Garden of Madness (14 page)
“And what answers do you seek tonight?”
He licked his lips, then smiled. “We have a common interest, I am told. The death of Kaldu.”
Tia defied her fear and returned to his efforts with the liver. “And? Have you discovered his killer?”
Shadir swirled a pick through the viscous pile before answering. “I have seen things.”
The gods curse you, mage. Say what you know
.
“I have searched for the one who killed Kaldu, but the gods have given me to know that before Kaldu was killed, Kaldu was killer.”
Tia blinked. “I do not understand.”
“Kaldu’s end was retribution, the gods have said. Quick recompense for the slow death of another, at his hand.”
“Whose death is on Kaldu?” Yet even as she formed the question, Tia knew its answer. With her own eyes, she had watched this slow death.
“Your husband. Shealtiel.”
Kaldu killed Shealtiel. And in turn was killed himself, in revenge
.
Her mind scurried across the thought, ran down several blind paths, and ended with the single truth.
Shealtiel was loved by only his family. And of that lot—mostly women, children, and prisoner—only one would seek retribution.
The hard lines of Pedaiah’s face in Shealtiel’s death chamber, his torn clothing and frightening anger—all this returned to her as she pulled away from Shadir’s table and swept from the Hall of Magi.
Babylon loved the night. Her citizens reveled in darkness, grabbed any opportunity to celebrate with music and dancing in the streets long after the sun’s death. When Tia stalked from the Hall, the city was only beginning its nightly festivities. Her purpose would not wait.
She had not seen Pedaiah in the palace in days and had no reason to think him anywhere about. Her steps slowed. In her years of marriage to Shealtiel, she never knew where Pedaiah lived. Where would evening find the man? He was friendly with her father’s private mage, Daniel. And that girl, Judith. Amel said Pedaiah frequented the furnace yard he once managed. None of this told her where Pedaiah would be tonight.
She thought better of chasing down possibilities and instead headed for her chambers. Omarsa and Gula stood at her arrival.
“Go and find me Pedaiah, son of Jeconiah, my husband’s brother.” Tia paced the room. “Bring him to me.”
“Here, to your chamber, my lady?” Gula’s voice, though timid, still held a note of scandal.
“To the palace.”
Then where? Somewhere private
. “To my training room.” No windows, Amytis had insisted. Tucked into an unseen corner of the palace.
The two still stared, a bit wide-eyed. She jerked an impatient thumb at the door. “Go.”
They moved as one, as they always did, and disappeared in silence from the chamber. The door thudded behind them, and Tia was alone with her thoughts, unwelcome companions.
She turned a circle in the chamber. Where could she occupy her restless mind and body until they returned? She snatched a heavier cloak and followed them out moments later, but she turned instead toward the west side of the palace, to a wide columned balcony that overlooked the Euphrates River. And beyond it, the western half of Babylon. The air’s chill swept her as she crossed, and she tightened her cloak, digging tense fingers into the wool. She leaned her belly against the balcony wall and scanned the river.
Even at this late hour, the white masts of several ships glided past, toward the quay and the wharf district where their treasures would be unloaded and divided. The New City districts, beyond the Euphrates, were the larger of the two halves of Babylon. The Jewish district lay noticeably quieter, as though it were the youngest of the quarters, put to bed early before the adults began their merrymaking.
No, not innocent babes, these Jews
. Disapproving old men, all folded arms and scowling mouths, trying to ruin everyone else’s pleasure. Like Pedaiah.
She needed to move. She would go crazy standing about until he came. Better to wait in her training room.
On the way, she grabbed a torch from a wall socket. Her special room was unlit when she was absent. Inside, she knew its furnishings and arrangement well enough to scurry through the darkness, to touch her flame to each waiting brazier and bring them to life.
When the perimeter glowed, she shed her cloak and looked down at her garments. She wore red silk, one of her usual ankle-length tunics, too restrictive to run. The tight belt tied round her waist and its tasseled fringe hanging down her thigh would likely catch on her bull’s horns and strangle her.
In the end, she settled for tugging against her ceiling-strung pulleys until her upper arms quivered with fatigue. Only then did Omarsa and Gula slip through the door at the far end of her training room, trailing Pedaiah. He surveyed her private chamber for the first time, and his usual haughty expression broke for a moment.
Surprised?
Her slaves disappeared and the door closed behind them, leaving the two of them very much alone. Pedaiah scanned the room, taking in her mats, the bull, the weights she lifted to strengthen her arms, and finally Tia, where she stood beside her bull, watching.
His lips parted slightly, but he did not speak. It amused her to have left him speechless. But she was too angry for mirth.
“So.” She crossed the room, unwrapping the cloth from her hands, conscious of the dampness of her skin and the way the red silk clung to her. “Tonight I have learned the truth.”
His eyes strayed to the red silk, then to her face. Was that a flush against his skin?
“What truth, Princess? That you have the power to rouse a man from his rest and drag him to your feet?”
Tia reached him where he stood with his back to the door. The braziers’ light hardly touched them, and her height cast a shadow over his face, obscuring the white scar. He did not look like a man taken from his bed, with those piercing eyes, ever alert and watchful. So much darker than Shealtiel’s. But he smelled of cook smoke, a pleasant scent of meat and spices.
“The truth about Kaldu.”
A flicker of confusion crossed his strong features. “The slaughtered nobleman?”
She cringed at his term, so inhuman. “Do not pretend to know nothing of it.”
He leaned forward. “You did not summon me to speak again of marrying Nedabiah?”
A pang of alarm shot through her. She had not thought of Nedabiah in too long.
At her hesitation he jumped into the breach, brandishing sharp words like weapons. “You need not bother. You will never marry Nedabiah. Regardless of my mother’s wishes, or even my father’s, our family will not again be wed to pagan idolaters.” These last words were spat out, with all the hatred of his race behind them.
Tia’s back stiffened. “Do not speak to me as though you are so righteous, Pedaiah ben Jeconiah! You who would tear a man to pieces in revenge rather than give him over to courts of justice.”
His brow furrowed again. “Princess, you have gone mad.”
At the word that was never spoken, she took a step nearer, her hands tightening as they had around her pulleys.
Pedaiah held his palms to her, closed his eyes for a moment, and dipped his head. “My apologies, Princess. But I have no idea what you are saying.”
“Kaldu. You killed him.”
She was still only a breath away from him, and his gaze traveled from her eyes, to her lips and chin, then back to her eyes. Her accusation again seemed to leave him without speech.
He recovered. “Why would I kill Kaldu?”
“And then spread rumors about me to cover your guilt.”
He watched her eyes, held her there, then broke the unseen hold and took a few steps aside toward her mats. “You have me at a disadvantage, Tiamat. This is all a mystery.”
Her heart stuttered. Had he ever called her by name? She had always been
Princess
with that snarl of derision, even when she was fourteen, standing beside Shealtiel in the marriage ceremony and watching this brother—closer to her age but so remote.
“Do you deny that you believe your brother’s death was unnatural?”
The light played shadows on his face, but still she thought his expression wavered. “I do not deny it. I have seen slow poison do its work before.”
“And so you took your revenge on the man responsible, and then made people believe that I killed my own husband.”
He swept down on her then, his face all fury. “You
did
kill your husband. Is that the truth you want to hear?”
He had her nearly pinned against the wall. One yell, and she could bring the blade of a dozen soldiers down on his neck. And she didn’t need soldiers to release herself. But she did not move, save to jab a forefinger into his chest. “That is a lie. Kaldu killed your brother, and you murdered Kaldu.”
He grabbed her hand, trapped it against his chest, and pulled her closer. “Tell me, Tiamat”—his voice was harsh, rasping—“tell me you did not kill Shealtiel.”
Tia stared at the set of his jawline, the blood pulsing at his temples, the burning intensity of his eyes. Her breath shallowed and she could only bring her voice to a whisper between them. “I did not love your brother, Pedaiah. I am sorry, I never could. But I swear to you on all the gods of Babylon”—at this his eyes danced with anger—“I swear to you on my own life. I did not kill Shealtiel.”
He held her to him for a moment longer, then released her and pushed away. They both panted as though the altercation had been a physical one.
She had to ask, had to know what he thought of her. “You truly believed that I killed him?”
He studied the floor. Was it shame that kept his eyes averted? “Yes. Who else would have cause?”
She hid the twinge of hurt at his words. “If you believed this, then you would not have reason to kill Kaldu.”
“And who told you that I did?” Some of the cold arrogance had returned to his voice, and she welcomed it. The other Pedaiah, the one with a furious passion in his eyes, disoriented her.
She wandered toward the other end of her chamber. She had no need of him any longer but was unwilling to see him leave.
“The mage Shadir. He had a message from the gods.”
“The gods. Bah!”
I have no time for religious debate
. But she had taken the word of the man at the center of a plot against her father. Had Shadir wished to convince her that Kaldu’s death was unconnected to his own actions? Tia had fallen victim to his farce like a foolish child. She spun to Pedaiah, fuming. There were still unanswered questions.
“If I did not kill Shealtiel, and you did not kill Kaldu, then we still do not know who is responsible for either death.”
“I have vowed to learn whose hand brought the poison to my brother’s lips, Princess. But I do not understand your concern with Kaldu’s death. From what I hear, he was likely killed by some wild animal and . . .”
Even across the distance between them, her face must have told a story her mouth never would. Pedaiah’s words trailed and understanding dawned in his eyes.
A sudden longing swept her, the desire to share all she knew with someone, anyone. Someone she could trust.
And for all Pedaiah’s haughtiness and disdain for everything Babylonian, he was a man of integrity. This she knew.
“There is more.” Tia crossed back to him, lowering her voice. “I believe there are workings against my father’s throne here in the palace.”
She whispered all of it to him, the conversation she had overheard, the bits of information given by Kaldu’s wife and by Ying, the slave who had disappeared. She released it all, like a burden she’d been carrying too long. Pedaiah listened, his face grave.
He touched her elbow. “You must be careful, Tiamat. The diviners seek to control powers far beyond them. Powers that carry great danger.”
His gentle touch brought a swell of emotion. “It is my father’s danger that concerns me.”
He looked past her, as though reading something in the dark recesses of her chamber. “The time of the prophecy is upon us.”
Daniel’s words
. Tia had forgotten them with all else she had heard. A chill whispered across her neck and throat. “What does it mean?”
Pedaiah brought his gaze back to her face and shook his head. “I do not know. It is all too—too strange—to be unrelated. Shealtiel, Kaldu, Shadir. Perhaps we should ask.”
Tia bit her lip, contemplating a request.
“Tomorrow?” He watched her, his own eyes uncertain. “When the sun has set? I will send word ahead to Daniel, and I will come for you.”
Yes
. “I will meet you at the shrine of Shamash, at the head of the Street of Marduk.”
He sighed and briefly closed his eyes.
“Across the street from the shrine. On the far side.”
At this, she almost saw a twitch of a smile. “On the far side, when the sun sets tomorrow.”
He shifted to leave, and Tia clutched at his sleeve. He looked at her hand on his arm, and she snatched it away. “Thank you, Pedaiah.”
His eyes lifted to hers, dark and unreadable. “Good night, Princess.”
Pedaiah stalked the city streets, uncaring which direction he traveled, what destination he reached. His thoughts were as troubled as the poverty of the streets—they gushed like the small canals that laced the city, fouled by a city’s refuse.