Crown in the Stars (22 page)

“As you say, Son of Heaven.”

He had been about to leave, but he paused, frowning. “You say my title so rudely. You don’t believe it, do you?”

She fought within herself, fearing she had already caused him enough aggravation, but knowing she couldn’t soothe him with a lie. Instead she asked, “Do you believe what your people say—that you’re the Promised One?”

Equally somber, he asked, “Do you think it could be true?”

“No. It’s not.”

“You’ll have to explain your reasons to me later. And I expect the truth, as we agreed.”

“Of course.” Shoshannah was surprised that he had accepted her opinion so calmly. Perhaps he wasn’t as deluded as she’d thought.

He leaned toward her again, becoming secretive as more servants entered the courtyard. “By the way, I’m going to be ignoring you in public from now on. I don’t want my mother to suspect that I am concerned with you at all, or she will try to kill you. And don’t ridicule my titles or role with anyone else—particularly Rab-Mawg.”

“Thank you for warning me.”

Nodding politely, he turned away, greeting Ra-Anan and Father Elam, who were emerging from the house. Demamah followed them, trailed by the sulky Ormah.

As soon as she saw Shoshannah, Demamah said, “There you are! I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“You’re the one who disappeared,” Shoshannah argued kindly—which was true; Demamah had vanished after their rather skimpy morning meal.

“I went to the kitchen to talk to our cook; she needs our help after the hunt.” In a whisper, Demamah explained, “Father Elam brought more attendants than we expected; they’ve done nothing except eat since yesterday. I noticed the bread portion was unusually small this morning.”

“Oh, I thought we were being punished again.”

“Thank the heavens, no,” Demamah said. She went off to her horse, followed by Ormah.

Thank the heavens
. Shoshannah tried to remember if she
had heard Demamah say those words before. She doubted it; she would have noticed. The phrase was like a rejection of the Most High, who surely must feel the words like a cutting betrayal. And yet, Shoshannah felt equally betrayed, certain He had abandoned her.

Why didn’t your Most High save you?
Ra-Anan’s smug question still taunted her, denying the existence of the Most High. And because Ra-Anan had completely rejected the Most High, his daughter, Demamah, hadn’t heard all the stories of Him. Only bits and pieces—entangled with mockeries and denials.

I should tell her the Ancient Stories of the Beginning, and the Garden of Adan, and the Adversary—that Serpent. And of the Promised One. I should tell Adoniyram too; they both doubt the Most High
.

But how convincing could she be, when she felt so betrayed?

A guardsman entered the courtyard gate now, bearing Shoshannah’s weapons. She thanked him and accepted her bow and its quiver, relieved to hold them again. Her parents had fashioned the bow and quiver, her last tangible links with home. Hugging the weapons briefly, she slung the brown-furred quiver of arrows over her back and tested the bow. Her right wrist still ached uncomfortably with the motion of aligning the bowstring to her jaw—another grievous reminder of her failed escape.

Someone rode up beside her now, and she lowered the bow. Father Elam nodded graciously, smiling so much like his Father Shem, but so unlike him that it seemed eerie to Shoshannah.

“I never thought I would see a woman so glad to hold a bow. You’re the one who provoked that argument last night.”

“Yes, Father Elam.” Discomfited, Shoshannah lowered her head.

Somber, he leaned down, asking quietly, “Is it true what I have heard? that my own father said the younger generations will age and die before their elders?”

She nodded, daring to glance up at him. “It’s true. Believe me—my generation is one of the youngest, so I have no reason to lie about this.”

“I don’t doubt you, child. My father would never say such a thing if he didn’t believe it. I just wanted to be sure that he had said it. We’ve wondered…” Elam hesitated, as if trying to deal with the thought that his children, and their children, might die before him. At last he shook his head and straightened. “Are my parents and the Ancient Ones well?”

His obvious concern made her relax a little. She answered him warmly, allowing him to see how much she loved his parents. “When I left them, they were well. Please forgive me for being bold, but I’m sure they would have told me to say that they send you their love and greetings. And that they miss you.”

“Thank you, child.” He appeared troubled. Perhaps a bit guilty.

When he didn’t turn his horse away immediately, she felt encouraged enough to ask, “Forgive me, Father Elam, but are your brothers and sisters well?”

He frowned. “Why do you ask?”

Almost faltering, certain she had been too forward, she said, “I only thought that… when I see your parents again… if I do… they’d welcome some news.”

“Huh. I rarely see my brothers. Asshur doesn’t want to travel this far south, and Lud likes the northern mountain coasts, while Arpakshad stays to the west of my tribes, and Aram has claimed lands on the northwest side of the
rivers. As for my sisters—they are all busy with their own tribes.”

Too busy to visit the Ancient Ones, who would surely tell them things they didn’t want to hear
, Shoshannah thought darkly. As for Father Elam, it
had
evidently been worth his time to travel to the Great City to visit much younger distant cousins like Master Ra-Anan and that Queen-of-the-Heavens Sharah, and to receive their hospitality and fawning courtesies. If he truly wished to see his brothers, and the Ancient Ones, then certainly he could also spare time for them.

As she was thinking this, Father Elam said, “Eventually, I will find time to see my parents and brothers and sisters again.”

“I’m sure you’ll be glad to see each other,” Shoshannah murmured politely.

He nodded in silent farewell as Perek swaggered up with Shoshannah’s horse—the same dull tawny-and-black creature she had ridden during her first hunt here. As soon as she had settled herself atop the horse, Shoshannah glanced over at Demamah, who lifted her eyebrows wonderingly. No doubt Demamah would have to ask what Father Elam had said—as commanded by Master Ra-Anan, who would insist upon knowing everything.

Shoshannah threw a resentful sidelong look at her uncle as he mounted his favorite spoiled sand-pale horse. He and that horse deserved each other—the scoundrels.

Uncle, I am sure you took me to that feast last night knowing my presence would anger the Lady Sharah. You wanted her to offend everyone there. You’re plotting against her. And perhaps against Adoniyram. And me. How can I stop you?

Shoshannah sat with Demamah in the warm bricked kitchen, pitting a small mountain of sticky dried dates. Tedious work, but better than plucking the assortment of fat, lifeless, blood-drained birds, as Ormah and the overwhelmed cook were doing now.

Rain suddenly spattered inside the one small window, making the cook hurry to close the shutters and light oil lamps. Irritated and defensive, she shook her dark-braided head, saying to Demamah, “I have no choice but to light these lamps; you can tell your mother so if she complains about the low oil supply. It’ll be too dark to work in here otherwise.”

“I know it’s true, Tabbakhaw, and I’ll tell her so,” Demamah promised.

“See that you do!” Tabbakhaw stomped back to pluck the birds, while Ormah smirked, evidently amused that Tabbakhaw had snapped at Demamah.

Graceful as ever, Demamah ignored them. Instead, she began to think aloud, “After this, we’ll shape the bread dough. And we should prepare more vegetables…”

“If you want more vegetables, you’ll have to chop them yourself,” Tabbakhaw scolded, whisking a clump of down and feathers into a nearby basket.

“I
am
planning on doing it myself,” Demamah answered, giving Tabbakhaw a subtly threatening look—far more restrained than Shoshannah would have been. “And Shoshannah will help me. Though we don’t have to.”

Mercifully, Tabbakhaw took Demamah’s hint and went to work, feathers flying away beneath her fingers as she grumbled to herself.

An amused masculine voice made them all look toward the kitchen doorway. “I’ve found you. Is work better
than my own exalted company?” Adoniyram stepped into the kitchen, smiling.

Demamah shook her head at him. “If you’re not going to be useful, Adoniyram, you should leave. We’re busy trying to make your food.”

“I doubt I’m useful at anything, dear Cousin. However, I’ve sent for food from my own household. I’m sure your cook won’t mind. And I have no intention of leaving. Your mother is sewing—which doesn’t interest me—and Ra-Anan and Father Elam are napping, which is also dull, so you’ll have to endure me.”

As he sat comfortably on the mat with Demamah and Shoshannah, two of his attendant-guardsmen marched in and lowered several heavy baskets onto the floor near the openmouthed Tabbakhaw. Heaps of soft bread, pots of spiced honey, roasted meats, jars of preserved fruits and oils, and bunches of pungent dried herbs scented the air. Also, to Shoshannah’s disgust, there was a basket trap full of scuttling, menacing crabs.

Instantly, Tabbakhaw was beaming, praising Adoniyram. “Blessings from our Son of Heaven! How wonderful; these crabs are just what we needed. I’ll heat the water at once; thank you, my lord!”

“I’m glad you’re pleased. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to stay here and visit with my cousins.”

“Oh yes, let it be as you say, my lord; thank you. We won’t disturb you.”

Disgusted by the change in the now flattering and fluttering Tabbakhaw, Shoshannah muttered to Adoniyram, “We’ve been working here for half the afternoon without one smile from her. But you walk in and she’s overflowing with compliments—though you didn’t lift a finger except to order the food.”

“As I said, I’m not very useful.” He waved his guardsmen off, taunting them cheerfully. “I noticed you left the wine and beer outside! Don’t drink it all, or you’ll be punished—you’re not in my residence now.”

The guardsmen laughed and departed, and Adoniyram settled down, watching Shoshannah and Demamah pit the dates. Carelessly he began to pit a few. To Shoshannah, it was strange to see her privileged cousin doing such an ordinary task; he looked and smelled so clean, so perfect, so wrong for work.

Mithqah
, Shoshannah argued silently to her dear absent friend,
it is possible for a man to be too handsome. Adoniyram is proof of that
. Mithqah would have disagreed fiercely, Shoshannah knew. Particularly if Adoniyram had looked at her the way he was watching Shoshannah now, from beneath his long eyelashes.

Softly he commanded, “Tell me why I’m not the Promised One.”

Aware of Demamah listening, and knowing that she must report everything to Ra-Anan, Shoshannah said beneath her breath, “You cannot be the Promised One because you aren’t born of the sons of our First Father Shem. Actually, of Arpakshad.”

“Arpakshad?” Adoniyram looked perplexed. “How can anyone from his tribe restore perfection to us? They have nothing to do with our Great City.”

Shoshannah pondered this briefly, then murmured, “Perhaps the Promised One won’t be concerned with ruling the Great City. It may be that the Promised One will ‘restore perfection to us’ with the Most High and then return us to the Garden of Adan. There’s so much we don’t know.”

“Then why are you telling me that I’m not the Promised
One?” he whispered, becoming mildly exasperated. “Since there’s so much you don’t know…”

“Because you wanted to hear what I
do
know.” Shoshannah lowered her voice even more, making Adoniyram and Demamah lean toward her. “Listen; if you wish, I’ll tell you the stories of the Ancient Ones.”

Demamah looked interested, but Adoniyram shrugged, tossed a pitted date into the basket, then reached for another.

Sighing, fearing that he was only humoring her, Shoshannah whispered, “In the beginning, by the Word of the Most High, the heavens and the earth were created…”