Nezzar

Part One: Remove Your Veil

As Amytis hurried down the lamp-lit corridor, she struggled to gather her thoughts. Mother walked ahead and there were two guards present, one in front and another at the rear. Abila had scarcely let Amytis gather her belongings. Amytis donned a dark flowing linen garment, and a gauzy black veil covered her face.

"For your protection," Abila had mumbled as she secured the veil with a slim silken band across Amytis' forehead.

Amytis barely managed to jam her scrolls into a satchel, before Abila herded her out of her chambers. Amytis learned as they hurried out that mother had already selected two maiden servants to accompany them. They were in a carriage at the back of the palace, waiting for them.

No servants were about as they took the third exit to their left, one that passed through the servants' quarters and palace kitchen,

"Does father know?" Amytis asked. The black veil fluttered softly against her face as she matched her mother's hurried pace.

"I would not be able to do this if he were not the one who gave the command."

"But mother—"

"Be patient with me, Amytis." Abila's voice sounded strained and tight. "I am also frightened but I am your mother and must protect you however I can. Usman is waiting for us with a commoner's carriage. The servants are in the royal carriage, a decoy."

Amytis heart sank when she heard that. Surely, it was true. Father was sending her away. He must have received news that the Babylonians were marching for Media. Would she ever see him again?

Finally, they made it to the back of the palace.

The evening breeze was cool against Amytis' sweaty neck as she glanced up and took in the towering date palms and twinkling stars of the night sky.

If there be any god above, protect my father.

Like mother had said, there were three carriages. The first in line was the smallest bearing a rider and probably holding whatever luggage Abila deemed necessary to pack. The second in the middle gleamed, well carved, and sturdy. It was the type used by top palace officials. The one she was to use was the third and last in line. It was fairly large with practical woodwork, and a rider sat atop the sitting slab before the horses, ready to start their journey.

Usman stood by the open door, hand clamped around the hilt of his sword and gaze sharp but solemn. "Princess," he bowed. "Mother." He bowed again before helping Abila into the carriage.

When it was Amytis' turn, she paused and stared into Usman's kohl-lined eyes. He shook his head once. "For your safety, princess." Then he dropped his gaze and helped her into the carriage.

Soon he settled opposite Amytis and Abila, unclipped his sheathed sword from his baldric, and kept his hold firm upon the hilt of the weapon. Two swift taps to the roof and the rider snapped the reins.

Thick curtains covered the windows to Amytis' right and left and a single oil lamp swung from the roof of the carriage, bathing the place in a dull warm glow.

It was all so unbelievable. Amytis was truly leaving Media. It was the one kingdom she truly loved. All the trips she had taken to neighbouring nations, seeing their land and observing their people, none of what she witnessed held a candle to Media's vibrance. There was a painful squeeze in her chest.

Glancing at Usman, she asked, "Where are we going?"

"First, Tyre. If things are not favourable there, we move to Sidon."

"Is he coming? Is he close?"

"Who?" Usman asked without looking up.

"The Babylonian king and his army." Amytis released a bitterlaughed and hugged herself. "Why do I ask? Of course, he is coming."