Nezzar

Part One: When She Learned Her Fate

Kingdom of Media

They were talking about her again. Amytis didn't need to turn in their direction to confirm her suspicion. She remained at her spot by the fountain, struggling to focus on the bubbling water of the spring and the chirping of birds.

Her step-sisters were seated at the canopied gardens to the left, their jeering laughter and hushed voices travelling over and slicing Amytis heart like blades.

"Her mother must have cast a spell..." the words faded and surged. "... they always take, never giving. Fluttering their lashes... ensnarer of men."

Not being able to take it for one more moment, Amytis jerked to her feet as she shoved the scroll she had been struggling to read back into her satchel. They knew she loved to visit the spring gardens every morning. She had assumed her new treasured spot was a secret but the servants must have tattled.

Now Amytis had to walk past them to get out of the place.

Holding her head high, Amytis gripped the leather strap of her satchel. She took the first step and halted. By the gods, she did not want to walk past those vultures. She stared at the fountain for the longest moment, collecting her strength. A blue sunbird bathed in the sparkling water, dipping and fluttering its tiny wings. The creature did not care that it was being watched, it simply tended to its business—did what it must, spectator or no.

I am bold. I do what I must. There is no one I cannot face.

Making a sharp turn in the direction she must pass, Amytis began her walk. For reasons she could not fathom, it felt like a walk of shame. Shame for what exactly? She had not sent her father, the king of Media, to sire her illegitimately. And her mother had refused to marry him, deeming her personal freedom too high a price to sacrifice.

Royal life is constricting, dear child. You will understand when you get older.

Amytis missed her mother as much as she loathed her sometimes. Maybe she should pay her a visit.

Silence fell upon the chattering gathering when they noticed her approach. Their gaze was a mighty boulder upon her shoulder but Amytis refused to look in their direction. As she feared, one of them made a move.

Graya smoothly fell in steps with Amytis. She smelled like opopanax and cedar. A mixture that made Amytis stomach turn.

"You would leave so soon?" There was a smile in her voice. Amytis didn't need to look to know it would be mocking.

Graya had openly hated her from the very moment they met. Amytis was seven at that time. Their last physical fight, three years ago, had the entire palace buzzing. Father had promised to marry them off to paupers who lived by the shores of Persis if they ever displayed such crass behaviour again. Later that day, he had called Amytis aside, assuring her the punishment would only apply to Graya.

Her vanity would keep let her from lifting a finger against you, my flower. Graya fears the life of a pauper more than she fears Laila's pet monkey. Then he laughed. Amytis had laughed too.

At the moment, Amytis wished she could strike Graya just to see if her father would make good of his promise.

"Yes. I intend to go see my mother." Amytis stopped and faced Graya fully, making sure to smile at the mention of 'mother'. Yes, Abila was the one who birthed her. The very woman who refused to marry the king but still had his favour and love at the palm of her hand.

The chain headdress upon Graya's coal-black hair tinkled as she jutted her sharp chin, an insolent smile on her red-stained lips. "You mean the whore of Tyre?"