” Without another word, he turned and left.

  Eleni watched him leave and then turned to Thalia. “Princess, shall I show you to your quarters?”

  Wordlessly, Thalia followed the woman across dull granite floors, her sandals making a whispering sound. A group of servants were standing in a circle, their tense voices murmuring through the room. When they saw Thalia, they dropped to their knees and lowered their heads.

  Thalia walked down a wide corridor past a garden room until Eleni paused at the door to bow. “I will be leaving you here, Highness,” she said, thrusting wide the tall copper doors. “But … if you ever have need of me, the mistress of servants will know where to find me.”

  Eleni was the one person who was familiar to Thalia in this awful place. “Why must you leave?”

  There were angry tears swimming in the woman’s eyes. “Your personal handmaiden is a woman of high birth. I am common born and unworthy of the honor of serving you.”

  Thalia detected bitterness in Eleni’s tone, and who could blame her? She wanted to object to Eleni being sent away, but was unaccustomed to the protocol of the palace. “I wish you could stay with me.”

  “Surely you have noticed I have no great skill at dressing hair or tending your wardrobe.” Eleni dropped her gaze. “It is the custom, Highness.”

  Thalia had no time to say more before a reed-thin woman with piercing dark eyes smiled and bowed. “Gracious Highness, long have been the days we have looked for your coming.”

  Eleni had already scurried away, so Thalia turned her attention to the handmaiden. “Who are you?” she asked in a stilted voice, her mind still on the unhappy woman who had served her so well on the voyage.

  The dark head bowed. “I am called Uzza, Highness. It is my pleasure to serve you.”

  Thalia swept past the woman, taking no notice of the rooms. Her steps took her through an ornately carved archway that led into a small garden. Angry tears she had held back until now blinded her. With quick steps she moved around the walled area, frantically searching for a gate—an escape.

  There was none. Thalia was as much a prisoner now as she’d been on the War Bird. She had worn her mother’s armor as she had been told, shown herself to the citizens on the way to the palace and silently endured the humiliation of their homage to her.

  “Highness, is something the matter?” Uzza asked with concern in her tone. “How can I serve you?”

  “You can serve me best by leaving me alone!”

  The woman bowed, looking distressed. “As you wish.”

  Thalia heard footsteps retreating down the gravel path and turned to the poor woman who had done nothing to earn her wrath. “Wait. Forgive me if I was sharp with you. It’s just that I am not who everyone believes me to be, and I want to go home.”

  “I do not believe such a thing is possible, Highness,” the woman remarked. “Are you not soon to be anointed queen?”

  Thalia glanced up at a yellow bird perched on a low branch that hung halfway over the garden wall. “So I have been told. And yet, I had hoped—” Thalia shook her head and re-entered the chamber. “Who do you serve, Uzza—me or the king?”

  The poor woman looked taken aback for a moment, her complexion ashen. “One is the same as the other. Do I not serve you both?”

  There was no more time for conversation. A rap on the door brought in seven young maidens, their eyes wide with wonder. “Highness, these are your handmaidens,” Uzza said. “Each is well-versed in a different function. They are here to take your measurements.”

  Before Thalia knew what was ha
ppening, the servants had measured her from head to foot, even the size of her head.

  After they had gone, Thalia let out her breath and sat back onto the softness of a bed that was carved in the shape of a hawk in flight. Staring up at the light green bed hangings, she noticed the coverlet was the same color green, only it was edged in gold.

  Someone had taken a lot of trouble to make the chamber worthy of a princess, or a future queen. Thalia derived no pleasure from the richness of the room—it was still a prison. She thought of her bedchamber at home, where she had been surrounded by all the items she treasured. Even with gilded chairs, shelves filled with scrolls, and the cushioned couches scattered about, this room was cold and impersonal, and she could not imagine ever feeling at home in it.

  “The seamstresses have been busy making your clothing,” Uzza said softly. “Would you like to see the robes? They are quite magnificent.”

  “I would like a bath and a change of clothing.”

  Uzza nodded and clapped her hands. Almost immediately two young handmaidens scurried into the chamber. Uzza gave them instructions, and they hurriedly left to obey, bowing to Thalia and backing out the door.

  “Highness,” Uzza said, “may I ask a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is it true that highborn Egyptian women bathe twice a day?”

  “That is the custom. Is it not the same here?”

  “Nay, Highness, once a day is the custom here, but I will be certain your bath is brought twice daily.”

  Thalia lay back on the bed, weary from the long journey.

  For better or worse, she must accept her captivity.

  * * *

  Ashtyn was seated in the sparse quarters that were assigned to him whenever he stayed in the palace. The furnishings consisted of nothing but a cot and a desk cluttered with maps and scrolls. A low table had been set before him with fruit and cheese, but he had no appetite and shoved it away.

  He had felt Thalia’s confusion today, and her anger. He reached for the wine goblet and raised it to his lips, then set it back on the table without taking a drink. At the moment, he wished Thalia were a commoner; then if they wed it would be by her choice.

  “Thalia, my heart,” he whispered, leaning his head back against the chair rest. “How my body hungers for yours.”

  He brought his fist down on the arm of the chair. “I shall overcome this weakness. I will think no more of her soft, sweet body, or the smile that yanks at my heart.”

  Captain Darius had just entered the room carrying Ashtyn’s armor. “Begging your pardon, Commander—did you ask something of me?”

  Ashtyn rose. “Nay. I was merely clearing my mind of cobwebs.”

  The sun was low in the west as Ashtyn stood on the parade grounds, glancing at the double row of barracks that lined the outer courtyard. With a grim expression, he confronted the soldier at the end of the line who stood nervously awaiting his inspection. Withdrawing the man’s sword from its scabbard, Ashtyn frowned and nodded at Sergeant Komondor, who quickly ducked his head.

  “Look to this weapon—rust on the blade. You have done slovenly work in my absence.” Ashtyn glared at the man whose ruddy complexion had paled. “Explain this to me!”

  “Commander, I … the—”

  Ashtyn held his hand up to silence the man. “Every apprentice recruit knows that his first duty is to his weapon, since it is all that stands between him and death.”

  “Aye, Commander,” the sergeant answered.

  Captain Darius stepped forward, his eyes locking with those of the luckless sergeant who had allowed the recruits to neglect their weapons. “They will all learn the folly of carelessness, Commander.”

  Ashtyn glared down the row of nervous soldiers, who were having a difficult time meeting his hard gaze. “Have you all lounged about the barracks too long with nothing to occupy your time? That will change.” He turned to Darius. “Examine all the weapons, Captain, and if there is rust on any blade or spear, you know what to do. Take the rank away from this sergeant and send him to the front lines.”

  Ashtyn mounted his horse and glanced down at the men who still could not meet his gaze. He heard Captain Darius call out to them, “Clean the place, polish your swords! No man will sleep this night!”

  Spinning his horse around, Ashtyn rode back toward the palace. Dismounting, he hurried inside. It was almost sundown, and he dared not be late for his audience with the king.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Fool! Imbecile!” Lord Sevilin glared at Turk. “Once again you return without the princess. Explain to me how such a thing can happen.”

  Turk lowered his head. “Lord, I had her in my grasp, and even managed to sneak her out of Alexandria. How could I have known my every move was being watched by the Destroyer?”

  Lady Vistah paced in front of the big man, clutching her robe, her hair disheveled because her son had awakened her from a deep sleep. “Explain!” she screeched.

  Turk glanced at the floor. “He’s a clever one. Slipped right into my camp and whisked the princess away in the middle of the night—stampeded our horses so we couldn’t follow.”

  Lady Vistah’s face contorted with anger as she ranted at Turk. “We cannot control the people if we do not have her!” She cast an appraising glance at her son. “With Princess Thalia we could have had everything we wanted.” She whirled around and shook her fist in Turk’s face. “When I married into the royal family, I expected to get a child by my husband. Who would have thought he’d die before giving me a son? With his death, the king no longer had an interest in me or my own son. I was left to raise Sevilin on what meager handouts his majesty allowed us. I vowed revenge on his house then, but I now taste the bitterness of defeat!”

  Turk saw something that had eluded him before: Lady Vistah cared nothing for the citizens of the island. She was eaten up with hatred and ambition. He turned his gaze to Lord Sevilin, wondering if he’d been duped by the son as well.

  “I will have that girl,” Lady Vistah continued. “If we have to attack the palace to get her, then so be it.”

  “Mother,” Lord Sevilin said soothingly. “You know that’s impossible. We must find another way.”

  “What we don’t have is time,” Lady Vistah stated. “King Melik will marry the girl off as soon as he can, but not before he sees her crowned queen.” Her black dressing robe swirled about her as she continued to pace the room. “I curse the royal bloodline—if not for that, you, my son, would already have ascended the throne.”

  “Since I’m not of royal blood, and we don’t have the girl, all is lost.”

  Lady Vistah whirled on her son. “You give up too easily. It is a weakness your own father possessed. If I had not been the driving force in your life, where would we be now?”

  Lord Sevilin’s face was red when he ducked his head and stared at his feet. “I know defeat when I see it,” he remarked sullenly.

  His mother shook her head in disgust. “All is not lost. Not yet. I have spies in the palace. One I placed close to the princess. Let us wait and see what comes of that.”

  Turk looked from mother to son, seeing what had eluded him in the past. The son was driven by his mother, and it was not for any noble cause.

  “We must strike fast and hard!” Lady Vistah said, smacking her fist against her open palm. “Because of this man’s blundering, it just became more difficult. If the king has chosen Count Ashtyn for the husband of Princess Thalia, one—or both—must die.” Her eyes narrowed on Turk. “Unless there is a chance she is not the princess.”

  Turk met her eyes. “There is no doubt she is King Melik’s granddaughter.”

  “Then she will have to be dealt with.”

  Lord Sevilin glanced at Turk. “Tell me what she looks like.”

  “She is the image of her mother, only more intelligent and with more spirit. Over the years I have come to admire her.”

  Lady Vistah paced to Turk. “Think you we care about your opinions on this girl?”<
br />
  Lord Sevilin held up his hand to silence his mother. “I asked for his opinion and he gave it.” He smiled slightly and leaned back against his chair. “I will see this beauty for myself.” His eyes hardened when he pointed to the big man. “Find a way to get her here, and this time you must not fail me.”

  Turk saw the spark of anger in his lord’s eyes. There was fire in the son if the mother didn’t smother it with her own vain ambitions. “Tell me of the spies you set in the palace so I can work with them to capture the princess.”

  “Foolish, foolish man. Why should we trust you when you have failed us so many times in the past?” Lady Vistah muttered.

  “Leave him to his task, Mother. For now, he’s our only hope.”

  Cleopatra paced from the edge of her bed and back to the steps that led into the pool garden. Marc Antony caught her hand and stilled her.

  “Share with me what is troubling you.”

  “Thoughts of my little Thalia rob me of sleep. I had no knowledge of a country with a flag of a winged hawk perched on a crown. But my scholars have discovered an island called Bal Forea with such a flag. Why would they have taken Thalia?”

  “Bal Forea,” he said, his brow furrowed in thought. “I recall Caesar once mentioned such a place to me.” His frown deepened. “I shall find out more about this mysterious island in the morning.” He tugged on her hand. “Come to bed with me. We cannot solve the puzzle tonight.”

  Her shimmering black hair slid across her shoulders as she nestled against his broad chest. “Surely whoever took her cannot mean her harm.” She raised troubled green eyes to Antony. “Surely they do not mean to sell her as a slave?”

  He touched his mouth to her cheek. “Nay. There are other reasons they went to so much trouble to capture her. We will soon have the why of it, then gather our forces and strike!”

  She slid her arms about his waist. “Whoever did this to her will feel the full might of my wrath. I will not rest until I see her safely back on Egyptian soil.”