A week after the binding celebrations ended, Tanu-Hepa took her evening walk in the gardens. Her guards had said she collapsed, clutching her head, falling to a strange, silent illness. Her heart tight, Istara knelt at the queen's bedside, waiting for the high priest to finish the incantations of healing and protection. At the foot of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest, Urhi-Teshub gazed at Tanu-Hepa, his expression grim. She lay so still, so pale, her breathing so faint, it was hard to tell if she still lived. The high priest fell silent. He turned to Urhi-Teshub.

"Your Highness, there is nothing more we can do. She is in the hands of the gods now."

"No," Urhi-Teshub answered, terse. "There is more you can do. Let the temples run red with the blood of sacrifices. Proclaim this day a day of prayer. Let every shrine overflow with offerings, and in each house, let every man, woman and child pray for their queen. If we do these things, the gods cannot help but hear our cries."

The priest bowed. "It shall be done." The door closed behind him, soft.

"This is my fault," Istara whispered. "Ever since I left Kadesh, I have not been faithful to Baalat."

"Istara--"

She cried out, anguished. Clinging to Tanu-Hepa's hand, she lifted her eyes up to the deep blue of the sky, visible through the open doors to the terrace. "Lady Baalat, forgive me," she whispered. "I will make it right. Whatever you ask, I will do it. But please, I beg you, don't take Tanu-Hepa away from me, too."

Nothing happened. Istara lowered her face to the bedcover, her burden of guilt overwhelming. A creak of leather as Urhi-Teshub knelt beside her, his familiar, reassuring scent surrounded her; oiled leather, soap, horses.

"This is not your fault," he said. "I have seen it happen before. Sometimes people can recover, so long as they don't sleep too long."

"No," Istara persisted, determined to blame herself. "My mother told me to remain faithful to Baalat, but I worshiped your gods instead."

Urhi-Teshub covered her hand with his, it felt big, rough and warm. Reassuring. She felt his gaze on her, his concern.

"This house has been cursed for generations," he said, quiet. "My great-grandfather committed terrible, heinous crimes to become the King of Hatti. When he died, the Wise Women foretold the gods would punish us for many years to come. You must not torment yourself. You are not the cause of this. Come." He pulled her to her feet and led her to one of the cushioned divans. "You have been up all night. Sleep. I will wake you if she stirs. I swear it."

Istara watched him as he turned and moved back to the bed, rubbing his hand over his jaw, listening to the soft rasp of his calloused fingers against his stubble. She lay back on the cushions, wondering what crimes his great-grandfather had committed. Her eyelids drifted down. Heaviness crept over her, numbing the fatigue in her aching muscles. Perhaps he was right and she should rest, just for a little while. She closed her eyes.

❃

Istara sat up. From the terrace, early evening light filtered through the linen hangings. She had slept almost the whole day. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she turned toward Tanu-Hepa's bed. Her heart stopped.

Bathed in white light, the golden disk of her horned crown rising high above her, the goddess Baalat stood gazing down at Tanu-Hepa. Golden stars of light cascaded down the length of Baalat's silver gown, flowing in an endless stream. Her black hair, glimmering with little points of white light, cascaded in thick waves down her shoulders to her waist. She turned and looked at Istara, her eyes blazed, the color of gold.

Istara slid off the divan onto her knees. Baalat was the most beautiful woman Istara had ever seen, or could even imagine. She looked more real than real people. The goddess's lips curved into a gentle smile, sending little sparkles of white light darting across her face. She lifted her hand to Istara and beckoned her over, making thousands of tiny threads of light spiral around her.

At the goddess's feet, Istara prostrated herself, trembling, and waited. Baalat's voice came into her head, soft and compelling.

Daughter, you have offered whatever I ask in return for this mortal's life. If you wish to save her, you must learn to become a healer.

"A healer?" Istara repeated, perplexed, as she peeked up at the goddess. "To heal Urhi-Teshub?"

But Baalat did not answer. Instead, she reached out to stroke the queen's forehead. A little trickle of golden light left her fingertips and slipped into Tanu-Hepa's temple. Baalat smiled, soft.

To heal the one who will change the course of many destinies, including my own. If you agree to this, I will return your surrogate mother to you.

Istara didn't understand most of what Baalat said, but she understood enough. Baalat would save Tanu-Hepa if Istara learned to be a healer. It was an easy choice. "I agree, my lady, with all my heart. I will become the best healer in the empire, in gratitude and service to you."

Then, before this day ends, Tanu-Hepa shall be returned to you. I breached many boundaries meeting you here and have endangered myself. We will never meet like this again.

A flash of white light blossomed out from the goddess. The queen's apartment vanished, replaced by a formless, boundless space of gray. Beneath Istara's feet a dark spot appeared and spread outwards. Horrified, she watched, helpless, as an abyss opened under her, yawning, endless.

She threw herself away from it, clawing at the seamless gray surface, frantic. The abyss widened, tugging on her, dragging her down. She shrieked as she slid into it, her fingernails scrabbling against the impossible surface, finding no purchase. She spiraled down, falling deeper into the void, surrounded by darkness, the hole above dwindled to a tiny point of light. It vanished. She screamed. No sound came. A force slammed into her, flipping her over. Now she fell face first. Far in the distance, a tiny glimmer of light appeared. It grew into a circular opening, widening, spreading.

Shafts of sunlight pierced the darkness, beaming upward, distorted by the dense, oppressive, black nothingness. The opening widened. She rushed toward it, crossing what felt to be a vast distance in mere heartbeats. The light blossomed outwards, growing to an immense size, warping and bending around her, encircling her. She could see Tanu-Hepa's bedroom, distended as though viewed from within a sphere. She hurtled forward, bracing herself. The barrier loomed. She shut her eyes, and thrust her hands out in front of her. A flash of light, so bright she saw it in the backs of her closed eyes. Then, nothing.

❃

Istara sat up, her heart pounding, the remnants of her impossible dream merging with the ordinariness of the real world. She gazed at her surroundings, struggling to get her bearings. Out in the gardens, she could hear the servants brushing the gravel paths, smoothing them down into the semi-circular design of half a sunburst, the rhythmic swish of their brooms hypnotic. On the queen's terrace, little garden birds chirped, flitting back and forth, perching on the backs of chairs, oblivious to susurration of wails and cries rising up from the city, begging the gods to spare the life of Hatti's dying queen. Several birds hopped past the open doors of the terrace looking for crumbs, eyeing Istara, chirping hopefully.

Bathed in the clean light of a new day, Tanu-Hepa continued to lay silent and still in the middle of the bed. At its foot, Urhi-Teshub looked back at Istara, his arms crossed over his chest. Dark circles shadowed his eyes.

"You barely slept an hour," he said.

Istara approached him, apprehension filling her. She would have to tell him. She turned over several openings in her mind before deciding on the simplest one. "My prayer has been answered," she said, quiet. Urhi-Teshub lifted a brow, skeptical, but remained silent. Istara pressed on, dogged, despite knowing how strange her words were going to sound to him. "Baalat came to me while I slept. She promised to save the queen if I become a healer."

Urhi-Teshub scoffed and pressed his palms against his eyes. "You had a dream, nothing more," he said, dismissive. "The gods never speak to us, they do not even speak to the Wise Women. You are meant to be a queen. You cannot become a healer, it would be beneath you."

"No. It was no dream," Istara insisted, thinking of her frightening return from the place where she met Baalat. "She said strange things about destinies and having to heal the one who would change everything. She told me she had endangered herself meeting me, and would never meet me like that again, and--" she paused, biting her lip.

"And?" Urhi-Teshub prompted, impatient.

"We have until tonight to save her, otherwise the gods will claim her," Istara finished, feeling her cheeks begin to burn, frightened by the sudden realization she had just given the Crown Prince of Hatti an ultimatum, a crime punishable by death.

Urhi-Teshub scoffed again, though he didn't say anything. He turned away, his hands clenching into fists, the muscles under his armbands rippling. He glanced at Tanu-Hepa, uncertain. Istara stepped toward him, meaning to reframe her words, to remedy her error, but he held up his hand and stopped her.

"You ask much of me to accept what you say is true," he said before falling silent, the muscles in his jaw working, betraying his agitation. He shook his head. "I cannot do that, but for Tanu-Hepa's sake, neither will I deny you. You may learn the healing arts, though I think you are just being fanciful."

Istara knelt before him, filled with gratitude. "My lord," she whispered, "if the gods have chosen me for a task, it means they have chosen you, too, because I cannot obey them without your permission."

He barked a scornful laugh. "You dare to presume to know the minds of the gods, a mere child?" He moved to the other side of the room and gestured at Tanu-Hepa. "Once this is ended for better or ill, I will leave Tarhuntassa and remain in the north. You will not see me again until our wedding, which I will hold off for as long as possible. You will not write to me, nor will I write to you."

Stricken, Istara followed after him. "I have said something wrong, forgive me. I beg you, do not cut me off. I live for your letters."

"It serves no purpose for us to write anymore," he said, cold. "My father forced me to bind with you against my will, so Kadesh could never belong to Egypt again. But I will never love you as a man loves a woman. To me, you will always be a child, my little sister." He paused, his mouth twisting with distaste. "It sickens me, the thought of making you my wife. I will never know you, I cannot. I won't. If we must be married, it will be as brother to sister, our relationship chaste."

She stared at him, at his implacable expression. "It cannot be true," she breathed, "you would marry me and not know me? I will never have my own children? And what of your heir?"

"A concubine will provide one," he answered, abrupt. "My father asks too much of me and of you in his desire to keep Kadesh. You deserved better than this. I promise I will be kind to you and provide all you wish for, but there can be nothing more between us." He eyed the queen's bed, guilt slicing across his face. "I pray she cannot hear us, for this will break her heart, to know you will have to endure what she has endured at the hands of my father."

"You can't mean these things," Istara cried out, desperate. "Just wait a little, let me grow up and become pretty, like Adar. Maybe then you will like me, will want--"

His fist came down on the table. "Cease! Do not compare yourself to a whore. I cannot bear it."

Stunned, Istara fell silent. She had never seen him like this before. She wondered if she knew him at all. He departed, throwing open the doors so hard they slammed against the walls. Ignoring the astonished looks of the queen's retinue gathered in the reception room, he strode away.

Silence fell. Everyone turned to stare at her, judging her. Two guards came forward and closed the doors, their eyes lowered. Turning her back to them, she noticed the deep splinter running along the length of the table. What had she done wrong? She pressed her hands against her torso, trying to make sense of Urhi-Teshub's words. He did not want her, and would not love her. Her future lay before her, empty, bleak, lonely.

She returned to the bed and took hold of Tanu-Hepa's cold, limp hand. Baalat was real, no matter what Urhi-Teshub said. Istara had seen her, now all she had to do was wait. Tonight Tanu-Hepa would get better. Tomorrow, Istara would think about the rest.

❃

Just as Baalat promised, Tanu-Hepa returned, waking as though from a deep sleep, desperate for food and drink. Unwilling to leave her side, Istara stayed until dawn, curled up on the divan, dreaming fragmented dreams of Urhi-Teshub leaving, never to return.

She woke to the warmth of sunlight playing over her eyes. Panicking, praying she wasn't too late, she slipped from the room and hurried to the roof, her bare feet slapping against the cool marble as she took the stairs two at a time.

Bursting out into the drenching heat of the roof garden, she crossed it as fast as her legs would carry her. She lunged at a pillar, grabbing hold of it in time to stop herself from tumbling over the roof's edge. Her heart pounding, fearing she was already too late, she searched the vast palace square, bustling with activity.

She stopped. There they were, assembling outside the stables, two dozen of them, waiting by their chariots. Her heart thudded with relief. He had not left yet. She shaded her eyes, searching through the men. Where was he? She waited, fearful, maybe these were other men, and he was already gone after all. He emerged from one of the buildings, his commanding gait unmistakeable, his massive sword strapped to his back, its hilt standing proud above his left shoulder. On his hips, two daggers hung from his belt, in gold-embossed scabbards. She heaved a sigh of relief as he moved to the front of the group and stepped into his chariot, wrapping the reins around his forearms, fast and efficient.

She leaned forward, committing him to memory, for the long, empty years ahead. His powerful body, made solid after years spent on campaign, was nice, but she preferred his face; his strong, clean-shaven jaw, the curve of his lips that rarely held a smile, his dark green eyes with their golden flecks, his proud nose, and his long, dark hair, always held back with a leather thong.

Horns blasted, and she heard him shout, commanding his men to form up. She held her breath, willing him to stay just one heartbeat longer, hoping for something, anything, to delay his departure. He pulled away.

At the gates, he looked straight at her. Her heart somersaulted. She lifted her hand to him, to wave, but it was too late. He was already gone.