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Lifting the branch and the bejeweled box, overcoming her impulse to turn and run away, Araine followed Bel-Tygeon through the ancient trees toward his family’s handsomely columned blue marble tomb.
Perfect silence ruled this leaf-shaded clay path, its eeriness unnerving her. Nonetheless a now-familiar presence swept about her like a favorite mantle.
Infinite? My own Father, You are here!
Tears threatened. Perhaps she would die today, yet no matter what happened, He would protect the most vital part of her being. Bless Your Name, dear Creator. Guard us all! The king...and Nikaros and his friends.
A twinge of apprehension and a slight shadowed motion to her left made Araine pause and whisper, “Sire!”
Instantly Bel-Tygeon turned and stared at her, his stunning features admirably composed, his voice hushed and breath-soft. “What have you seen, Prophet?”
“No vision, Sire.” She sidled nearer to him then studied the trees again. Surely Siyrsun and his men hadn’t yet arrived. What had she just seen?
The movement flickered again within the green trees, drab-cloaked, subtle, graceful, and familiar. Belaal’s only princess. Araine sighed. “Lady.”
The Lady Dasarai emerged from behind a tree, her delicate face a wan oval within her muted green hood. As Bel-Tygeon exhaled his exasperation, she bowed. “Blessed of the Heavens, I could not remain locked away, knowing you are in danger.”
The king shook his head, conveying indulgence and frustration. He marched to the path’s edge, clasped her hand, and guided her out of the trees. “Knowing you have willfully placed yourself in danger, Lady, does not comfort me in the least.”
“Nevertheless, Sire, I will stay. Even if you order otherwise.”
“You’ve confirmed what I’ve always suspected,” Bel-Tygeon muttered as he nudged her past Araine, quickening their pace. “You are a rebel at heart.”
“Only for your sake, my lord-god. Let’s hurry.” Dasarai implored Bel-Tygeon, “I can walk faster.”
Belaal’s god-king waved, a dismissive gesture. “I’ve already set the perfect pace. We’ll arrive well before Siyrsun, with plenty of time to set our trap. Why risk an injury to you by running?”
The great lady huffed. “One would think you consider me a tottering old woman, beyond ancient!”
His voice clear, carrying, and obviously meant to provoke her, Bel-Tygeon said, “I’ve always thought so.”
“Ty,” Dasarai chided, “must gods be heartless?”
Unable to stop herself Araine answered softly, “Your Creator’s heart is moved for your sake, Lady. And for the king’s.”
Belaal’s princess cast Araine a doubtful glance over her shoulder but said nothing. Ahead the path opened and brightened, giving way to gravel then marble pavings. As they crossed a large, roughly-chiseled black slab, both the Lady Dasarai and Bel-Tygeon paused just long enough to deliberately grind their boots against its scarred, violence-pitted surface. Dasarai said, “Prized of the Heavens, may all your enemies be so!”
Araine hesitated then stepped onto the roughened black slab. By Dasarai’s words and all the boot-grinding, this was obviously an enemy’s gravestone. Infinite, who was this?
An attractive young man appeared in her thoughts, richly clad in flowing robes, his appealing face strikingly similar to Bel-Tygeon’s. Proud and polished the youth crossed a blue and gold-draped audience chamber, bowed to Bel-Tygeon’s seated parents, and then straightened, smiling, all courtesy and smooth grace.
Still pleasant, still smiling, the handsome youth stepped forward, embraced the king, and then killed him and the queen with two slashes of his dagger. A chorus of feminine screams lifted around him, along with a child’s anguished wail. Perfectly calm the noble assassin turned toward the child’s cry, his killing blade ready.
“Infinite, no!” Araine dashed off the black slab toward the defenseless child.
Bel-Tygeon grabbed Araine’s wrist and pulled her into the present, the child grown. “Prophet, who did you see?”
By his gaze and tone, Bel-Tygeon expected her to know the answer. And through the Infinite’s own Spirit, she recognized the assassin. “Your uncle.”
“And what does the Infinite say about him, my father’s murderer?”
“Your Creator saw your uncle’s evils. His soul was iron, merciless, and determined to have the kingdom. The Infinite heard your cry and mourned your loss. Even now, He calls to you and your sister.”
Dasarai paused beside a marble pillar, her lustrous eyes dark with remembered grief and defiance. “Is this so? What then does your Infinite say to me?”
Infinite? Is it Your will to answer her?
Because she has asked, I will answer, the Infinite murmured. I want to reach her heart because I love her despite her idol, her brother. Look and listen!
Dizzying imagery sped through Araine’s thoughts, punctuated by screams; a flurry of veils and the flash of a dagger made Araine flinch. A weeping young Rethae, the Lady Dasarai, snatched her dead father’s weapon and stabbed his assassin in the back, felling him even as he aimed for the child, Bel-Tygeon.
Clearly remembering the same instant, Dasarai repeated her question, her tone rising in defiance, “What does your Infinite say to me?”
As the Infinite whispered Araine echoed His compassion while repeating His words. “You acted rightly, defending a child against the man you loved—Zlateon, the man who shamed all honor.”
Dasarai’s severity weakened. Biting her lip she turned away and hurried up the tomb house’s blue marble steps.
Araine started after her, but Bel-Tygeon wrapped one arm around Araine, pulling her close, surrounding her with the dark-sweet scent of agarwood oil. As she froze uncertainly and stared into the blue and gold folds of his mantle, he murmured into her hair, “Leave the Lady Dasarai alone for a time. Wait with me instead. If the Eosyths are as loyal as they claim, they should arrive soon.”
“They will, Sire. Believe them.”
Bel-Tygeon exhaled quietly. “I must believe them, as I believe you. Otherwise I die today.”
Why not speak the truth? What if her vision of darkness came to life today? Araine shivered. “I pray you live and fulfill the Infinite’s plans for you, Sire. I wish to see you prosper and reign over Belaal as no king has before, that Belaal may thrive.”
“Spoken like a prophet,” he murmured. “Now speak as Araine. What are you thinking? What will you do if I survive?”
How different he seemed now that she’d witnessed his past, lived in it as the present. Truly he was as vulnerable as any mortal, with inward scars as deep and painful as her own.
Araine prayed, clutching the branch and box closer. Infinite, I know You are working to save the king. If only he will listen!
Bel-Tygeon’s voice, low and pleased, disrupted her thoughts. “You hesitate. Yet you are carrying the box.”
“Indeed, Sire. Every guard who saw it immediately opened the gates and doors as I ran to help you.”
The king stepped back, releasing Araine from his embrace. “That’s all my summons is worth to you? A key to escape the palace?”
“No, Sire. It signifies far more. It signifies your regard and kindness, which I cherish.”
Bel-Tygeon’s expression eased, and he allowed her a smile. “Do you begin to love me?”
A blush heated her face and she looked away, willing herself to forget the unattainable Nikaros. “As my king, yes. As a man...I fear I must remind you that if I become your consort, we’ll both die as the Prophet of Parne has warned.”
He scoffed. “The Infinite protects His prophets; don’t say otherwise!”
“Yes, Sire, to an extent. But a disobedient prophet can be put to death. What should a sovereign do when a trusted servant rebels, as Siyrsun has rebelled against you?”
“Your situation is entirely different from Siyrsun’s.”
“Forgive me, Sire, but spiritually it is no different. If I rebel against the Infinite, I do so at the peril of others’ lives and souls, including yours. And the Infinite cherishes each soul as His most precious treasures. What happens if one of your slaves loses or destroys your most precious treasure?”
Death. Undoubtedly. For though his fine mouth tightened, the king looked away, unwilling to answer.
In the widening silence Araine stared down at the black marble slab before them. My own Father, has Bel-Tygeon already ordered such deaths?
Yes.
A shiver passed along her spine. Many such deaths?
Yes.
Infinite, were some of the condemned ones innocent of the crimes Bel-Tygeon had accused them of?
Yes.
Nausea churned within Araine’s stomach and stilled her soul. She’d thought that such deaths were part of Bel-Tygeon’s future, atrocities not yet committed. But she’d been wrong. Oh, those poor people! Those poor slaves...
His wordless grief encircled Araine, communing with her sorrow, bringing unexpected solace. She rested within His comfort then drew a composing breath.
She must accept the truth. Like all mortal tyrants this handsome god-king beside her had condemned many innocents to death. The god-king Bel-Tygeon, for all his power, would never perfectly comprehend each mortal’s soul; therefore he could never be a perfect judge.
Unlike their Creator.
Thus more innocents would die. Countless souls...
“Sire...” She swallowed. “What will you do if we survive this day and if I rebel tonight?”
“You will not.”
“If I don’t we both die. And it’s the Infinite’s will that you live. Besides...” She touched her throat, remembering the gold cord tightening there beneath Darion’s killing grip. Corban’s fury, his grief... “I am sure that death at your command will be easier than by my own father’s hands.” Royal executioners, after all, were more practiced than Darion.
Bel-Tygeon’s aristocratic face hardened in cold, determined lines. “A solution will be found. You will obey me.”
“Not if it places you in eternal danger.”
Behind them a soft footfall announced the Lady Dasarai’s return. Clearly she’d been listening, for she drew a stiffly gilded palm-leaf fan from beneath her cloak and tapped Araine’s shoulder, commanding her attention. Though her dark, beautiful eyes were reddened and damp with recent tears, Belaal’s princess said, “Prophet, we shall deal with your fears later. What must we do now?”
“Wait and pray, Lady.” To Bel-Tygeon Araine said, “Sire, I beg you, whatever happens remember the Infinite’s warning. Say nothing to General Siyrsun, for he is a renegade through and through, as he ever will be. Instead simply order his death. Otherwise you’ll commit a terrible offense against our Sovereign Lord.”
He lifted his chin as if to argue, but he remained silent, giving her hope.
She listened to the hush then to sounds. A cadence of boots. A steady, yet decreasing rhythm of soldiers marching toward them through the small wilderness. Why decreasing?
Clutching her branch and the box, Araine stared at the shaded, tree-canopied path.
Nikaros! Wonderful man. Her breath caught as he entered the clearing, quietly handsome and composed in muted garments and armed with a bow and arrows. He cast a heart-meltingly worried glance at her then shifted his gaze toward the king. Just behind Nikaros four soldiers carried a canvas-draped body on a simple wood-framed litter. Josias and Lije, bows and arrows readied, followed the corpse. Commander Rtial Vioc marched after them, leading a small force of dark-cloaked archers into the clearing. Moving as one entity the soldiers saluted Bel-Tygeon, who nodded and lifted a hand toward them in solemn recognition.
Impassive Vioc signaled his men to disperse. They retreated, quiet and alert, concealing themselves within vines and hedges of the woods that surrounded the royal tomb.
Above them all a breeze stirred the leaves, whispering warnings of approaching clouds.
His blue mantle rippling in the breeze, Bel-Tygeon stepped forward and frowned at Nikaros. “Son of Levos, whose body do you bring here?”
Nikaros bowed to the king then signaled to the soldiers, who lowered the simple litter from their shoulders, carefully aligning it within the black marble rectangle. Straightening Nikaros almost smiled. “Sire, this is the body of a traitor we killed this morning. At least in death he can serve you properly.”
Bel-Tygeon snorted. “He’s to represent me? Well, then...” He unfastened his fine blue mantle and lifted the rich garment off his shoulders, its gold clasps and thin edgings catching the dimming sunlight. “...cover him.”***
Two of the soldiers hurried forward, bowed, and took the mantle from their king’s extended hands. As they spread the mantle over the traitor’s corpse, the Lady Dasarai rapped Araine’s shoulder with her stiff gilded fan. “Prophet, attend me. If that is a pretense of my lord’s body, then one must presume I am distraught to near-dying myself.”
Obedient Araine carefully set down her branch and the box then quickly unfastened Dasarai’s green cloak, revealing her exquisite gold gown beneath.
“No.” Bel-Tygeon reached for Dasarai’s cloak. “This I forbid! Lady, I won’t allow you to risk your life for mine a second time!”
Dasarai, Princess of Belaal, Sovereign Lady of the Women’s Palace, slid a long pin from her hair and flung it to the marble paving. It pinged and rolled in a sparkling semi-circle over the stone’s surface. “What risk, Sire? If you die I am dead anyway.” She lifted her small chin, matching his stubbornness. “Let me play my part, I beg you. My eyes are already swollen from weeping, so why waste the tears I’ve just spent on memories? We must put them to use. Furthermore one thinks you should hide yourself and wait for our enemy.”
The king growled and shoved a hand through his hair.
Ignoring him Dasarai removed her drab cloak then sank down elegantly beside the blue-draped corpse, her golden gown and robes billowing. Araine knelt to help her, both of them hastily unfastening her elegantly knotted hair and tossing aside golden pins in a delicate disharmony of thin metallic pings.
The king gave up and bent to kiss his sister’s graceful cheek. “As you will. Your wishes are ever mine, Lady.” He grasped Araine’s hand, compelling her to look at him. His dark eyes glittering with ferocity, he commanded, “Guard her! And guard yourself.”
She managed a smile. “Sire, I will. But I beg you for your own well-being, for your life and for eternity, heed the Infinite! Say nothing to Siyrsun.”
Bel-Tygeon half-grinned and quipped, “I promise your Infinite nothing.”
He motioned to Nikaros, Commander Vioc, Josias, and Lije to follow him into the royal tomb house. Dasarai turned, her dark hair tumbling down her back with the movement. Looking very young she whispered to Araine, “Prophet, who do you suppose I wept for earlier—in addition to my lord-father and my own friend, his queen?”
Throat aching Araine whispered, “The man you loved.” The murderer she’d slain.
“Yes. I was such a fool! I am still a fool.” Dasarai tore at her garments, rumpling them as tears slid down her face. Then she spread her delicate hands over the corpse’s chest and bent, sobbing as if she would die of grief.
Araine placed the bejeweled box where the dead assassin’s hands rested, bound over his stomach. Then she set the dulled vinewood branch on the pavement at her knees and bowed beside Dasarai—and allowed herself to cry for every horrible thing in this fallen mortal world. Hatred. Deceit. Slavery. Father’s rejection. Iris’s pain. Her foolishness in dealing with Corban. All the souls, the innocent lives cut short by Bel-Tygeon’s god-king whims.
Yet, my beloved Creator, You love him....even as You mourn.
Overcome Araine sobbed.
Waiting for Siyrsun.