Eshant: Qanmi's Palace Residence: Qemassen
It was chilly in the small, bare chamber where Eshant et-Loriqa stood with head bent and gaze lowered, but she sweated all the same. How could one not sweat when commanded by one's father to appear before the king?
King Aurelius eq-Eshmunen had come to the house of Qanmi eq-Sabaal in the cool of the day. His raiment was ordinary in the way that anything worn by so handsome a man could be ordinary, which was to say, not ordinary at all. But it was clear by his plain cotton the colour of beached seashells and the unadorned leather of his sandals that he was affecting ordinariness.
"Qanmi tells me you were with my sister the day she—" Aurelius's voice cracked, but he composed himself. At the brief weakness of his voice though, Eshant looked up. "You were with her when she died."
Eshant sucked a sharp breath through her nose, breathing in itchy cinnamon incense. "I saw her eyes close, heard her draw her last breath." A sneeze tickled her, but she forced it down, using the heavy drape of her Ashqat's bonnet as a curtain to hide behind.
The awkward silence that followed made her wish she had sneezed. It would have given Aurelius something to comment on. Eshant shifted her weight between her feet, feeling lost in the rich red robes she'd all but stolen from Qwella—a traitor in carmine.
It was just the three of them in the room now: King Aurelius, Eshant, and her father Qanmi.
Eshant wanted to leave. She had little practice prancing before kings. From Aurelius's glazed eyes, he had even less care for being pranced in front of.
"Did she speak?" asked the king at last.
Hesitation. "She did."
"What did she say?"
"That she was sorry."
"Sorry, Sese." From behind Eshant, her father jabbed her back with his elbow.
The king raised an eyebrow as though at her father's nudge. It was almost enough to make Eshant laugh. If he couldn't handle a nudge, he'd faint to see what Qanmi was capable of.
Aurelius extended his hand, palm upwards. "There's no need. As you keep reminding me Qanmi, we're family." Despite the cool weather, a bead of sweat glistened on Aurelius's forehead. "Sorry to whom?" he continued, meeting Eshant's eyes.
"The goddess, perhaps." Lies. "Or her sisters." Lies. "She feared for their safety at the last." That had been the truth anyway. Qwella's brother clearly sought some relief; at least in deception Eshant might grant him that. "She was very brave."
The sorrow she'd managed to hold back suddenly clogged her throat. Shy queen's breath, let him not ask her to speak right away. He'd wonder why Eshant should care so deeply, and Eshant wasn't confident she could explain it away as the love of one sister for another.
"Thank you." Aurelius adjusted himself on the fine woven chair Eshant's father had fetched for him. Was it her imagination or did the king's fingers tremble against the chair's arms? Surely, her father would know if Aurelius were indulging. "But I don't see how this makes you a suitable candidate for the high priesthood of Qemassen. You're already heq-Ashqat of your temple; be satisfied with that."
In another life Eshant might have been satisfied with even less than that. She was Qanmi's daughter though, and granddaughter of Sabaal who had sailed to Indas to sell his wares and argue in the halls of kings and conquerors. It wasn't in her to relent. Eshant had no life beyond what her father had given her.
