Palace of Darkness (25 page)

“Will they all be there so early?” She gripped his arm.

He placed his hand over her cold one. “They will be there.”

They crossed back to the east end of the city, and Julian held Cassia by the elbow, propelling her forward to keep pace with his longer strides. Halfway there, she pulled away and slowed, breathing heavily.

“I am sorry.” Julian walked beside her, trying to match her pace.

“You are as tight as a lyre string.”

Julian inhaled deeply. “I am anxious to be certain that everyone is ready.”

Cassia shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “Tell me this will work, Julian.”

“Tomorrow you will have Alexander back in your arms, Cassia.” He said the words with the conviction he truly felt, though he wished his words could somehow assure they would not fail.

They hurried through the housing district, with its stone homes nearly scraping against each other, and found the unassuming door that led to Malik’s well-appointed home, then passed ungreeted into the front hall.

All was dark, as it had been when Julian left to retrieve Cassia, but he suspected the house held more people than it had earlier.

They slipped through the quiet hall to the central courtyard. Only one small brazier burned in the center of the flourishing gardens, but in its light Julian saw the faces of at least three dozen brothers and sisters ranging in a circle. They turned as one to Julian and Cassia, with joyous if strained smiles.

Malik bustled forward, took Cassia’s hands without speaking, and led her to the circle, where he sat her on one of the wooden benches that had been brought from elsewhere in the house.

Julian followed, aware that the silence of the courtyard still spoke much of the hearts of the people.

He connected with the eyes of each one, nodding his thanks and acknowledging their sacrifice. Hozai and Rachim, Nahor the farmer and his grown son, Niv. Tabatha and Marta. He had grown to love each of them.

Beside him, he heard Cassia’s quick intake of breath.

He looked down to where she sat on Malik’s bench and found the old man on his knees before her, washing her feet.

Cassia raised stricken eyes to Julian.

He smiled. It was likely she had never had her feet washed by even a servant, and horror stamped her expression that this man of wealth and wisdom would stoop to perform this service.

She did not yet know whose example Malik followed, that he did this lowly thing to give her a message of truth.

But then Malik’s gaze was focused on him, and Julian felt the blow of the message. It was as much for himself.

“If anyone desires to be great in the kingdom, he must be the servant of all.”

Julian swallowed and nodded, suddenly feeling humbled by the older man’s example.

In the days since their capture and escape, he had wrestled and nearly made peace with this idea of leadership. He had admitted, to himself and to God, that he had run from the disaster in Rome in part for the safety of his family, but also in part to avoid the call he felt on his life.

But it was these two things he could not reconcile in his heart. He had tried, God knew he had tried, in Rome. Tried to rise up and be a leader to the small group there, tried to make a difference. It had ended badly. Why would God ask him again to stand up? The thought made him feel as though ants crawled under his skin.

Would this endeavor end as the last one had?

Malik finished his ministrations toward a teary-eyed Cassia, then waved in his servants with their trays of food. Nothing hot this morning, as the cook fires might have attracted attention, but lavish platters of grapes and pears, of flatbreads baked the night before and fresh cheeses. The delicate, pure red clay pottery of Petra, hand-painted with floral and geometric designs, circulated among the group around the small brazier, and Julian watched their dark eyes, glittering in the firelight, as they were served from the finery. The open-air courtyard garden still carried the heady scent of night jasmine, and it would have been a lively party if not for the task for which they had gathered.

And Julian was anxious to begin.

He sat between Cassia and Malik, and the Elder of Petra dipped his head in deference to Julian, who first led the flock in a prayer of thankfulness for their safety thus far, for Malik’s generosity, and for their food.

That finished, Julian leaned forward, braced his forearms on his knees, and spoke of the plan to free Alexander. “We could have used more time to place more people inside the palace. But as you all have heard by now, there is much more than Alexander’s mere happiness at stake.”

Cassia shuddered beside him, and he wished he could wrap her in his arms. A platter of fruit passed nearby but he waved it off. “The Festival of Grain is in only two days, and we must get the boy out of there before a great evil can be done.” He sat back on the bench, crossed one leg over the other, and bounced his foot as he talked. “Let’s trace the positions of each of you through the palace. Starting with Talya, who through God’s mercy has been placed closest to Alexander.” His eyes found Talya’s and he spoke through the crowd directly to her. “Tell us what will be your challenge when your time comes.”

Talya glanced around the group and she seemed afraid to speak.

Come on, girl. You are only the first.

He was about to hurry her along when Malik’s hand touched his bouncing leg.

A radiating warmth from the man’s hand quieted his muscles. Julian’s shoulders dropped, it seemed by a full cubit, and he looked to the older man.

“Peace.” Malik’s eyes were a deep stillness. “Lead from your heart. From your spirit and from His. Not from your head.”

The words were a soothing ointment on Julian’s frayed nerves, and he accepted them with gratitude and nodded. He had much to learn from Malik, still.

He took a deep breath and turned back to the flock ranged around him. “Perhaps we need more time with prayer before our time with plans.”

And it was the prayers of the people, lifted one after another with passion, that finally brought peace to Julian’s anxious thoughts. The cries of their hearts for the safety of Alexander, their fervent entreaty against the evil that would overtake Petra, and their loving and compassionate pleas for Cassia filled Julian with a strength that did not come from well-laid plans.

Beside him, Cassia’s tears wet her hands as prayer after prayer went up to the Lord on her behalf, sweet sacrifices from the lips of the saints.

Julian wrapped an arm around her, and she leaned her head on his shoulder, clearly spent with the emotion of the morning already.

When it was done, there was a confidence borne of the Spirit on each face. Julian knew they had each counted the cost of obedience this morning and had reconciled themselves to it.

Talya spoke first, of her plan to get Alexander alone, away from the clinging presence of Bethea.

One by one, each player in the drama that was to come rehearsed their part. Julian nodded, made a few suggestions, encouraged each one in their task, all the while holding Cassia beside him, trying to infuse confidence and peace into her.

When they had finished outlining the plan and Julian felt confident they were ready, Malik signaled his servants again, and more food was brought. Above them, the first pink flush of the clouds warned they could not remain much longer.

Malik drew Julian aside, leaving Cassia to be surrounded by others intent on loving her well.

“You have given good leadership this morning.” He and Malik walked slowly through the columned portico at the edge of the courtyard.

Julian exhaled with some relief, realizing how much he valued Malik’s approval. “I do not believe that God will allow the boy to be offered to the dark powers of the city.”

Malik frowned slightly. “We must be careful that we do not insist that God agree with
our
plans. His ways are not our ways.”

Julian said nothing, unwilling to consider that God would allow such evil.

Malik stopped their walk at the corner of the courtyard, deep in the shadows of the portico and out of hearing of the group. “Cassia
will have a long journey ahead of her when she escapes Petra tomorrow.” His voice was deceptively casual. “I will give her sufficient money to reach Jerusalem, but we must pray for her safety.” Malik’s eyes bore into his, and Julian knew well the man’s words were more of a question than a statement.

“I am going with her.”

Malik nodded once. “I thought as much.” He turned away, braced a hand against a stone pillar.

Julian clenched his hands at his sides. “You do not approve.”

Malik spoke toward the group, his back to Julian. “It is not the will of the Father that you go, Julian. This I know.”

“I love her.”

“Yes. And I believe she feels the same, though she is not yet ready to love, for many reasons.”

Julian went to Malik’s side until the man looked at him. His heart raced with the unfairness of what Malik asked. Had the man never felt what it was to love? “Then how can you ask me—”

“It is not I who asks.”

Julian smacked the stone pillar with his open palm. “I am trying to be obedient, Malik. You say that God wants me to lead, and I am trying. But this—” He fought to keep his voice low.

Malik smiled, and his gaze drifted to Cassia. “I, too, have fought for these past weeks to accept what seemed to me to be illogical.” With this, he looked pointedly at Julian, and Julian felt the wash of shame at his own immaturity. “And yet, His way is best. This is part of leadership, Julian. To learn that we do not control, we serve.”

Julian looked over their flock, now dispersing with much embracing and kisses of farewell.

“Have you ever loved a woman like Cassia, Malik?”

He felt the old man’s sadness swell beside him, and Malik laughed
quietly. “Oh yes.” His voice was full of memories, broken with emotion. “Yes, Julian, I have. Loved her and lost her.” He leaned his head against the pillar. “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

Julian’s jaw clenched and he chose to remain silent, but his thoughts rebelled.

I will lead, old man. But I will not give up so easily as you.

TWENTY-SIX

T
HE DAY CRAWLED PAST
,
LIKE A HEAVY
-
LADEN CARAVAN
inching through the desert sand. Cassia tried to keep her hands busy in Zeta’s home, baking bread and tending a pot of spicy hare stew over the hot fire through the long day, but her mind and heart flew across the city to the palace a thousand times. She imagined Alexander’s face when Talya would tell him tomorrow morning that he was being brought to his mama. She could see his bright, gap-toothed smile, his light eyes dancing. Her pulse beat at the thought of having him in her arms again.

She pounded dough against the smooth table, turned and folded, then pounded again. Would Alexander understand he needed to be quiet as he was passed from one servant to the next? A flash of memory, their last scheme with Aretas, left her standing over the dough lost in thought. Alexander’s innocent delight in showing his father his loose teeth had resulted in their deception being revealed. Could something similar happen tomorrow? Her stomach roiled, and she put a floured hand to her chest.

“You are fearful,” Zeta observed from the cook fire.

Cassia dug her fingers into the dough again and shrugged. “Julian
will not fail.” A brave, confident statement that did little to mask her anxious heart.

And I will be there to fight in whatever way I must.

Their cliffside fell into shadow at last, and Cassia helped Zeta prepare the evening meal of stew and bread.

“Go.” Zeta shooed her from the table. “You should be packing for your journey.”

Cassia sighed. “It will take very little time to pack all we have.” She crossed to the low bedding that had been hers since that first night in Petra and took the traveling pouch Talya had sewn for her in her hands. The red-and-yellow-striped linen reminded her of the rock walls of Petra, and she knew that years from now, when she was safely living in Jerusalem or wherever she and Alexander settled, she would cherish this piece and remember her friends here.

With hands that trembled with anticipation, she folded the few tunics she had acquired, gathered her head scarves, and placed them into the pouch. Reluctantly, she took Alexander’s beaded bracelet from her wrist and packed it. She would not take the chance of it being ripped from her in tomorrow’s events. She wrapped Julian’s carved white tiger in a scarf and buried it among her things.

The blanket-wall was swept aside and Cassia jumped, her hand over her heart. The balding head of Malik peeked through. “Greetings.”

Cassia breathed again and shook her head at her own tension.

“Come away from that ledge before you fall, old man,” Zeta called.

Cassia smiled from her side of the room. Did Malik have any idea how Zeta felt about him? Cassia had known since the first night she had lain here, when Malik’s hands had somehow healed her shoulder.

He crossed the room to see what Zeta’s firepot held, then dropped the pouch he had brought over his shoulder. Cassia let her memory linger over that first night once again.