That night Istara dined and fell asleep alone. Sethi's note arrived just as their evening meal had been laid out. He would remain at the palace for the evening meal, closeted with the pharaoh and inner council.

Deep in the night, she woke with a start, the open panels to the terrace flooding her bed in moonlight. Beside her, Sethi's pillow lay untouched. She rose, stepping over Sehetep's basket where the pup snored, soft, on his back, all four paws in the air. A quick glance at the remaining oil in the night lamp told her the time: between the first and second hour.

Barefoot, she crossed the cool stone flags of the apartment, thinking to check Sethi's office, her heart thudding--fearing she might not find him there--trying not to think where he would be at this hour otherwise. She picked up one of her linen gowns from the back of a divan and wrapped the material around her torso, her fingers trembling as she pulled the ties closed.

He would be in his office, of course he would. Hadn't he mentioned something about trouble on the Nubian border, the possibility of another campaign? But--her fingers stilled--when she had expressed her regret at the months they would not be together, he became dismissive, admitting he could send Naram in his stead. It must be another matter, the one for which he had had to stay behind at the palace.

She touched the brass handle of the door--its polished metal cool in the night air--dithering, thinking of the last time she had disturbed him in his sanctuary. If he wasn't with her, he wanted to be alone, for whatever reason. It wasn't for her to decide where he should be, he was Egypt's commander after all. And yet, something felt off. It gnawed, relentless, snatching at her innards like the fish in the lotus pool at feeding time.

She decided to open the door just a little. The courtyard would be shrouded in shadow. If he was in his office, the light from his lamp would give him away, a beacon, shining, reassuring. So long as he was there she could return to their bed and wait, able to banish her deepest fears, the ones involving beautiful, favored courtesans with exotic names. She pulled on the handle, cringing as the door creaked, loud in the dense quiet of the sleeping villa. Edging up to the narrow opening, she eyed the inner courtyard, the date palms and lotus pool eerie and still in the silent wash of the moon's white light.

The door to Sethi's office stood ajar, the interior immersed in deep shadow. Nascent dread tightened, solidifying, binding itself against her, suffocating. Her heart hammering, she eased the door open, just enough to slip out into the pillared vestibule. Silence soaked the courtyard. Nothing moved, not even a breeze. All remained in absolute stillness, as though the villa held its breath, waiting for her to waken it; for a storm to break.

She hesitated, her mind encouraging her to turn back, to return to their bed, to lie down and close her eyes, to sleep. He would come to her, her thoughts reasoned, calm, rational. He would hold her and kiss her, perhaps even make love to her. Later, he would explain everything. She turned, feeling foolish. Of course he would not go to a courtesan. Why would he, after all he had sacrificed for her? It was madness to even suspect such a thing. He deserved better than this.

And yet, uncertainty plagued her. She waited, willing the feeling to pass. The quiet thickened. At the edge of her hearing, Sethi's voice, faint, low. Her breath caught. She turned, straining to hear. His voice came again, a murmur, filtering down the corridor from the outer courtyard. A heartbeat of quiet, then a woman's voice, soft, sultry. Without stopping to consider her actions, Istara hurried through the corridor, keeping to the shadows, her breathing shallow, fraught with dread. At the edge of the outer courtyard, she moved down the steps into the gardens, drawn to the faint light filtering from the formal reception room, edging as close as she dared.

Within, shadows danced on the walls, caught in the flickering light of a single lamp. A slim, dark-haired woman stood with her back to the door, dressed in an elegant green gown, her forearms laden from wrist to elbow in golden bracelets. Sethi moved behind her, and rested his hands to her shoulders, light. She leaned back against him with a sigh.

"I cannot give you what you want," he said, low.

"You can," the woman answered, stifling a quiet sob, "but you choose not to. For her." She turned, slow. Istara's heart juddered to a halt. It was her, the woman from the feast. Her belly hung low and heavy with child. She gazed up at Sethi, her eyelids painted in expensive malachite, highlighting her green eyes. Within the folds of her gown, her breasts swelled, enormous, ready to give suck to the babe within. She ran her hand over the curve of her distended torso, protective, the innocuous action sending a searing shaft of jealousy tearing through Istara.

"This is our child," she whispered, sliding her other hand up his chest to hold his face, familiar, tender, intimate, "made after five years of love. Your only child. A gift from the gods. I beg you, do not send us away. Had you not found the Princess of Kadesh, I would be your wife, living here, with you, preparing to give birth to our child."

Istara staggered. She pressed her fist into her mouth to stop herself from crying out and sank onto a stone bench, the shattered walls of her heart cracking anew. Again. It was happening again. First Urhi-Teshub and now Sethi, fathering children on other women, while she remained childless. She caught the glint of tears in the woman's eyes, glistening in the lamplight.

The woman continued, the ache of longing thick in her soft voice. "I accept I have lost you. You need never touch me again. But at least let your child be raised in the house of their father, as is their right."

"And what shall you do?" Sethi asked, reaching up and pulling her hands away, gentle, holding them in his, instead. "A woman with your beauty and charm, my once-lover, living in my house? Do you intend to become a mere servant, baking bread and scrubbing my linens?"

"If I must," she answered, tight, freeing one of her hands to brush at a tear escaping from the corner of her eye.

"You have a fine villa," he said, stepping back, putting distance between them, "with everything you need. Have I not provided well for you since I received the news you were with child?"

"You have," she admitted, quiet. She fell silent and turned away, her hands moving to cover her face, her body shuddering, soft, as she grieved. Sethi touched her shoulder, the gems of his rings gleaming, warm, in the lamplight.

"I have everything," she whispered, her voice catching as she turned back to face him, anguished. "Everything except you. I miss you more than I ever believed could be possible. But just to be here. To be able to see you, to have our child know their father has not rejected them. It would be enough. If you ever loved me, allow us this. Please."

"Edarru," Sethi murmured, reaching out to her, brushing aside her tears, intimate. "Ah, don't. What can I do? I have promised Istara I would not bring another child into my home, a promise I will not break. Can there not be a middle way?"

Istara slid deeper into the shadows, her heart thudding. So, this was the woman Nefertari had spoken of. She hadn't exaggerated the woman's merits. There was no doubt Edarru was stunning. Even in her broken, desperate state, she was breathtaking, exotic, brilliant. She could see why Sethi had favored her. Compared to her, Istara felt plain, ordinary, dull.

"Ask Istara," Edarru pleaded, her voice wavering, desperation etching her words. "Let her decide. She is a woman, like me. I pray she might understand my suffering, might have mercy on me. Let the decision be hers whether she will be willing to share our past with her present."

"No," Sethi said, his tone hardening. "I will not involve Istara in this."

"I swear I will never come to you," Edarru panted, catching his arm as he pulled away. "I will serve her; will be faithful and good, in gratitude for my chance to remain--for our child to have their father." She sobbed so hard, her shoulders quaked, fat tears spilled free, a cascade. Fine rivulets of her makeup slid down her cheeks, over the curve of her high cheekbones, down to her mouth, its shape still beautiful, even in sorrow. "I know I am no one. Nothing. A whore. She is a princess. How could I ever compare? Allow me to be her companion. Please--do not send us away to live alone. I am dying without you. Just to be able to see you, to--"

"Enough," Sethi muttered, turning his back to her, unhappiness radiating from him, his mouth settling into a hard line. He poured two cups of wine, and handed one to her. She took it but did not drink. He drank, deep, before carrying on. "You must remain in your villa. I gave up everything for Istara. I will not put what we have in jeopardy. Her husband--" he scoffed, "--the King of Hatti has made his intentions clear. He will not give her up without a fight. If she were to know he took all of Egypt's vassal cities south of Amka in revenge, I know she would feel responsible; would feel duty bound to return to him, to spare others from the same fate." He shook his head, folding his arms over his chest. "I have come to realize Urhi-Teshub is not a man to be underestimated or trifled with. It is as though the gods--"

"What has the King of Hatti to do with our child?" Edarru interrupted, taut.

Sethi drew a deep breath and let it out, slow. "If I brought my previous lover and our child into my home, I cannot predict how Istara would react. I will not risk driving her away from me, toward the responsibilities I know she feels burdened to bear. No, it cannot be. Not even for our child. If you have a boy, I will take him in to the barracks when he is seven, will give him the best of training. You have my oath you and the child will have every possible comfort and advantage." He glanced at Edarru's stricken face. "It is all I can offer."

Edarru sank down onto one of the benches, her complexion waning, stark against the brilliance of her cosmetics. Her hands slid up to cover her face, her ringed fingers trembling against her eyes. A heartbeat of silence, then a low cry, plaintive, the sound of a breaking heart. She sobbed, hard, her shoulders quaking as though she had been struck from within. Sethi knelt before her, anguished, helpless.

"Please, you must be brave. I swear I will take care of you and the child," he repeated, hollow, his hands going to her shoulders, supporting her weight as she leaned forward, weeping in earnest, shuddering, broken. "You must believe I will not forsake you. You and the babe will have the best of everything."

She shook her head, her hands lowering, the kohl around her eyes smeared, blotchy. "No," she whispered, so low, Istara had to strain to hear her. "I am nothing without you. I waited all these years for you, only to lose you at the last heartbeat." She shuddered, gasping as a fresh onslaught of tears burst free, slipping down her cheeks, leaving behind dark, inky rivulets. "I will die there, alone. Since retiring from court, I have learned my place in society. I am hated. A whore, friendless, companionless. None will acknowledge me. And to think you will never come to visit--" she stopped, weeping so hard, Sethi drew her against his shoulder, holding her, hushing her, riven with sorrow and regret.

"This is my fault," Sethi murmured. "I have done this to you. You have the right to live here with me, but I cannot--"

Istara could bear no more. She went to the door and waited for one of them to see her. Edarru looked up, blinking through her tearstained eyes. She pulled back, her breath catching. Sethi turned. He lunged to his feet, letting go of Edarru, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, guilt seeping from him, thick, palpable.

"Istara," he said, tight, stepping toward her, uncertain. "I can explain."

"She stays," Istara said, her heart constricting so hard, she could barely breathe. "I will not allow myself to be the cause of such unhappiness, such misery, especially not to an innocent child."

She moved to Edarru, looking her over. The woman was astonishing, even locked in grief. Edarru bit her lip, uncertain, her body stiffening, bracing herself for the slap she seemed to expect to follow. Istara looked down at Edarru's swollen abdomen, a slick of jealousy smearing into her, its tendrils clinging, malevolent.

"You are past due," she said, reaching out to touch the woman's belly.

Edarru shrank back, defensive, her hands moving to cover her unborn child, protective.

"No," Sethi said, low. "Istara is a surgeon, let her examine you."

Edarru lowered her hands, obedient, watching, wary, as Istara felt the contours of her torso.

"The child is feet first," Istara said, feeling the head at the top of the bump. "How late are you?" she asked, brusque.

"Two weeks," Edarru answered. "There has been terrible pain these last two days, and blood. The midwife said it is normal."

Istara nodded, though she kept her expression neutral, wondering where Edarru had found her midwife: the woman was wrong, and utterly incapable. The babe was most certainly in distress, would soon die and take Edarru with it. "The babe must be born," she said instead, "and soon."

"I cannot force it out," Edarru muttered, her hands once more wrapping around her belly, cradling it.

"A brew of bitter roots can be made to induce labor. But first the babe must be in position. I can help you, if you will let me."

Edarru shot a panicked look at Sethi. "My lady, I am not worthy of your attention," she demurred, suspicion edging her words, her fear for her child tangible. "My midwife can aid me when the times comes."

Istara noticed the slight tightening of Edarru's arms against her bulging abdomen. Of course. She didn't trust Istara. Why would she? But the courtesan's midwife was worse than useless; Edarru would die in her hands. Istara turned to look at Sethi who watched them, his expression taut, his gaze moving from Istara to Edarru, down to the courtesan's belly where his child's life hung in the balance.

"She needs a surgeon," Istara said, low, letting him read the urgency in her eyes; her instincts as a healer surging to life, overcoming her anger, jealousy and resentment; the sharp, renewed sting of her own aunt bearing Urhi-Teshub's firstborn child, the bitterness of it still a raw, unhealed wound. She forced the painful memory aside. First, the child. Later, everything else.

"What about a woman I know?" Sethi asked Edarru. "She is the wife of one of my captains, and a skilled healer. Would you allow me to fetch her?"

Istara blinked, impressed by his quick thinking. She glanced at Edarru, who looked up at Sethi, frightened, uncertain. As Edarru opened her mouth to reply, the color drained from her face, her complexion turning ashen. She groaned, a low, primal sound, and slumped from the bench onto the floor, falling onto all fours, quaking. Her moan escalated, rising, increasing until she shrieked, her cries broken only by her need to breathe in deep, agonized pants. Rocking back and forth on her hands and knees, she grunted and bore down. The back of her gown darkened, clinging to the back of her thighs. A puddle soaked her gown at her knees, drenching her in water and blood.

"Send for Iltu," Istara cried, going to Edarru, rubbing the hollow of the suffering woman's back, "and wake the servants. I need boiling water, linens, the lamps and brazier lit, and this room rearranged so we can work. Until this babe is delivered, no one sleeps in this house. Not even you."

Sethi didn't move. He stood staring, horrified as Edarru retched onto the floor, her vomit splattering, loud against the stone flags, the stink of it powerful, dense; rich with bile.

Edarru moaned, shuddering under the pressure of her sudden, violent contractions. She pushed again. More blood oozed from her, followed by a reeking, filthy stream of diarrhea, staining the back of her gown and legs. She sobbed, twisting against her spasms, contorting herself to find relief, agony emanating from her.

"Sethi!" Istara shouted. "Look at me." His eyes met hers, apprehensive. "The babe has remained inside her too long. Its fluids are poisoning her. I need Iltu to assist me in what I must do. Use your chariot to fetch her. I beg you. Make haste," she glanced down at the shivering Edarru, the woman's eyes turning glassy, dulled by pain, "their lives depend upon it."

At her words, Edarru revived, letting out a desperate, defeated wail. "Let me die," she panted, desperate, "but save the child. I beg you, do not kill the babe."

"Never," Istara murmured, collecting Edarru's hair together, coiling it up into a rope and knotting it back, away from her face. "Your babe is safe, I promise. I will save you both, but I will need you to trust me."

"Be strong," Sethi said, crouching in front of his once-lover, taking hold of her shoulder, squeezing it, reassuring. "The gods will watch over you." He bent to press a rough kiss against her brow, already shining with the sheen of sweat. She whimpered, frightened. "Trust Istara," he said, looking up at Istara, his expression unreadable, enigmatic. "I beg you, trust her, for the sake of the babe." He turned, and left, abrupt.

Over Edarru's cries, Istara heard him shouting for his guards, his chariot, and his steward. The villa burst to life. Torches flared alight. The sound of running feet passed the open door, moving back and forth, chaotic. Servants arrived, hastening to assist Istara, bringing all she asked for, rearranging the room, stripping away Edarru's jewels and ruined gown, helping to wash her and settle her on a pallet. Two of the kitchen women came in and sat on either side of Edarru, each holding her hand, letting her squeeze them as Istara prepared a tray with the items she needed to operate. She had only done this twice before, but not at such a dangerous stage. She glanced at the door, closed now from the prying eyes of those without, for what felt like the thousandth time. Please Sethi, she begged. Hurry. She looked over her small store of tinctures and ointments, all minor preparations for a household, not major surgery. She hoped Iltu would have the presence of mind to bring all she had. Istara lifted her small vial of opium and opened it. It wasn't enough. Edarru had to remain immobile for the opening of her belly--if she were to flinch, causing a slip of the blade--Istara closed her eyes, unwilling to finish the thought. No. The babe would be safe. She had done this before. She could do it again.

Behind, the creak of the door. Istara turned, her heart in her throat. Iltu, her hair slung in a thick braid over her shoulder, hurried over to Edarru, handing her basket to Istara as she passed. Istara took it, gratitude flooding through her as she glanced over its contents. Iltu must have questioned Sethi prior to packing it; everything they needed was there. Setting aside the sheathed knife onto the tray, she rifled through the rolled linens, seeking the precious vial of opium. She found it, tucked to the side. A cascade of relief shuddered through her as she unstoppered it and peered inside, the inky liquid sliding back and forth almost reaching its mouth. More than enough.

Iltu had her hands on Edarru's naked belly, feeling the shape of the babe within. She glanced up at Istara, her features tight. "It has to be now," she said, " the babe has stopped moving."

Istara nodded. Her hands shaking, she poured out the measure she needed to put Edarru under. They had to be fast. A strong first dose to take her away; then the cut, and the babe freed, before any more could be given. Two doses would kill the baby, already weakening.

She knelt beside Edarru who convulsed, caught in the trap of her body, its agonies her own.

"Take this," Istara murmured, "it will help ease your pain, you need to rest."

"Save the babe," she whispered, as Istara blackened Edarru's gums with the opium, the dose so strong, Edarru began to succumb even before Istara had finished. She turned to the serving women. "We must cut the babe out from her. Can you bear it?"

The women glanced at the long, narrow blade Iltu pulled from its sheath, their eyes wide. They nodded.

"Keep her head turned to the side in case she vomits," Istara continued, watching Edarru's chest as her breathing slowed, "and keep your weight on her shoulders. If she wakes and moves before we have finished opening her, the babe could be harmed. You must hold her steady." The women paled, but shifted their weight, obedient, holding Edarru down, the courtesan's limp body pliable under their hands.

Istara moved back down and positioned herself between Edarru's splayed legs. She took the knife from Iltu, and looked up at the women. "Pray."

The women began chanting, beseeching Hathor for her protection, their voices rising, desperate, strengthening in unison.

Iltu had not wasted time. She had marked a faint line in charcoal where Istara should cut.

"I have positioned the babe. He is lying to his side, his back to the blade. I fear the cord has wrapped around his neck. Be careful, but hurry. His heartbeat is failing, fast. Once the opium takes him--"

Istara cut, quick, deft, years of training and practice guiding her hand. Flesh, muscle, and a thin layer of fat peeled back. Edarru juddered, then stilled, the opium keeping her unaware. Together, without speaking, working as one, Iltu pressed thick linens against the wound, holding back the surge of blood long enough for Istara to see the strained sack holding the babe within, so taut, it appeared almost transparent. The shape of the babe showed through, as though through a thin linen sheet. She cut again, opening the way. The babe slid out in a gush of liquid onto her lap, its fragile body coated in its mother's blood. Iltu caught it, unwrapping the cord around its neck, her fingers probing its tiny mouth, opening the way for it to breathe. The babe remained silent, and still.

"Please," Istara whispered.

Iltu kept working, probing, gentle, clearing away the fluids, rubbing its little chest. Its eyes fluttered open, startled. A breath, almost a whisper, then another. Then, a wail, hearty, strong. Angry.

Istara blinked, and laughed, joy catching at her. The babe lived. The women holding Edarru clapped their hands, laughing, their relief filling the room; tears of joy slipping down their cheeks.

With experienced movements, Iltu cut and tied the cord, and handed the babe to one of the women, instructing her to clean and wrap the infant in fresh linens. The other woman she sent out to inform Sethi he had a healthy son. As the sound of cheers rose from the courtyard, Istara saturated Edarru's gums with another dose of opium and began the long, painstaking work of sewing the mother of Sethi's firstborn son back together again.