City of Tarhuntassa, Summer. Reign of Muwatallis, Year 19

Istara scrubbed harder, hurrying to remove the last of the blood from around her fingernails. From the corner of her eye, she caught Master Hurik, the Chief Surgeon of the School of Medicine, leaning over her unconscious patient, inspecting her work. He squinted in the flickering lamplight, following the long line of sutures along the man's torso. Istara eyed him as she dried her hands, nervous. It was a serious injury, a soldier from the training grounds. The Chief Surgeon stepped back, his lips pursed. He nodded.

"My lady, you have far exceeded our expectations," he said. "You are, without a doubt, one of the finest healers in all of Hatti. The gods have granted you a gift with your needle, one you have not wasted. When you have finished here, come to my office. I have something for you."

Pleased by his rare praise, Istara smiled and lifted a length of fresh linen from a neat pile to roll into a bandage.

"I shall not be long, Master Hurik."

He moved on, inspecting the work of the others. Someone must have displeased him, for his voice rose sharp and severe, full of reprimand. Istara grimaced, feeling sympathy for those still in training, remembering the days when she had faced his frustration and impatience; the humiliating tasks he meted out as punishment, her royal station irrelevant in the pursuit of the art of healing.

Something shattered. The scent of undiluted opium overwhelmed the enclosed space. Hurik shouted, furious. Opium tincture was precious, and to lose the contents of a whole vial- Istara cringed as he meted out the offender's punishment, a year of emptying and scrubbing the patients' waste pots. At least that was one task he had never given her. Perhaps her station had merited some benefits after all.

Her head beginning to ache from smell of the opium, she hurried to lift a waxed piece of linen from the top of a stone jar. She dipped a wooden spatula into the honey and spread it over the puckered line of the man's torn flesh, to protect him from rot. She nodded to her assistants, waiting in the shadows. They eased him up, so she could bind his torso. Settling him back on the table, she looked him over, pleased with her work. Under her watchful eye, her assistants loaded him onto a stretcher and carried him away to the healing sanctuary.

She tidied her things and left the surgery, pulling off her blood stained apron as she walked. It had been a good day. She had finally perfected her skill of sewing inner and outer sutures, bringing not only flesh but muscle back together. Today had been proof of that. So long as Baalat protected him, her patient would return to full strength.

She ducked under the exit's low lintel into the cramped, humid laundry where large vats of water sat boiling atop wood fires. Servants, naked but for a loincloth, stirred the linens, preparing them for reuse. She dropped her apron onto the pile of soiled linens and climbed the three irregular steps to the open door, emerging into the late summer heat of the apothecary's garden, her most favorite place in the whole of the school. Skirting the tidy beds of flowers, herbs, thistles, and thorny bushes she hurried through the gate and crossed the main square, passing the central pool, where the school's newest students lounged, splashing their feet in the water as they chattered and shared their food parcels during a rare break from their lessons. They waved at her. Smiling, she waved back. She remembered when she used to sit there during her first year, filled with excitement and anticipation. Those feelings had ended soon enough. She didn't envy them the path ahead; a long and arduous one. Not all of them would make it.

Passing through the grand facade of the medical administrative building, she entered its pillared hall, slipping past the long rows of desks, filled with scribes copying notes from wax tablets onto wet clay, for cataloguing in the medical library. Over the last seven years, she had spent many long weeks studying in the library, learning everything from how to treat poisons, to relieving pressure in the skull. She wondered what Hurik had for her, perhaps another research assignment, she liked those. She quickened her pace, climbing the smooth stone stairs to the upper levels and knocked on Hurik's door.

"Come."

Istara slipped in. "Master Hurik, I hope I have not made you wait longer than necessary."

"Much longer and you would have." He set aside his stylus. "How fares your patient?"

"He returned from the opium unharmed. I have given him something for his pain. He should sleep now, until evening."

Hurik nodded, and hefted his bulk from the stool, turning to his cupboard. He opened one of the cubby holes and reached in. "Lady Istara, I am delighted to tell you your education is complete. Tomorrow you will receive your commendation from the School of Medicine, granting you the title Surgeon, though I doubt you will ever have need of it. Also, a parting gift, from the school." He pulled out a small bundle, wrapped in blue cloth. Holding it out to her with both hands, he bowed his head. "It has been a pleasure to teach you, and to observe your progression into the healer you have become. You were just a child when you came to me. I really did not believe you would succeed, and I am not often wrong. But there it is. Here. Do take it."

Curious, Istara took the bundle from him. Unfolding the material, she found a large golden pendant nestled within, the length of the palm of her hand, shaped in the form of a staff with two serpents twining around it, facing each other. Perplexed, she looked up at him.

He cleared his throat, self-conscious. "It is said to be the ancient sign of the healer, from times long gone, when the hero Gilgamesh lived. A trader from Babylon had it among his treasures. I bought it, two years ago, to give to you upon the completion of your studies. Just a little something, to mark your time with us."

Her eyes drawn back to it, she smiled, delighted. "A wonderful gift, and so unusual. I will cherish it, as I have cherished my time here."

He nodded, brusque once more as he shepherded her to the door. "And for you, my lady, what comes next in your education? There must not be much left for you now?"

Placing the pendant back into its wrapping, Istara sighed. "There is always something to learn. The queen says I must learn Akkadian, though I am not keen to begin. Egyptian was difficult enough to master."

"Ah, but when you are crowned, the time you have spent in learning will be of immense benefit to the empire. Come, it is time for you to return to the royal residence, I have sent for your guards to escort you home. Please know you are always welcome here, your gentle presence soothes us all."

"Thank you, Master Hurik, I will visit as often as I am able." She paused at the door. "Thank you for teaching me the art of healing, it is a skill I have learned to love. I find because of it, my life now holds more meaning than it once did."

He didn't reply, nor did she want him to. She left the building, her guards flanking her, silent, protective. Clasping Hurik's gift in her hands, she began the long walk across the royal citadel to her apartments, lost in her thoughts, oblivious to the warmth of the late afternoon sun on her shoulders-and the children waving to her as she passed them by.

❃

Urhi-Teshub inhaled the familiar leathery scent of the stable yard's office, glad to be home. It had been too long. To think the last time he had been in this cramped room was seven years ago. So much had passed since then. Nerik might still remain in the hands of the Kaskans, but with all the lands surrounding the city now fallen to Hatti, the Kaskans would not hold Nerik much longer. As soon as he could go back, he would finish this long campaign, and retake the holy city. He savored the thought, after more than one hundred years, Hatti would be returned to its former glory.

But, by Sharruma, he was tired, both in body and mind. He could not resent his father's command to return to Tarhuntassa, at least, not yet. After spending years living rough in the mountains, he welcomed the respite of civilization.

He bent over a basin of warm water and washed the dust and grime of the day's travel from his hands. Taking up a linen towel to dry them, he moved to the door of the office and gazed at the bustling palace square, watching as his father's nobles and officials hurried about their business, their advisors and attendants trotting after them to keep up. He smiled, wry, noticing how the years had treated some much better than others, their harried expressions telling him all he needed to know about the current political situation in Tarhuntassa.

A child ran in front of a chariot, making the horses rear, causing a ruckus. Chuckling, he watched the commotion, his hands stilling when a woman knelt before the boy, to check him for injury.

Satisfied he was unharmed, she sent him on his way and continued to walk across the palace square, flanked by two guards, the most beautiful woman Urhi-Teshub had ever seen. She walked on, gazing down at something she held in her hands, a small bundle wrapped in blue cloth, unaware of the admiring stares of those around her.

Intrigued, Urhi-Teshub leaned against the door jamb, his arms folded against his chest, his interest in her heightening. She was too far distant to see well, but her profile was clean enough, her cheekbones defined, her nose straight, and her eyebrows and lashes dark and full. She wore no jewelry; her gown plain, a deep green, edged with gold. Small and fine, her breasts and hips were almost hidden in the folds of her gown. Though she wasn't to his usual taste, he felt himself drawn to her. A servant came up to her, bowing, and held up a message. She took it from him and read it; nodding, she sent him away. Without taking his eyes from her, Urhi-Teshub called one of the guards over.

"Send a messenger to the Lady Astarte's house, asking for that courtesan there in green. I would have her brought to me."

"My lord, which courtesan do you mean?"

"Are you blind?" Urhi-Teshub pointed at her. "There is only one woman wearing green in the whole of the square."

The guard hesitated, uneasy. Urhi-Teshub glared at him. "Has so much time passed since I left men have forgotten how to obey a command?"

The guard glanced at the woman, then down at his feet. "I beg you. Forgive me, Your Highness, but I cannot fulfill your command. She is no courtesan. She lives in the queen's palace."

Urhi-Teshub turned back and watched, curious, as she moved further away, graceful and elegant. He tossed aside the towel and beckoned a messenger over.

Once he had seen his father, he would visit his stepmother, and find out who the woman was. He smiled as the messenger darted through the crowd toward the queen's residence. Tarhuntassa had become interesting indeed.