Palace of Darkness (12 page)

Hagiru’s lips tightened. She looked sideways at Cassia, at her own son, whose folded arms bespoke jealousy already, then at Bethea, standing mute at the side of the room. The queen inhaled, threw her shoulders back, and seemed to make a decision.

“Then we must make it right.” She shot a sideways glance of loathing toward Cassia. “Bethea never bore Aretas a son, but she was his true wife. Bethea should have the boy. This . . . this slave woman is clearly unfit to raise the prince.” She waved a hand over Cassia. “Look at her. And look at the boy.” She pointed to Alexander. “Look at the bruises on his arm. No doubt she has beaten him. Beaten the royal prince!” Her voice lifted to an indignant shriek.

“No!” Cassia stepped forward. “He was hurt by those who killed Aretas! I would never—”

“Silence!” The queen had ascended the platform now to stand beside Rabbel as though the two were a united force against her. “You would speak to the king as though his equal? Already you grasp at a position that is not yours!” She half turned to Rabbel. “Think what she would do if we allowed her to stay, husband. She would have the whole palace bowing and scraping before a slave girl by the Festival of Grain!”

Cassia opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it. She looked to Rabbel for her defense, but the king seemed confused.

Understanding—and a stabbing fear—went through her. For all the pomp of his entrance and Hagiru’s apparent deference, the king was like wet clay in his wife’s hands.

Rabbel put a hand to his stomach.

Hagiru bent to him, her voice much softer. “We will sort this
out, my king.” She touched his shoulder lightly. “You should rest. The excitement of finding your grandson—it is enough for one day.” She patted his shoulder, then pulled Alexander from him. “I will come to you soon, dear.”

Rabbel looked to Alexander.

“I will bring the boy to you later. After you have rested.”

Rabbel nodded then and stood. Cassia’s heart seized. “My king—” She searched for the words. “I know I have no claim here. I have no wish for anything for myself. Only allow us to remain for my son’s sake. And for your own.” A note of desperation had found its way into her voice. Her heartbeat seemed to catch and hold, suspended.

Rabbel sighed and looked to Hagiru. “Take care of the woman.” He made his way down the few steps. Hagiru bowed to him as he passed, and the room fell silent as he exited, attended by several slaves.

When he was gone, Cassia turned back to Hagiru and found the queen already on the throne. Alexander tried to descend the platform, but Hagiru reached from her seat and grabbed his arm. His eyes widened.

Cassia felt a pressure in her chest.

Hagiru called Bethea forward and the woman approached the throne, but her attention stayed on Cassia, her expression a mixture of disdain and curiosity.

“Do something with the boy,” Hagiru said to her.

Cassia took a half step forward. “I expect nothing for myself. I will work here in the palace, in whatever way you choose, and I can look after my son.”

Hagiru laughed, a mirthless sound more like a growl. “Ah, but you have fulfilled your purpose already. You have given Aretas a son. We have no further use for you here.”

“Alexander is the king’s grandson—”

“Yes.” Hagiru’s voice was a hiss. “And it appears he will be claimed as such. What has that to do with you?”

The pressure on her chest increased. Cassia shook her head, refusing to acknowledge what was becoming clear. Alexander would belong here in the palace. He would have the family and the security she had always desired for him.

But what of her?

Cassia indicated the slaves lined at the edge of the hall. “Let me be a slave here in the palace. Nothing more. Only let me remain—”

Hagiru stood, towering over Cassia from her perch on the throne platform, a dark shadow in the white room. She spoke as if giving a formal pronouncement, and the words were like a death sentence.

“The boy will be raised a Nabataean, without foreign influence.” She took another step toward Cassia. Alexander pulled away from Bethea and came to stand beside Hagiru, looking up at her with frightened eyes. Hagiru positioned herself behind him and clutched his shoulders possessively. She spoke to Cassia. “You will give up all claims to the boy.” Alexander winced beneath her grip. “From this day forward, you will be dead to him.”

Cassia’s legs trembled beneath her, and she reached out to steady herself, but found nothing.

“You will leave Petra.” Hagiru’s voice plunged into her like a piercing knife. “Today. There is nothing for you here.”

The trembling overtook Cassia’s whole body, and her blood chilled. “No. No! I will not leave my son!” She held out a hand, and Alexander broke away from the queen and fled to her. She gathered him to herself and lifted her head. “You cannot separate a mother from her son.”

Hagiru laughed again and inclined her head to the nearby slave who had attended her earlier. “Take the boy.”

Cassia pushed Alexander behind her body. Hot tears sprung to her eyes, and she blinked furiously. “Come, Alexander.” She turned them both to leave the palace.

At the back of the throne room, three male slaves stepped into the arch that led to the front halls.

Cassia turned a slow circle in the center of the room, still clutching Alexander. There was no other way out.

Hagiru’s slave reached her and wrapped a hand around Alexander’s arm.

“Mama?” His terrified voice ripped open her soul and called her tears forward, not to be denied. He wrapped his arms around her waist.

The slave pulled him away, but Cassia followed, reaching for him. “You cannot do this!” She called out the words to the entire room, surrounded as she was by the hostile glances of royalty and slave alike.

Another slave appeared at her side and snatched her hand away from her son.

Cassia’s vision blurred and her stomach roiled. She lunged for Alexander. The second slave pinned her arms behind her and held her fast.

“Alexander!” She could do nothing but shout his name, and her body seemed as though it would shake into a thousand tiny fragments.

He was retreating from her now, his light eyes still wide with terror. His mouth opened in a small O, and his bottom lip trembled. “Mama? Where are you going?”

“I am not leaving!”

But the gap between mother and son widened.

Cassia twisted and kicked and even pulled free for a moment, but the slave ran at her and swept her from her feet.

“Alexander. Alexander!”

She hit the palace floor but barely felt the pain. Even the kick he
landed in her midsection did not slow her. She scrambled across the marble toward Alex’s feet and reached a hand out to him.

Too far.

Another kick. Pulled to standing. She felt the yellow silk rip in the slave’s hands. She leaned away from the tearing fabric, thinking to get free. An arm around her waist lifted her off her feet.

She kicked backward, connected with shins. The slave cursed in her ear.

The room was a bloodred haze now, blurred by fear and anger and terror. She thrashed in his arms. Her hair tangled around her face.

She screamed, but her voice had gone hoarse. How many times had she screamed already? Above her scream she heard the queen’s laughter.

And he was gone.

She searched the room and could not find his sweet face. They had taken him away. Taken her son away.
Alexander!

Still thrashing, she felt the room spin. The slave dragged her backward.

And then they were in the halls, then the portico outside the great palace, and then stone steps rushed up to meet her and she clenched her eyes and brought her arms up to protect her face. She fell and bounced. Her knees and arms met each step with an angry jolt, until she reached the platform between the steps and rolled to a stop at the base of the huge djinn block.

She was still for only a moment before she scrambled to her knees and retched.

When her stomach had exhausted itself, she fell against the djinn block, godforsaken, bruised and bloody, and alone.

Alone.

THIRTEEN

T
HE SUN DESCENDED AND STILL
C
ASSI A LEANED AGAINST
the djinn block, her eyes on the palace entrance as though Alexander would skip down its steps and into her arms.

Where else could she go?

She shivered in the shadow of the stone as blood and sweat dried on her skin. She grew fearful as the shadows lengthened. Fearful of the night, and of the palace slaves who might come and find her on the steps and beat her again.

So she crawled forward, loose pebbles scraping her knees, until she felt she could stand, then stumbled down the second set of steps into the street and retraced her path through the city until she reached the Nymphaeum.

Only a few women drew water, late as it was, and they mostly ignored her. She did not blame them. Her torn and bloodied dress, her bruised arms and swollen lip—they shouted to anyone who looked that she was an outcast.

At the edge of the fountain pool, she cupped her hands and filled them with water, then tried to wash the blood from her arms. The deep scratches burned. She did not even know how they had gotten there.

When she had washed her arms and face, she sat on the stone edge of the pool and faced the street.

Alexander is gone.

It seemed to be the only thought she could form. And there seemed to be nothing left for her.

It is what I deserve.
She had always thought Alexander was a gift from the gods, one they had mistakenly bestowed upon her, a weak and worthless slave girl who did not merit such a gift.

And now Alexander would be loved and protected by royalty and brought up to claim the kingship of Nabataea. The thought did not surprise her. It seemed fitting for the boy that he was. She should only be surprised she had been allowed to have him at all, even for a short time.

And now, now I am no longer needed.

She felt hollowed out, as though all that had made her human had been removed.

Alexander would be better off in the palace. It was her only solace.

And she? Where would she be?

You will be dead to him
, Hagiru had said. Yes, perhaps it would be best if Cassia were dead.

A shadow passed over her. Death had come to take her even then. But it was the shadow of a man, not a specter, and she looked up to find the man who had restored the water earlier that day leaning over her, his brow furrowed.

“What has happened to you?” He tried to lift her head. “Who did this?”

Cassia said nothing. She did not have the strength.

He reached for her arm, and she jumped away from his touch.

“All is well.” He spoke softly, as one might to a wounded animal. “I will not hurt you.”

She dropped her eyes, as it was too difficult to hold her head up.

“Let me take you to your home. Tell me where you live.”

Cassia sighed. “Alexander is my home. But he is gone.”

“Your boy?” She sensed he searched the fountain-house courtyard. “Where is he?”

Again, she could not summon strength enough to answer.

“Where is Alexander?” The man’s voice pressed her now, more urgent, concerned.

Julian. That is his name.
“They took him.” The words escaped on another sigh and seemed to suck away her life. She swayed where she sat, and a moment later felt herself swept into the man’s arms and cradled against his chest. She leaned into his solid shoulder and sighed, grateful beyond words to be carried from this place.

“I must take you somewhere. Tell me where you have friends to care for you.”

Cassia closed her eyes. “I am alone.”

He walked toward the street and her head bumped his shoulder. “You must know someone in Petra.”

“Malik. I know only the old man Malik.”

She was vaguely aware that he moved through the streets, asking anyone who passed to direct him to Malik, an old man.

Eventually he seemed to get an answer, then walked with more purpose. Soon they climbed, and she dared not open her eyes to see how narrow the ledge, nor how high their destination.

The sound of music drifted to her, and within minutes she felt they had passed into a rock-hewn chamber like the place she had spent the night. The music was louder here, though the voices were subdued and melancholy and sang of fortresses and towers, which seemed quite strange to Cassia.

She opened her eyes. They stood at the open end of what appeared
to be a large tomb cut into the rock. A fire burned at the ledge, and the burial slots were only dark eyes in the back of the chamber. The central part of the chamber was filled with people reclining on low couches around the three-sided stone table, with their eyes turned toward the two new arrivals.

“I am looking for Malik,” her rescuer said.

Cassia lifted her head and recognized Zeta and Talya, and the two women got to their feet quickly, followed by Malik, and hurried forward.

“You!” Julian said. “You are Malik?”

Malik paused only a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting in a quick smile. “Did I not tell you we would meet again?” But then his attention was on Cassia. “What has happened?”