The Wings of Ashtaroth

Chapter 20: Conquerors: Section III: Uta

Uta: Tanata's Temple: Qemassen

Uta wore lilacs in her hair as a tribute to Queen Moniqa's fondness for the flowers.

If only Uta had been at all fond of Moniqa, then the constant smell and the bad memories it conjured might have been worth it. Instead, she watched uncomfortably with the rest of the Semassenqa as the heq-Ashqen of Tanata placed Titrit's thin hand in that of her new husband.

You'd rather it were your hand, Uta taunted herself.

What delicious evils would they enjoy tonight, that monster and Uta's king.

Uta stood far back in the crowd. As Samelqo's widow she might have positioned herself closer, but she'd chosen not to. It was more comfortable here, half-shadowed beneath the papyrus-shaped pillar. A spiraling crack splintered downwards from the ceiling—one of man such injuries incurred by the temple during the earthquake, but Uta wasn't frightened enough to move. Here, she could reflect on the proceedings without drawing undue attention to herself, and all while taking in the subtle smiles, frowns, and gossipy whispers of the Semassenqa.

Even now, she still had work to do.

It had fallen to Uta to choose silence or honesty, and though it would have given her great satisfaction to reveal Titrit's duplicity to the Semassenqa, in the end Uta had put the rebellion first. Regardless of why or how Titrit and Qanmi had engineered the slave movement, they had birthed it, and Zioban's continued presence was a rallying force for Uta's people.

With the city torn in two—literally, some might say—the Massenqa needed a symbol to cling to. For the slaves, that was Zioban, and for the rest? Well, Aurelius and Titrit's union was a powerful reminder that even after tragedy, order reasserted itself.

Along with the bittersweet stink of lilac, the Ashenqa of Tanata patrolled the star-speckled tiles of the temple, swinging thuribles that billowed with oily clouds of myrrh. Like every room in the temple, this one smelled and looked beautiful. It seemed an extension of the loveliness of Samelqo's tower, with its painted blue and gold sky overlooking them, the sound of water trickling distantly from the many fountains and pools in the adjoining halls, and the glittering of gold-painted stars and moons dotting the ceiling. A large crescent moon, resting so that its tips pointed upwards, glittered upon the wall in front of which Titrit and Aurelius were standing. Tanata's human face looked out on the pair impassively from beneath the moon, her outstretched palms laden with the pomegranate and rose the heq-Ashqen of Tanata had placed there as symbols of fertility. A cape of peacock feathers fanned from Tanata's back, dusting the tiles. It was a match for the one gently resting upon Titrit's scrawny shoulders.

Tanata made flesh.

Titrit bore the crown of Tanata, with its upturned crescent moon, while Aurelius wore the horns of Abaal. Directly above them, a round hole in the ceiling captured the moonlight. The bride beamed, her blue-tinted cheeks catching the moonlight reflected in a basin of water by means of a series of mirror tricks.

Uta snorted quietly to herself. She hadn't liked Bree particularly, but she liked Titrit far less. The Feislandat had at least been a kindred spirit of a kind—a sneak and a spy. It rankled to see Aurelius smiling. He'd forgotten his pretty northern bride so quickly, abandoning the memory of his child for the promise of Qanmi's wealth and honour. Bree couldn't possibly have left of her own volition, with no prompting from Qanmi eq-Sabaal. Far more likely the former queen now fed the fishes at the bottom of the Helit.

"Tanata's belly rounds with the moon as Abaal's seed sprouts within her," spoke the heq-Ashqen. He daubed Titrit's cheeks with honey. "Qemassen's fields and vines and orchards grow rich with plenty."