Tarhuntassa, Winter. Reign of Mursili III, Year 1

Alone in his apartment, Urhi-Teshub stepped into the tiled bathing pool, the heated water soothing his stiff, aching body. The Mesedi had gone to his uncle to deliver the news Muwatallis was dead. Now Urhi-Teshub waited. He eyed the scroll case, sitting, innocuous, on a nearby acacia table, the lamplight reflecting against the wood's dark surface.

Keeping his gaze on the scroll case, he sank lower into the pool, until his backside rested on the sitting ledge, and the water touched his jaw. A multitude of sharp stings swarmed along his extremities. His broken, chafed skin softened, opening, bleeding anew.

He lifted his hands out of the water. Tendrils of steam broke free and rose, languid. The water slid from his fingertips--his nails grimy and caked with filth--over the crevices of his bleeding knuckles. Other than the water's quiet drip slipping, soft, back into the pool, silence surrounded him.

He closed his eyes, imagining he was the only man in all of Tarhuntassa, no longer a prince, or the nearly-crowned king, but a traveler from a far-off land. He watched himself come upon the city, abandoned, its wealth intact, the stories of those within told by the items left behind. In his mind's eye, he saw himself walk through the palace, going from room to room trying to piece together the stories of those who had lived, loved, plotted, intrigued, perhaps even killed each other in their pursuit of power. He sighed and opened his eyes. The water had begun to cool. Even with four braziers burning, the relentless cold leached, hungry, into the warmth of his cocoon.

Scooping a handful of natron paste from a wooden salver, he began the work of cleaning his hands and nails, ignoring the fresh stings of salt working its way into his wounds. He stood, water cascading into the pool, continuing his work, cleaning the layers of grit embedded in his skin. The last time he had fully bathed had been before he left for Amurru, four months earlier. He scrubbed harder, willing the stubborn, ingrained filth away.

Within his apartment, a door slammed. Footsteps drew nearer, moving across the tiles toward him, dulled by the thickness of the occasional rug.

The door opened. His uncle swept in past Urhi-Teshub's guard. A draft of chilled air washed over Urhi-Teshub, making his skin pucker. From within a heavy, gold-embroidered cloak, Hattusilis eyed Urhi-Teshub, impassive. Urhi-Teshub suppressed a shiver and waited. He would not sit down, would not show deference to this man who would soon be his subject. He remained standing, saying nothing, thigh-deep in the pool's water, natron paste smeared over his arms, chest and groin.

"So, you have returned, and empty-handed," Hattusilis said, his tone colder than the winds howling without.

Urhi-Teshub held his tongue, knowing there would be more. His uncle paced to a chair, imperious, intimidating. Keeping a baleful eye on his nephew, he reached up and untied his cloak. He pulled it off in one elegant sweep and tossed it over the chair's back. He sat, the wood creaking, and waved his hand at Urhi-Teshub, bored. "You may rinse that off. I can wait."

Irritated by his uncle's arrogant tone, Urhi-Teshub stood a heartbeat longer before sinking into the tepid water. As his uncle examined the rings on his fingers, Urhi-Teshub sloughed the paste from his body, stained dark with grime. He took up a towel and ploughed up the steps of the pool, the water's sloshing loud in the taut atmosphere. He stood on the top step of the bath, towering over his uncle as he wrapped the towel around his hips, crisp, efficient. Hattusilis sniffed, ignoring him.

Only once Urhi-Teshub had donned a fresh tunic and had begun to strap on his kilt, did his uncle look up.

"Now. Explain yourself," he said, sharp. "Where are the rest of my men?"

"Still in Kadesh," Urhi-Teshub answered, steady, as he fastened the kilt's leather ties. "They will return in the spring as planned under Commander Uzak, with enough gold, cedarwood, textiles and ivory to cover the costs for both the campaign to Amurru and the battle at Kadesh."

"No losses?" Hattusilis asked, unimpressed, glancing around the room, taking in the details--the wood panels covering the walls, the wealth of gold objects lining the side tables. Urhi-Teshub watched him, cautious, to see if he noted the scroll case. If he did, his uncle did not show it.

"Twenty-three," Urhi-Teshub said as he sat and pulled on a pair of boots. "Caused by their own carelessness using the battering ram."

His uncle didn't answer, though his expression tightened marginally. "It's grain and livestock Hatti needs, not gold, or cedarwood," he muttered. "The stores have run to their lowest in two generations, wasted to support two campaigns, back to back. No harvest came in this autumn and now the empire starves." He turned his attention back to Urhi-Teshub, and examined the contours of his nephew's thinned features. "As have you, I see." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his narrow chest. "Tell me. Why leave Kadesh to make such a perilous journey in the middle of winter?" He eyed Urhi-Teshub, his dark eyes glittering in the lamplight. "I suggest you make this easy for both of us. Who sent for you?"

Urhi-Teshub stood up. "Your brother. The king."

Hattusilis lifted an eyebrow, unperturbed. "You lie, of course." He stood, taking his time straightening the layers of his embroidered kilt. "I will learn the truth, one way or another."

Urhi-Teshub went to the scroll case and opened it, his eyes never leaving his uncle's as his hands did the work of unraveling the leather bindings. "I have told you the truth," he said as he pulled the decree from the case. He read it aloud, taking his time, the air in the room thickening with tension. When he finished, he placed the scroll back into the case and set it onto the table. He turned. Hattusilis stared at him, hostile, his hands, small and weak, curled into fists at his sides.

"Your wife betrayed us at Kadesh," he whispered, outraged. "You have no right to take what should be mine."

"And why should it be yours?" Urhi-Teshub demanded, tight. "I am the king's firstborn son, and--"

"I saved your life," Hattusilis spat, bitterness twisting his smooth, elegant features. "Your father wanted to send you to the gods when we returned from Kadesh. While you waited, imprisoned in your rooms, I stood against him--you have ever been more my son than his. I thought I had lost you at Kadesh. It was a lie, of course, though the pain I endured reading the pharaoh's message was real--" He broke off, and looked away. "I couldn't bear to lose you again. I implored your father to spare you. For three days, I stood against him, refusing to eat or drink--" he looked back at Urhi-Teshub, sharp, narrow, cold, "--and this is how you intend to repay me? By taking from me what should be mine?"

Urhi-Teshub blinked, taken aback by his uncle's words. "Uncle. I did not know. What you did for me, it is--"

Hattusilis ignored him. He pressed on, relentless, pacing, agitated. "Then you come to me, seeking to redeem yourself, asking the impossible. More men. More supplies, when Hatti was already on her knees, her queen dying and her king demented, closeted away, drunk with grief. 'Glory for Hatti, revenge for Kadesh', you'd claimed. But I saw through it all. You sought only to avenge yourself against Ramesses for keeping your wife. I let you go, not because I believed in your agenda, but to keep you safe, to protect you from your father who, in his grief had become vengeful once more, looking for someone to blame for his misfortune. Soon, I knew I would no longer be able to stay his hand. So, just like in Kadesh, when he would have choked you to death, I put myself between you and him." He stumbled, tripping on the tasselled edge of the rug. Catching himself against the wall of the bathing pool, he shook his head, incredulous.

"My own brother, betraying me at the very last. I should have known what he was capable of," he fell silent, lost in his thoughts. He looked up, abrupt. "You could burn it. Everything could go back to what it was. If you do so, I will make Hattusa your seat of power, name you my viceroy, your power second only to mine." He nodded to himself, continuing. "He was so ill, he did not know what he was doing. He would never have given the throne back to you, not after what you and Istara did to him at Kadesh."

"Uncle," Urhi-Teshub said, "for all you have done to protect me, I thank you, but my father has named me his heir. His will, whether you accept it or not is the will of the gods." He gestured toward the scroll case. "If we were to burn this, Hatti would fall. The gods would abandon us. Utterly."

His uncle's lips thinned. "The gods?" he asked, waving his hand toward the panelled ceiling, indicating the frozen skies above. "Do you truly believe they care for us? For our toils and travails? Our bloody sacrifices? This famine, the death of Nerit and your father--what if none of it is a consequence of the gods, who only exist among us as stone effigies? What if this--" he moved his hand, flicking his fingers between Urhi-Teshub and himself, "--is all there is, mortals against mortals?"

Urhi-Teshub stared at his uncle, aghast. "I cannot believe my ears. You have always been the most devout man among us. How can you even dare to speak such things when Hatti is in her greatest need?"

"I dare because I do not believe. I have no reason to believe," Hattusilis muttered. "After we were escorted back from Amka and rested at Kadesh, Queen Rhoha invited me to dine with her." He nodded again, to himself. "A talented, fascinating woman. The things she knows, and understands. A true seer, her powers are astonishing." He caught Urhi-Teshub's eyes. "She showed me things--things I will never forget. To me, what she is capable of is more real than the gods. There is no longer any doubt in my mind. We are alone. The gods are gone, never to return. She has confirmed it."

"Rhoha is a viper," Urhi-Teshub snapped, his temper flaring. "She has enamored you with her lies. All she longs for is the throne of Hatti. You are nothing more than a token in her game. If she cannot have me, she will take you instead."

His uncle looked away. Urhi-Teshub stepped toward him, suspicious. "She has had you, hasn't she? She offered herself, encouraging you to partake of her dark appetites." He lowered his voice, his words filled with loathing. "But you, unlike the rest of us, enjoyed them. You wished for more." He stopped, comprehension hitting him, sickening him. "You intended to make her your queen--the vilest woman in the empire."

Apart from a brief flaring of his nostrils, Hattusilis did not respond. Urhi-Teshub moved back to the table and picked up the scroll case. "So this is how it must begin between you and me," he said, quiet, his grip tightening on the embossed leather. "Despite his multitude of failings, in his final hour my father did one thing right. He protected his empire from a godless king and queen. The gods live. They are real. I will be crowned, whether you accept it or not."