With Anash beside her, Istara entered her father's lavish dining room. He looked up from his mid-morning meal. "Daughter," he said, leaving the table to embrace her. "Come, sit. Have you eaten yet?"

"I am not hungry," she answered, suppressing a gag as the sharp tang of fried mullet reached her nostrils.

"No, I imagine you must not be." He poured her a drink. "Are you able to take a little wine?"

She accepted the cup, but could not bring herself to drink; she set it aside, untouched. Sensing her mistress's unhappiness, Anash pressed her nose against Istara's thigh. Istara stroked the dog's face, remembering when Urhi-Teshub had brought Anash from the north in a basket, a wiggling little puppy. It seemed a lifetime ago. Was he different then, or had he always been violent and dark, keeping his true nature hidden from her? Perhaps his predilections were the real reason he had not wished to marry her, or why he had not come to her on their wedding night, perhaps he feared what he would do to her--

"I could send you to Egypt. You would never have to see him again."

Startled, Istara looked up, catching the set of her father's jaw as he swallowed the last of his wine, the hardness in his eyes.

"Ramesses will just send me back," Istara sighed. "He will want no part of this."

Her father made a sound of annoyance. "You are probably right. Muwatallis was clever to marry you to his son, ensuring Kadesh could never escape Hatti's leash." He paced the room, agitated. "Ah! How I wish to be free of that tyrant and repay him for the crimes he has committed against us, for what he did to Azfar--"

A knock came to the door. Her father looked back, irritated, as his steward entered.

"Your Majesty, the Crown Prince of Hatti has requested an audience."

Istara met her father's eyes, and saw the question in his. She inclined her head. She would stay.

"Send him in," her father said, tight.

The steward left. They waited, tense. Footfalls approached. Istara recognized Urhi-Teshub's tread-strong, determined, purposeful. Nervous, she rose, hating herself for feeling the old, familiar thrill of anticipation he ignited within her. Until this morning, she hadn't seen him in almost nine months. Their journey to Kadesh had helped repair some of the damage between them, but Istara had kept herself aloof, unwilling to let him hurt her again. Then, there had been the letters.

Over the months, safe in Kadesh, her heart had begun to thaw, caught by the romance of his words. And when she heard he had returned, despite the lateness of the hour, she had put on her best dress and made her way to his apartment. When he did not answer, she realized he might be coming to her. She had hastened back to her rooms but the knock never came. Now she knew why.

The door opened. Urhi-Teshub's gaze went to her, enigmatic. Her heart betrayed her, beating faster, drawn to the familiar smooth planes of his jaw and the curve of his lips--the corners turned down ever since they fled Tarhuntassa. Despite herself, she admired his long dark hair, tied back in a leather thong, and his powerful, muscled body clad in leather and bristling with weapons; his two handed sword strapped to his back, its hilt rising above his left shoulder, the grip wrapped in strips of oiled goatskin. She hated herself for her reaction. How could she still long for him when she knew what he was capable of?

He inclined his head to her, then bowed to her father. "Your Majesty," he said, his deep voice sending a fresh, treacherous thrill through Istara's breast. "I come to request your permission to depart from Kadesh. I must travel to Babylon."

"Indeed?" Her father raised an eyebrow. "And what takes you all the way to Babylon?"

"My lord," Urhi-Teshub stepped closer to her father, "may I suggest we hold our interview in private?"

"You may not," her father answered, abrupt. "Istara is my daughter and your wife. She is entitled to remain here with us, unless what you have to say concerns your gross indiscretion with my sister?"

The muscles in Urhi-Teshub's jaw twitched. "It does not. It has to do with matters of state, and of my father's command."

"I see." Her father eyed him, cold. "One failed attempt to stand against him and you crawl back, a whipped cur."

Urhi-Teshub crossed his arms. "You hate me, and with good reason. I violated your sister, and dishonored your daughter. I accept your abhorrence, even welcome it, for I deserve nothing less. But know this, even though my father believes he has brought me back under his heel, I intend to rise again and continue my fight. I will have my throne, and Kadesh can help me."

Her father barked a derisive laugh. "Your arrogance is astounding. It is clear who sired you. To suggest such a thing after what you have done. I would rather become a vassal of Ashur than lift a finger to aid someone like you."

"As would I, in your place," agreed Urhi-Teshub, unprovoked by the insults. "But, if you support me, once I am crowned I will leave you in peace to rule your kingdom. I have no interest in holding on to Kadesh."

A tense silence fell as her father considered. He nodded, terse. "Say what you have to say."

Urhi-Teshub hesitated. He turned. "I beg you, Istara, please leave us. I would not--"

"She stays," her father interrupted, "if she wishes to. You have kept enough from her already. Daughter?"

Istara sank onto her seat. "I will stay."

"So be it." Urhi-Teshub muttered. "My lord, next summer, my father intends to confront Egypt once more, here at Kadesh. He has commanded me to remind you of your allegiance to Hatti's throne."

"Our formal allegiance is still with Egypt," her father replied, his expression hardening, uncompromising. "Kadesh can provide supplies to Hatti, but my men are still oath bound to support Ramesses."

"I cannot be explicit enough what your role will be," Urhi-Teshub persisted, stubborn. "You must deceive Ramesses into believing you will support him. But, when the day comes, you will ride with Hatti. If you do not, there will be severe consequences."

"I will not," her father erupted, bridling. "You may tell your father Kadesh stands with Ramesses, and to the Under Realm with his consequences."

"You will oblige," Urhi-Teshub answered, dogged, "for if you do not, the cost will be too great to bear."

Her father glared at him, unimpressed. "He threatens to destroy Kadesh? Let him try, we are Ramesses's vassal. Egypt will defend us."

"It will not be Kadesh who will pay, but another." Urhi-Teshub said, low. He looked down and traced the binding scar across his palm.

Stricken, her father stared at Urhi-Teshub then at Istara. "No, it cannot be."

Frightened, Istara watched them, desperate for one of them to break the lengthening silence. She rose, unsteady, filled with apprehension. "Muwatallis will send me to the gods if Kadesh does not support him against Egypt?"

The silence deepened. "No. I will." Urhi-Teshub finally said, soft. "If I do not, my father has vowed to execute all my supporters and their families. I swear, if it must be done, I will use the same blade to end my own life and follow you into the Under Realm. I will not leave you alone."

Istara choked, incredulous. Sinking down onto her knees, she stared at the stone-flagged floor, numb, disbelieving. Urhi-Teshub knelt beside her. His hand touched hers, uncertain. She pulled away, burying her hands in the folds of her gown, unable to bear his touch.

Her father cleared his throat. "It seems, as usual, we have no choice," he said, quiet. "Whatever he asks, Muwatallis shall have it. Kadesh will obey. But tell me, how does any of this help you in the fight for your throne?"

Urhi-Teshub turned back to her father. "My father intends to use my cousin Sippaziti and uncle Teresh as misinformers on the day of the battle. To ensure they do not fail, he has imprisoned their wives and children, vowing their lives will be forfeit if they do not convince Ramesses of my father's deception."

"But Ramesses will torture and kill them," her father said, perplexed. "What deception could be so important it must come at the cost of men's lives?"

"Their deaths will convince Ramesses our armies are still in Aleppo," Urhi-Teshub said, expressionless.

"And," her father asked, narrowing his eyes, suspicious, "where will Hatti's armies be?"

Urhi-Teshub crossed his arms, his muscles rippling under his leather armbands. "Waiting in the valley on the other side of the river behind the ridge," he answered, "ready to ambush Ramesses as he encamps his division, alone and separated from the rest of his army." He lowered his voice. "Make no mistake, my father intends a slaughter. None are to survive--not even the pharaoh."

Horrified, Istara came to her feet. "Your father cannot force honorable men to take part in such a dishonorable act!"

Urhi-Teshub shrugged, resigned. "I have come to learn my father has no honor. You should expect this, and much worse from him in the days to come."

Her father broke the troubled silence. "And Babylon?"

"I must go to recruit mercenaries," Urhi-Teshub answered, "but while I am there I will seek King Kadashman-Turgu's support, as I now seek yours. Karchemish supports me still. I am not quite alone, and after the crimes my father intends to commit here next year, I believe the tides will turn in my favor."

"And why you must be seen as the obedient, chastened son until then," her father murmured. He nodded, slow. "A treacherous and dangerous path to navigate. So be it. Kadesh will stand with you."

Urhi-Teshub bowed his head, and murmured his thanks. Istara expected him to leave. He did not. He hesitated. Her father raised his brow.

"Is there something else, Prince of Hatti?"

"There is," Urhi-Teshub said as he knelt before Istara. "My lady, it is my great regret to have lost so much at Karchemish because of my haste. I shall not make the same mistake again." He leaned toward her, his elbow on his knee, his leather armor creaking. "I cannot bear to leave you as things are between us, so I must ask, will you support me after all I have done to you, or are my crimes so great, you no longer wish to remain by my side?"

Stunned, Istara sank to the floor. "You would let me go?"

"It would grieve me hard to lose you," he admitted, a look of remorse slicing across his face, "but neither will I force you to remain by my side as my wife if you no longer wish it."

She stared at him, taken aback, the only purpose she had was to be his queen. Without it, who was she? He looked down. A thought slid through her mind, dark, insidious. She pushed to her feet, jealousy clawing at her.

"Or perhaps you have found another," she said, cold, "someone who suits your tastes better than I?"

"There is only you," he said, his eyes meeting hers, sincere. "I did not make this offer because I wish for another. I swear it."

"As you swore there would never be another woman?" she blurted out, bitter.

He lunged to his feet, agitated. "I admit I made a terrible mistake, one I will regret for the rest of my life. I sought to remedy it by offering you your freedom, but I have failed you so much, now you only see evil in me--" He stopped, at a loss for words.

She waited, saying nothing, watching him, suspicious.

"Come with me," he reached for her hand. "I have a gift for you, from Karchemish. Let me at least prove to you it has always been you I have thought of. Always."

She pulled back. "Apart from last night, that is."

"I remained true to you!" he bellowed, frustrated. He stalked across the room, his voice rising, sharp, aggravated. "I ignored the women who came to me in Karchemish, wanting no one but you. Rhoha sent a message, pretending to be you waiting for me. I came to meet you, Istara. You! She seduced me. The whole night was nothing like I have ever known before. I only wish to forget, and never think of it again."

Seething, Istara stepped toward him. "Only a coward would blame a woman for his actions. You could have walked away, but you did not. You stayed with her. All night."

Her father's hand touched her arm, holding her back. "Do not be so quick to discount Rhoha's abilities," he said, quiet. "As Ba'al's consort, she is able to practice powerful sorcery. Though I am loathe to speak of it, she once came to me deep in the night. Under her influence, I lost my senses, reveling in her depravity and my brutality. When she left, the spell ended and I became myself again. Everything we touched, I burned. I have never allowed myself to be alone with her again."

Aghast, Istara stared at her father. "Since then," he continued, uneasy. "I have learned her body belongs to Ba'al. His cravings have turned her into what she has become, sick, insatiable, and addicted to pain. She is lost, a slave to Ba'al's desires."

Urhi-Teshub moved back to join them. "I knew I was not myself," he muttered, relieved. "I have not been able to find peace, so deep has been my torment over what I became with her. I could not believe I was that man."

"Under her spell," her father resumed, disgust turning his mouth downward, "Ba'al overcomes you, experiencing her through you. It is he who is that man, not you. It is he she is fornicating with, who she longs for, night and day."

Urhi-Teshub shuddered, his face tight with revulsion. An uncomfortable silence settled over the room; Istara's thoughts spun away, clashing, conflicted, as she tried to make sense of her father's words. Anash stood up, whimpering for attention. Istara patted her, distracted.

"I hear Rhoha has proclaimed she will give birth to your son who will be your only heir," her father said as he poured himself a fresh cup of wine. He drained it and gazed into the empty cup, continuing, thoughtful. "In all the time she has been Kadesh's high priestess, Rhoha has never been wrong. Should this come to pass, it would give her immeasurable power over you, and one day, over all of Hatti."

"By all the gods, I will not allow it," Urhi-Teshub vowed, angry. "If your daughter will remain with me, I will make certain we will have sons enough of our own." His eyes came to Istara's once more, his torment plain. "I beg you, what is your answer? Will you remain with me, or have I lost you?"

"I must have time to consider," Istara answered, longing to escape, to have time to think.

"I can delay my departure until tomorrow morning," he said, taut.

"Then come to me this evening," she sighed, "and you shall have your answer."

She left them, her heart battered, exhausted. There was only one place she could go, where she would be able to find refuge from her inner storm. She would go to Baalat's sanctuary, and pray.