Crown in the Stars (2 page)

Shoshannah peeked at her mother, suspicious. Keren was covering her mouth with her hand; Shoshannah almost laughed with her. But her delight changed to self-consciousness as she walked downhill with Mithqah to the stream. Kal was watching. He flashed her a grin, which Shoshannah reluctantly admired.

After speaking quietly to Zekaryah—evidently asking his approval—Kaleb approached the girls. “Need some help?” he asked.

“No.” Shoshannah walked away, resisting Mithqah, who tried to make her stop.

Kaleb followed her. “Shoshannah, listen. I’m sorry I upset you this afternoon. Please accept my apology—your father is watching us.”

She paused and looked. Her father was indeed watching them closely—as always. He would expect her to accept Kal’s apology.

“I forgive you,” she said.
Almost
. She would plan her revenge later. “But, as you say, Father is watching; he might thrash you if we talk too long.”

As Kaleb glanced over his shoulder at Zekaryah, Shoshannah hurried Mithqah toward the stream, smiling. Kal wouldn’t dare to follow.

“Confess, Ritspah,” Keren said as they stepped inside the women’s tent. “Their water fight looked like fun; we should have joined them.”

“I would have won,” Ritspah informed her.

“Perhaps not,” I’ma-Annah teased, settling onto a fleece mat, the gold hair talismans fluttering against her
neck. “Sometimes even an old woman like me can best a child like you, Ritspah.”

They laughed together, then sobered as Ritspah said, “I can’t believe how tall our girls have grown. It’s frightening. In a few years we’ll have to find husbands for them. Do you think you’ll ask Shoshannah to consider Kaleb?”

“Perhaps. But I don’t want her to marry for quite a while—and Zekaryah talks as if he’d never allow her to marry at all.”

“He’s too protective.” Ritspah leaned down to peer at Keren’s toddler-daughter, Rinnah, who was napping, thumb in mouth, on a nearby mat.
“I
think we should send our daughters to visit their cousins in the Tribe of Metiyl. We’ve refused their invitations twice, but it would be fun for them to have a little freedom before they marry and settle in their own households.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Keren agreed reluctantly. “But I keep thinking of what might happen…”

I’ma-Annah eyed Keren severely. “You still haven’t told Shoshannah of the past, have you?”

“Only that I lived in the Great City and hated it.”

“Let her hear the truth from you before one of your enemies finds her, child.”

“What should I say? ‘Daughter, you have enemies because I tried to kill the Great King, but our First Father Shem struck him down an instant before.’ Forgive me, I’ma-Annah, but I dread it.”

“Do you want me to tell her?” I’ma-Annah offered quietly.

The First Father Shem was Annah’s own beloved husband. And the Great-King Nimr-Rada’s manner of death still saddened her, even after twenty years.

“No, I’ma-Annah, thank you. I’ll tell her.”
Someday
.

As Keren thought this, baby Rinnah stirred and stretched, her chubby nut-brown face irritable as she whimpered herself awake. Grateful to escape this unwelcome conversation, Keren settled down to nurse her youngest and soothe her into a better mood.

“Well,” Ritspah sighed, retrieving a carved wooden spindle and a puffy heap of combed dark wool, “I hope our other children are behaving better than their elder sisters.”

“I’m sure they are.” Keren absently caressed Rinnah’s short wispy black ringlets, thinking of her other cherished daughters, Qetuwrah and Adah, and her sons, Ahyit and Sithriy, who were visiting the Ancient Ones with her brother Eliyshama and his family.

I’ll have to tell them everything …
She hated the thought. They shouldn’t have to deal with her enemies.
Time will be enough of an enemy for them
.

She had to stop thinking. She had to fight this bitterness against her enemies. And, sadly, against the Most High.

Two

HIDING HIS IRRITATION, Master Ra-Anan, the bald, smooth-shaven leader of the priests, knelt in his place of honor in a formal, tree-shaded courtyard. The cause of his irritation, the Lady Sharah—his own sister and supposed ruler of the Great City—was emerging from her private residence.

Her golden sandals clicked softly, and her linen robes and pale curls fluttered as Sharah glided into the courtyard and stepped onto a fleece-draped dais. Arranging herself decorously on her fleece-padded bench, Sharah allowed a nervous attendant to check her face paints, then waved her off, nodding to her guardsmen to open the gates. Donning warmth and courtesy like a robe, Sharah now assumed her persona of the City’s gracious, tender Mother-Protectoress.

As Sharah received petitions from bowing, worshipful
citizens, Ra-Anan studied her critically, distastefully. In a few years her gorging, tantrums, and drinking into the night would destroy her pale, dazzling, paint-garnished beauty. Then she would be left with nothing but this sham dignity that vanished as soon as her citizens were locked outside her courtyard gates.

I doubt your deluded citizens will call you Queen of the Heavens much longer
, Ra-Anan warned Sharah in his thoughts.
Even your son will hate you, if he doesn’t already. Where is that boy? Adoniyram, I have too much to do this afternoon without waiting on you!

The blaring notes of rams’ horns echoed outside, making Ra-Anan glance toward the gate. Adoniyram did not appear. Instead Kuwsh, father of the deeply mourned, now legendary Great-King Nimr-Rada, entered Sharah’s courtyard. Striking in his habitual gold ornaments and leopard-skin robe, Kuwsh half bowed to Sharah. She nodded, icily proud in the summer heat. Finished with courtesies, and ignoring the citizens bowing around him, Kuwsh sat beside Ra-Anan, an uneasy ally in their political schemes.

His obsidian black eyes glittering in his dusky face, Kuwsh muttered, “Where’s our Son of Heaven, Adoniyram?”

Ra-Anan concealed a smile. “Probably planning a grand entrance.”

“He should be flailed.”

“So should his mother,” Ra-Anan whispered in agreement, “when it’s safe for us.”

“I await the day. Usurpers! I should never have allowed you to convince me that they should live, much less have power.”

“They are mere ornaments to please our people; you know that, my lord.”

“Hah! By the way, I want to speak to you later.”

What now?
Ra-Anan wondered, smiling calmly, inwardly seething. “Of course.”

Their furtive conversation ceased; Sharah had waved a troublesome petitioner toward them, saying sweetly, “We must be advised, for your sake, by our Priests of Shemesh.”

Kuwsh stiffly deferred to Ra-Anan, who studied the rustic petitioner’s thin, jutting, bearded features.

“What’s your name?” Ra-Anan asked.

“Dayag,” the man snapped, glaring.

Ra-Anan chose to ignore his lack of manners—the man was a nobody.

“Present yourself at the tower steps this evening. We will consult then.”

“As you say, Master.” The man bowed to Ra-Anan, distinctively hostile.

Ra-Anan frowned, watching him move toward the gates. If the man caused trouble, he would be punished.

Now raucous shouts, whistles, and laughter rose just outside the courtyard walls.
Adoniyram
.

Ra-Anan peered through the open gates. The hostile petitioner dropped to his knees and bowed, outwardly humble, but deliberately blocking Adoniyram’s progress. Two spear-wielding guardsmen reached for the man but stopped, apparently ordered off by the Young Lord of the Great City.

He’s accepting that Dayag’s petition!
Ra-Anan guessed, furious.

Everyone inside the courtyard paused and watched, futilely straining to hear the petitioner and Adoniyram’s response. But Ra-Anan knew without hearing a word; the troublemaker’s petition was granted. The man, Dayag, bowed again, then leapt to his feet and backed away, his thin, coarse face triumphant.

Equally triumphant, Adoniyram paused just inside the gate. Though he was simply clothed in an unbleached linen tunic, a leather belt, and roughly laced boots, there was nothing plain about Adoniyram. His height, coppery skin, thick black curls, flagrant, sultry-lashed eyes, and wide, full mouth ensured that everyone in the courtyard, friend or enemy, noticed him.

Smiling, he strode toward his mother and offered her a showy bow. Then he stepped onto the dais, kissed her cheek, and sat easily at her feet. Sharah gave him a smug, prideful look. Ra-Anan watched, nauseated.

Beside Ra-Anan, Kuwsh hissed,
“This
is why I want to speak to you. He’s beginning to steal our power by granting favors. We have to rein him in.”

“We’ll talk, my lord.”

“Adoniyram.” Ra-Anan detained him just outside the gates.

The Young Lord paused, courteous, but clearly impatient to return to his horse and his hunting.

“Master-Uncle. How may I assist you?”

“How may I assist
you
, Adoniyram? I have failed you in your training.”

Adoniyram drew back, narrowing his eyes. “How have you failed me, Uncle?”

Ra-Anan smiled, respecting the young man’s surprising instinctive caution; his mother had never been cautious in all her life. And, perhaps, neither had his father. “I have not given you the chance to formally act on behalf of your people. We must encourage your mother to give you a role in her courts instead of sitting idly at her feet.
It would be beneficial if the citizens could observe the two of you working together.”

“I’ve thought the same,” Adoniyram agreed genially. “But can she be persuaded to share her glory?”

“For your sake, she must.” Ra-Anan watched his nephew’s reaction; he seemed interested. “It would be an offense against the heavens, Adoniyram, if your talents were squandered when they could be used to strengthen your kingdom.”

“It’s not my kingdom, Master-Uncle.”

“Because of you, it still exists,” Ra-Anan said carefully. “Your birth gave the citizens hope and unity after the death of the Great King, when everything could have crumbled into chaos. Your Lady-Mother has depended upon you, so why should she refuse your assistance now? We must speak with her.”

“Without making her angry?” Adoniyram smiled. “Let me know if you or your priests can accomplish such a miracle, Master Ra-Anan; I long to witness it.”

Smiling politely in turn, Ra-Anan asked, “What favor did that man, Dayag, ask of you at the gate?”

“Your priests took his river lands, which adjoined the fields near the tower—something about creating another canal. I promised him new lands along the river.”

“Do you have such lands to give him?”

Charming and warm, Adoniyram said, “No, my own uncle. But you and your priests do; perhaps we can bargain together and agree on something. We are all reasonable men, and we can’t have rebellion among the citizens, can we?”