Palace of Darkness (27 page)

T
HE MORNING WAS STILL DARK WHEN
J
ULIAN AWAKENED
to Malik’s gentle nudge.

“They are here. They are ready.”

Julian kneaded his eyes with his fists and swung his legs from the bed. The night had been too short. Cassia’s harsh words, her silence when he left her, and his own anxiety about what this morning would bring had kept him stirring on his bed far into the night.

And now they were to have a sort of repeat of yesterday’s early meeting, although today only those immediately involved in the plan would be present.

Malik handed him a tunic from a nearby chair. “They are nervous.”

“As am I.” Julian dressed quickly, then washed his hands and face at the basin beside the door.

“They want your leadership, your strength, Julian. But you must come to them as a servant.”

He nodded, impatient to meet the others, but Malik stayed him with a firm hand on his arm.

“Today must not be about
your
plan, about impressing others to
gain their approval, as you are prone to seek. Without the humility to allow God’s Spirit to work through you, there will be trouble.”

Julian sighed. Malik’s words were true enough. But not so easily implemented. It seemed better to be in control than to focus on humility. Leadership and servanthood still seemed to conflict in his mind.

Malik frowned and studied the floor. Julian sensed a wrestling within the man’s spirit. When Malik looked up, it was with the decision in his eyes.

“You will go. And you will lead these people. I am placing them in your hands.”

Julian blinked slowly, the weight of it falling on him, along with the discomforting sense that Malik lacked confidence in him. He straightened. “Then we should go.”

His people had assembled in a small room off Malik’s courtyard this morning, unlike yesterday when there were so many. Julian strode into the room with Malik on his heels and blinked against the light of the oil lamps.

The faces of each turned toward him, and the murmured conversations ceased, replaced by looks of respect and confident smiles.

Compared to the warnings of Malik, the clear submission to his authority was a gift. He felt a strong, protective care for them flow through his heart, and almost a desire to gather each in a fatherly embrace.

Cassia stepped forward, her hands twisting at her midsection. She said nothing, but her eyes spilled over with anxiety. Malik remained behind him, in the corner of the room.

Julian tried to ignore the pain he felt in her presence and clapped his hands together. “We are ready?”

There were nods all around.

“We should have plenty of time to get in our places. Talya”—Julian smiled at the brave girl—“you will stay as near the throne room as you can, to wait for our arrival.” Talya chewed her lip but nodded.

She will be there. She loves that boy as well.

“Nahor and Niv, you two are with me. Stay close and stay silent.” The two muscular men, father and grown son, both folded their arms across their chests as one, and Julian smiled at their likeness. “Remember, I am not a friend, but a Roman who has paid you well to guard me.”

Julian could feel Cassia trembling at the edge of the group and knew she felt helpless. “Cassia, you have all the provisions for the journey?”

She lifted a pouch slung over her shoulder. Julian chose to disregard her argument the previous night.

“Good. Hozai, you will have the horses waiting at the entrance to the Siq?” The short man gave a tight nod of his bald head. He had offered two of his fastest horses. A sacrifice, and Julian connected with his gaze for a moment and passed along a silent thank-you. The man dropped his gaze as though embarrassed.

“And the rest of you.” Julian scanned the other three women and two men. “You will be in your place in line when the time comes.”

They all looked to him still, as if he held their future in his hands. In a sense he did. The oil lamps had grown smoky, and Julian blamed them for the sudden tears that sprung behind his eyes. He cleared his throat, then remembered Malik still stood behind him.

He turned to the older man. “Can you think of anything else?” he asked, more from respect than fear of forgetting.

“We could pray.”

Julian felt again his slight displeasure but brushed it off. “Yes, we should pray.”

In the silent moment that followed, it was easy to hear the slap of sandals through the courtyard and the huffing of the servant Shamir as he pushed open the door.

Malik stepped in front of Julian. “What is it?”

“Palace guards, at the door.” Shamir swallowed, and his eyes were wide.

Malik turned to the group. “Stay here.” And then he disappeared behind Shamir.

Julian hesitated, nearly followed Malik, then decided to stay. They should not be seen together. Not today. He turned to the group. Should they pray now? It seemed wrong to begin without Malik.

Cassia trembled like a reed at the edge of the Wadi Musa. He crossed the room and gripped her arms. “We will get him, Cassia.” He forced her to look into his eyes. “We will get Alexander out.”

Her words were so faint, Julian could barely hear them. “They cannot kill him.”

He pulled her into an embrace, uncaring that she had rejected him. “I know. We will not allow it.” It was not difficult to promise. Every part of him believed it. “We must both trust God, Cassia.”

Malik returned a moment later, and they all stood as though made of Roman marble, waiting to hear.

“The queen has sent for the leader of the church of Petra. She does not say why.”

Julian’s mind raced. How would it affect their plan if Malik was also in the palace?

“She also did not say who.” Malik’s gaze was on him.

Julian frowned. “What . . . what do you mean?”

Malik bowed his head slightly. “I believe she calls for
you
, Julian.”

He took a step backward. “No. This is not the plan. It would change everything.” His mind spun, trying to fit in the new information. “No. We are not prepared to go this way. We must stay with what we have already arranged.”

Malik licked his lips, tilted his head to study Julian, then nodded. “Very well. Then I shall go.” He moved toward the door.

“Wait!” Julian held up a hand and surveyed the room. “We cannot let you go in there alone. We have no idea of the queen’s intent.”

Malik waited, silent.

Julian debated for only a moment. “We go at first light.” The eyes of his people widened, and they looked among each other. “Nahor, Niv, and I will follow Malik. The rest of you, you must go now.”

Hozai piped up from the back of the room. “What if the king has not left his bed?”

Julian’s hands formed fists at his side. “Then we will ensure that he does.” He turned to Malik. “We will go in first. Our actions will bring both king and queen to the throne room, and your summons will be forgotten.”

Malik said nothing, and Julian could not read him. “Well?”

The Elder of Petra dipped his head once, as though he was simply submitting to Julian’s directive.
Infuriating man!
Julian half wondered if Malik believed he was being led to his death.

He spun to the group again. “Hozai, you can be ready with the horses earlier?” At the man’s nod, Julian looked to Cassia. “Go with Hozai. But stay out of sight.”

He met her eyes and her expression jolted him. She was not agreeing, not submitting, as Malik and the others had done. “Cassia—”

But there was no time. The blackness outside the chamber window had already turned to a light violet, and if Malik did not appear in the palace soon, none of what he had planned would come to pass.

He stalked to Cassia, wrapped his arms around her fiercely. She cried out and he loosened his grip.

“Go,” he whispered into her ear. “Go and be safe.”

And then they were all gone, all but Malik and Julian, and the father and son who would accompany them.

In the silence that followed the group’s exodus, Julian felt like his own heartbeat could surely be heard by the others.

They had trusted him to lead.

Where would he take them?

TWENTY-EIGHT

C
ASSIA PASSED INTO THE STREET FROM
M
ALIK
’
S HOME
, but she did not turn east toward the road to the Siq. Instead, she lingered near the door watching Marta and Tabatha and the others hurry off to the palace and to their tasks. Gratitude washed over her and, with it, a determination to be part of this rescue. How could she simply wait while others cared for her son?

Hozai headed toward the market, away from the others, to fetch his donkey and wagon. She followed him at a distance until they reached the main street and he crossed it to slip between a spice stall and a shop of ceramics. Shop owners were beginning to lift their flaps, and the smells of grilled meats and honey bread wafted in the morning air.

Cassia hugged her traveling pouch, the one Talya had lovingly sewn, against her body and retraced a few of her steps back into the housing district and into a narrow alley. Already people were climbing to their flat rooftops to burn frankincense and offer libations to the sun god.

Cassia had more than traveling clothes in the pouch.

Talya had not noticed when one of the palace servant’s robes had
been missing from her mending basket. Cassia slipped it over her own simple tunic, then twisted and secured it at her waist. The string of beads she wove through her hair was an inexpensive one she had purchased in the market, but it would pass for something more at a distance.

When she felt adequately dressed, she pulled one more thing from the pouch.

The short dagger with its basalt handle and blade was a comforting weight in her hand. She pulled her robes aside, then fastened it to the rope that circled her tunic at her waist. She bent to test its placement and winced.

Must be careful.

The colorful pouch stood out against the white palace robes, and Cassia hurried through the alley toward the Nymphaeum, hoping she would go unnoticed.

She reached the fountain house in a few minutes, circled to the west side of the grand building, and found the large clay water pot she had placed around the corner late last night, still waiting for her against the wall.

With steady hands, she pushed the travel pouch through the wide mouth of the clay jar, then hefted the jar to her hip and strode through the Nymphaeum courtyard toward the street. She forced herself to slow.
You’re carrying a pot full of water, Cassia.

Eyes trained on the street ahead, she walked toward the palace, searching the market for Hozai and his wagon.

There.
The man emerged from the shops, clucking at his donkey, and turned toward the palace. Cassia followed at a safe distance, knowing her disguise would not fool anyone who knew her. Julian would expect her to have reached the Siq by now.

Julian.
Had he entered the palace yet? Did he stand before the queen?

She stepped over a wheel rut in the street and kept her gaze on the back of Hozai’s brown wagon.

She felt strangely separated from Julian, unable to read him, and not only because she defied his wishes. Somehow that palace could swallow people, and it was as though he had disappeared into the underworld when he entered, lost to her. She tried to imagine him there in the throne room, strong and sure as he spoke to the king and queen, his head thrown back and those dark eyes fixed on the woman, daring her to defy him.

The street filled up with early-morning shoppers. It smelled of camel dung and the mixed odors of the market. Cassia moved forward on steady legs, sure of her plan.

A flash of memory seared her mind, of following Aretas, working his schemes with him.

But today I am the one with the scheme.
The thought gave her confidence, and she touched her hand to the place where the dagger rested under her robes.

Hozai neared the palace and bore right, up over the sandy path that led to the back of the great house where deliveries were made. He had taken care to cover the back of his wagon, as though he bore goods for the royal family.

Now came the tricky part. Cassia would need to get past Hozai, into the back of the palace, without him recognizing her.

Julian’s plan was a good one, detailed and careful. But it had a flaw. Talya would explain what was happening to Alexander and whisk him from the rooms where he spent his days, but she could not venture far with him without raising suspicion. Instead, she would pass him to Rachim, and then Rachim would take him to Marta, who had secured work as the palace washerwoman. Marta would put Alexander into the large basket she used to tote the washing to the
banks of the Wadi Musa running behind the palace. Tabatha would join her in carrying the basket out the back of the palace, and once there, Alexander would be transferred to the back of Hozai’s wagon, under the covering.

And this was where the problem lay. Cassia knew Alexander would be terrified by the time he reached Hozai and might refuse to get under that covering. He had never met Rachim, Marta, or Tabatha, and with Talya far behind in the palace, Cassia could not be certain he would cooperate with strangers.