City of Tarhuntassa, Late Autumn. Reign of Muwatallis, Year 19

Never before had Tanu-Hepa sent for Istara in the middle of the night. In her haste to obey, Istara had forgotten to put her hair up, and had had to braid it as she ran across the silent gardens. At least none but her guards had seen her. Tucking away a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, she waited for the guard to push open the door to the queen's shadowy sleeping room. The guard backed away, his eyes lowered. Inside, on one of the side tables, the tenuous flame of a single lamp flickered. A soft sob slid out from the funereal quiet. Uneasy, Istara entered and knelt. The door closed, quiet, behind her.

Within one of the alcoves, obscured by the purple hangings drifting in the night's warm breeze, she glimpsed Tanu-Hepa, kneeling on a divan. The queen gazed through a lattice-covered opening toward the inky black sky, its canopy glittering with the cold white light of stars. She turned.

"Istara--" Her voice cracked. A tear slipped free.

Istara hastened to her, taking the queen's hand into her own, fearful. Never before had she seen Tanu-Hepa so undone.

"The courtesan from Byblos everyone speaks of," Tanu-Hepa began without preamble, her eyes returning to the stars, "you have seen her?"

"Only at the Court of the Sun," Istara replied, cautious.

Tanu-Hepa's gaze flicked back to her, sharp. "And is she as beautiful as the rumors say?"

Istara closed her eyes. She nodded. Silence fell, for a long time.

"And does the king parade her at court as though she is already his queen?" Tanu-Hepa finally asked.

Istara flinched, disturbed by the queen's directness. She shifted. Tanu-Hepa tightened her grip on her hand, holding her fast.

"Even though I have been barred from court for all but the most important religious ceremonies," she said, taut, "I still hear things. I must have the truth, from the only person I trust. Does he love her?"

Uncomfortable, Istara looked away.

"Your silence only prolongs my suffering," Tanu-Hepa murmured.

"I cannot say if he loves her," Istara replied, choosing her next words with care, "but there can be no doubt she has found great favor with him. I have heard rumors she is not even from Byblos, but Egypt, banished from Pharaoh's court for trying to usurp the first queen's place."

Tanu-Hepa laughed, a sharp, brittle sound. She left the alcove and poured herself a cup of wine, her hands trembling. Without drinking, she set the cup aside and fiddled with its stem. "He will send me away," she murmured, bleak. "I have dreamed of it many times since the summer. Tonight's dream was the most vivid. Soon he will banish me. Now I am certain of it."

Istara blinked, taken aback, for a heartbeat convinced the queen spoke the truth. She had seen the way Muwatallis behaved with his whore. At the last banquet, while fully drunk, he had placed his own crown on her head.

"He cannot," she said, recovering her composure, recalling that to remove a queen guilty of no crime, laws would have to be broken. Even a king couldn't overcome those. "It is unthinkable. You are Hatti's queen, crowned twice over, chosen by the gods. No whore could ever take your place. My lady, none love her, she is a cruel, grasping, conniving woman. She has no ability whatever to rule beside the king. She is a temporary distraction, nothing more. It will pass."

Tanu-Hepa sank onto a divan and sipped her wine. Her gaze strayed to the tangled, twisted linens on her bed, evidence to the depth of her distressing dream.

"I hope with all my heart you are right. For it to end as I have dreamed, to be put on trial and stripped of my titles--" She shuddered and took another sip. "To be sent to Alasiya to live out my days alone, friendless and humiliated. Every night, to dream of him loving another, after all the time I have loved him and waited for him." Fresh tears slid, silent, down Tanu-Hepa's face. She looked up at Istara, desperate. "I loved him from the first time I saw him, when I was forced to marry his father, nineteen years older than me, who never loved me or wanted me. In those days, when Asuru still lived, Muwatallis was different. I know the love Muwatallis is capable of, have been waiting for him to see me, to love me . . . to think he could love that whore instead of me. It is unbearable, it is--"

Tanu-Hepa folded into herself, crying in earnest. Istara took her in her arms and held her. Despite her certainty, dread touched her heart. What if Tanu-Hepa's dreams were true? What would happen if Hatti's queen was sent away? Would the gods punish Hatti? What legacy would Muwatallis leave Urhi-Teshub?

Istara stopped herself. It was the darkest time of the night when the mind lay vulnerable to its deepest fears. She had learned enough from her study of medicine to know a healthy mind kept irrational thoughts from taking root, else madness soon followed.

She kissed Tanu-Hepa's hands, murmuring soon the sun would rise and life in Tarhuntassa would go on. Nothing would change. It had been a night terror, nothing more. Tanu-Hepa could never lose her crown, because she was blameless. There was nothing Muwatallis could accuse her of. Nothing.

❃

Urhi-Teshub set his cup aside and met his father's unyielding, determined gaze. "What you ask of me, to speak against Tanu-Hepa, to charge her with treason . . . "

"Tell me," his father leaned forward, intent, folding his ringed fingers together, "are you able to sit before me and say with a clear heart you have not seen the signs yourself? Of her allying herself with the houses of the north to raise her son above you as rightful heir to Hatti's throne?

Urhi-Teshub searched his memories. When he had last been fighting at Nerik, he had heard vague rumors his birth mother's powerful family had been courting allies with bribes and favors across the north and east, but he had dismissed it, believing it to be stale information. For almost ten years they had sought to gather support to rise against his uncle Hattusilis, who had taken over their seat of power when Hatti's capital was moved from Hattusa to Tarhuntassa. But what his father was suggesting. No. It couldn't be.

He caught his father watching him, shrewd. It would be a disturbing development if his mother's family had aligned themselves with Tanu-Hepa and her son. Such an alignment would lead to nothing less than all out civil war-with Urhi-Teshub trapped in the middle.

He shook his head. "In truth, I have not seen or heard anything myself."

"Tanu-Hepa is clever," his father grunted, conceding. "But not clever enough. Last week, Hattusilis's spies intercepted a letter to her from your cousin. It makes grim reading. Your own blood has turned against you to support your half-brother Lubarna's claim to the throne."

Thinking of the close friendship he had developed with his cousin Sippaziti during their campaigns against the Kaskans, Urhi-Teshub dismissed his father's words. "I cannot believe it. Sippaziti would never turn against me. The letter cannot be legitimate"

"Sippaziti's seal is the first upon the letter," his father answered, stony, "then your grandfather's, followed by every one of your uncles'. They are unanimous in proclaiming their allegiance to Lubarna."

His head beginning to ache, Urhi-Teshub closed his eyes. He massaged his temples. It was a nightmare. If it was true, he would be forced to stand against his stepmother, banishing her from the empire, in an attempt to bring Hatti back from precipice of war. He looked up at his father.

"I would see the letter."

His father rose, his tread heavy as he moved across the thick rugs of his office to one of the cupboards. Lifting out a leather scroll case, he brought it back to the table. "Beware," he said as he held it out, "what lies within is certain to take away your peace. I would prefer it if you took my word, as your father and king, but if you must see for yourself, I will not attempt to stop you."

Urhi-Teshub took the case and placed it on the table. He stared at it the ties holding the leather flap closed, hesitating, debating whether to open it or not, his emotions churning, angry, confused.

"They are my kin, my blood," he said, unable to understand. "Asuru was your wife. She gave birth to me. Why would they turn against me now, after all these years? Why challenge my right to the throne? What ill deed have I ever done to them? It is I who led them in those endless campaigns, living in the wilderness for years on end, driving back the Kaskans, bringing peace and prosperity to their lands. It makes no sense for them to repay me this way."

"The ill deed may be mine," his father answered as he gazed at the wall, thoughtful, his hands on his hips. "For these last ten years, your family has continually resented my decision to take away their seat of power in Hakpis. Of course I gave them other, lesser cities to administer, but it seems they have not been satisfied."

Urhi-Teshub looked back down at the scroll case. "Then if this is their grievance, why now and not ten years ago?" he erupted, frustrated. "Sippaziti knows my plans, we have talked of it often enough, sitting by my campfire, how once I am crowned I plan to move the capital back to Hattusa. If they had asked, I would have returned Hakpis to them."

Silence fell. "And what of your uncle Hattusilis, once you have taken his seat of power from him?" his father asked, his voice low, dangerous.

Urhi-Teshub glanced up, wary. "Hattusilis may move south and administer Tarhuntassa, a far better prize than Hakpis by any calculation."

"Your uncle does not want Tarhuntassa," his father said, soft, though his words sliced through the air, sharp as blades. "He will not give up Hakpis without a fight."

Taken aback, Urhi-Teshub digested the veiled threat. "He cannot disobey a king's command."

"You would take away what your father, the king, has given his brother?" His father's eyes narrowed, hostile.

His instincts prickling, Urhi-Teshub fell silent. Dark suspicions rose, circling him. There was more to the accusation against Tanu-Hepa than he was being led to believe. Lifting up the scroll case, he pulled the leather ties apart, determined to see for himself what his cousin had written to his stepmother.

He read through the letter once, twice, then a third time, searching for something, anything to confirm his suspicions. His eyes raked over the sentences, desperate to find the evidence he knew would be there. The words were damning, unequivocal, treasonous. Who would write such a thing, trusting it would not be discovered? It was too dangerous.

He skimmed over his cousin's seal, then stopped. He stared at it. It was not his cousin's seal, or at least it was not his most recent one. His cousin had added a trident to the hand of one of the hunters just this past summer to mark their triumph over Nerik, something Urhi-Teshub had been against, since they had not yet taken the city. He lifted his eyes to his father's and rose to his feet, quivering, furious.

"You would have me stand in court against an innocent woman, banishing her for a crime she has never committed and condemn my entire family to their deaths?" he asked, his voice rising, outraged, uncaring of who heard. He threw the letter down, his hand going to the hilt of his dagger, ignoring the four Mesedi guards approaching him, prepared to protect the king to their deaths. "There is no crime, apart from this heinous forgery."

"You dare speak to your king thus?" His father waved the Mesedi back, scornful. "Do not tempt me; I can clip your wings until they bleed."

"Then do so," Urhi-Teshub said, his fingers tightening on the hilt of his dagger. "For I will never be a part of this."

"If you do not stand in court against Tanu-Hepa," his father said, his lips thin, "and support my charges against her, I will name Hattusilis my heir. He will stand with me. His testimony as Hatti's next king will be enough to condemn her."

Stunned, Urhi-Teshub stared at his father. "Have you lost your senses? Hattusilis is hated in the north; you would only give the northern houses a genuine reason to rebel and rally to me."

His father scoffed, dismissive, continuing, cold, "Think well before you answer, for this is your last chance. Do you stand with me or not?"

"She must ride you well, your Byblos whore, for you to accuse your queen of treason," Urhi-Teshub said, disgusted. "I will stand against you, for as long as I live."

His father roared, furious. He hefted the table up and shoved it over, sending its contents clattering against the wall. "So be it," he bellowed, spittle flying from his lips. "Hattusilis shall inherit Hatti's throne. Get out of my sight. I will not see you again."

Urhi-Teshub stood his ground, rigid, his own anger riding him hard. "As you wish, but I will never again bend my knee to your tyranny, or to my uncle. Teshub will protect me, for I am the rightful heir to Hatti's throne. I leave tonight."

❃

Istara smiled as Anash ran ahead into the writing room, she knew their routine well. Their afternoon walk over, Istara lay her cloak across the back of the divan and took a seat at her desk. Taking a sip of spiced wine, Istara waited for Anash to settle by her feet before beginning the translation of the three Akkadian tablets left for her by her tutor. Halfway through the first one, Anash stood up, her tail thumping against the desk's leg.

Gazing at a difficult portion, trying to puzzle out its meaning, Istara reached down, patting Anash, distracted. "Anash, lay down."

Ignoring her, Anash pushed out past her legs, whining. Istara turned around.

Her husband stood inside the door, gazing down at Anash, his expression distant and troubled. Istara came to her feet, apprehension clinging to her, they hadn't been alone together since the morning after their wedding night. Before she could ask why he had come to her, he crossed the space and took her hands in his, his grip so tight, it hurt.

"I must leave. Tonight," he said, his voice clipped and rigid. "I would have you come with me. It will not be safe for you to remain here without me."

"What--"

"My father intends to banish Tanu-Hepa on false charges of treason," he continued, his words coming out hard and jagged. "He has forged a letter from my family implicating her in raising support for Lubarna's claim as rightful heir."

Istara staggered. Tanu-Hepa had dreamed true, and she had told the queen her fears were nothing more than night terrors. She pulled free and rushed to the door. "I must go to her and warn her."

Urhi-Teshub caught her arm, holding her back. "For your own safety, do not. Tanu-Hepa's fate is sealed, before the winter solstice she will be condemned and banished to Alasiya. Though I tried, I cannot stop this, even to the cost of my accession."

Istara stared at him. "Has the king gone mad?" she exclaimed, incredulous. "Who will take the throne if not you?"

Urhi-Teshub looked away, his profile etched with tension. "His brother, who seems more than willing to aid him in his treachery."

"Hattusilis. Ever the devious one," she scoffed, bitter, thinking how easily he had convinced Muwatallis to slaughter her mother all those years ago. Her husband's eyes came to hers, haunted. Uncomfortable, she averted her gaze and pulled free from his grip. "Where shall you go, what will you do?"

"I have sent messages to my mother's kin, warning them of my father's intentions, commanding them to gather their men and meet me in Karchemish." His hands slid up to her shoulders. "With all my heart, I would have you leave with me. If you will, then I will carry you to Kadesh, where you will be safe if Hatti falls to civil war. To leave you behind in this nest of vipers, alone and unprotected--" He turned away, unwilling to continue.

She went to her desk, her gaze falling to her unfinished work. Emptiness snatched at her as she traced the undeciphered cuneiform symbols--her efforts made redundant by the temporary lust of one man. No longer was she Hatti's queen-in-waiting. All her preparations, her memorization of protocol and ritual, her years of education, all of it had been for nothing unless Urhi-Teshub won his inheritance back.

She turned, catching her estranged husband watching her, waiting. She knew his thoughts. With Tanu-Hepa banished and himself standing against his father, Tarhuntassa would be unsafe for her, even dangerous.

Once again, just as when she was a child in Kadesh, her life and her path were being decided by powerful men without any regard for her feelings. A token, to be moved according to their will, or even tossed away, as was being done to Tanu-Hepa. Istara's heart constricted. She would not even have the chance to say goodbye to the woman she loved; two mothers lost in eleven years, because of Muwatallis. Her stomach clenched as old resentments, long suppressed, reignited. He would pay for this. One day, she would make him pay, twice over.

Urhi-Teshub's gaze moved to one of the braziers, his hand rasping over the stubble on his jaw. She knew his request was nothing more than politesse. If she refused, he would have to force her to come with him; he was oath-bound to protect her.

She sighed, grateful at least for the dignity he had afforded her in allowing her to consent despite his own turmoil, and for the respite of returning her to her father and home. He could have sent her to Babylon. Instead he had chosen to keep her close and among those she loved. He thought of her welfare, even now, when he had lost everything. It counted for much.

She touched the pendant Hurik had given her, glad she had worn it today. She went to her cupboard and pulled out a dozen fat scrolls, filled with medical notes and packed them into a satchel. Hefting out her box of tinctures and ointments, she placed the satchel on top. She held the box out to Urhi-Teshub. He took it, hope igniting in his eyes.

Calling to Anash, she pulled the door open and collected her cloak. She nodded at her husband, still waiting, holding her medicine box, uncertain.

"I am ready," she said. "Please, take me home."