The Wings of Ashtaroth

Chapter 8: Kings: Section I: Ashtaroth

Ashtaroth: Samelqo's Tower: The Palace: Qemassen

All the warmth Ashtaroth had drawn from Bree in the gardens faded as he stood before the doors to Samelqo's chambers. Everything seemed simple and perfect when Bree was nearby. Even Lilit and the visions she sent him weren't half so terrifying when Bree smiled. And when he remembered that she was to marry him, his illness seemed to peel from him like dead skin shed from the belly of a snake. What gleamed underneath was new and untouched, supple and strong.

The heq-Ashqen's tower was cold in comparison, though sunlight burned warm through the windows, and though its painted sunset walls were like a wool cloak wrapped close against the skin. They'd used to feel that way, in any case.

Ashtaroth glanced at the guard posted outside Samelqo's chambers—a palace guard, not one of Hima's Yirada henchmen. He looked so stern, staring into the middle distance as he rapped his knuckle against the door.

"The crown prince, Ashtaroth eq-Eshmunen, is here to see you, Sese," said the guard.

Ashtaroth tensed and stood tall. He'd waited too long to see Samelqo, to tell him about the visions. Now that Ashtaroth was finally here, he wanted to turn and run, as though speaking Lilit's name aloud again would make her real. And what if the guards and peasants who'd seen him chasing the actors in the Eghri were right? What if Ashtaroth was mad?

"Send him in." Samelqo's voice was much softer than Ashtaroth remembered it. He was lucky to be alive after Hima had pushed him and he'd broken his arm.

Guilt hung heavy as a robe of lead over his shoulders, and when Ashtaroth stepped inside, he did so with the softness of an insect's footsteps.

"Prince Ashtaroth." Djana's voice jolted Ashtaroth out of his reverential pose.

The heq-Ashqen was sitting up with his arm bandagedand bound in a sling. Uta stood beside him, holding a stylus and clay tablet. The second guard—who Ashtaroth would normally have expected outside Samelqo's tower—was gathering scrolls as though he'd been set a slave's duties.

"Sese." Samelqo inclined his head, though Uta, Ashtaroth noticed, continued to scribble into her tablet as though she'd not noticed Ashtaroth at all. Samelqo continued. "My business with the Ajwata ambassador is almost concluded. Stay and wait. It would do you well to listen."

Djana looked at Ashtaroth, then quickly away again. It wasn't like her to be shy.

Ashtaroth's chest tightened. "Of course, heq-Ashqen."

Samelqo's attention was on Djana. "The ambassador and I were just now discussing a strengthening of our alliance. Recent losses on the Feislanda border make it essential for the southern nations to strengthen our relations."

Losses? Ashtaroth hadn't been told. But then, there were meetings he missed—not that he could be blamed. How could Ashtaroth know to bother when his father never summoned him?

"We are discussing marriage," said Djana.

The world stilled. Losses in the Feislands . . . losses for Bree's people. A marital alliance, a strengthening of Qemassen's relationship with Ajwata.

Ashtaroth all but trembled as he walked to a chair and plunked himself down. "I-I'm happy with Bree." He swallowed, tugged on all the strength Bree had filled him with in the garden.

Samelqo raised an eyebrow. "I have suggested to Djana et-Bidal that a marriage between she and your brother be arranged. Alternatively, her cousin Dan is a prominent general in her homeland, and might be persuaded to take your sister to wife."