Palace of Darkness (11 page)

She smiled down on Alexander, then laughed at his wide eyes. He grinned his gap-toothed smile at her. “It is very white!”

Cassia laughed again. She used her fingers to comb his hair to the side. Thankfully, his climb had not dirtied his white tunic. She wished he had finer clothes to appear in the palace. “Are you ready?”

He nodded, and she took a deep breath and started the upward journey to royalty.

Halfway up, on the platform between the two sets of steps, Alexander ran ahead to lay a hand on one of two matching stone blocks that had been placed on either side of the platform. The squared blocks were all of one piece but twice Cassia’s height, and she marveled at the ability of the Petrans to move them to this spot.

“What are they, Mama?”

“They are djinn blocks, where gods reside.”

Alex snatched his hand away and put it behind his back. Cassia reached him and hugged him. “Do not fear, Alexander. The gods are smiling on us today. Come.”

They reached the portico, and Cassia steeled herself for her first encounter with the two slaves who stood on either side of the palace entrance. The lofty arch had an ornately carved lintel above it, more beautiful than any she had ever seen, and to pass under it seemed to her like it would be passing into another world.

She swallowed her fear and lifted her chin, trying to sound as though she had a right to be here. “I have come to see King Rabbel. On an important family matter.”

Both slaves bowed at the waist, then stepped aside to let Alexander and her pass. She looked back and forth at each of them, surprised beyond measure to be treated thus. But they were letting her pass, so she took Alexander’s hand and entered the shadowy front hall of the palace. A shudder passed through her, an evil portent such as she had felt in the Siq.

Another slave met them inside, appearing out of the darkness and startling Cassia. She gripped Alexander’s hand.

The slave dipped his head. “I am to take you to the throne room.” He extended a hand ahead of them.

He is only a slave. You are the mother of the prince!
But the words were hollow even in her own mind. She knew exactly what she was.

Following in the slave’s footsteps, she finally voiced her suspicion. “Are we expected?”

He did not turn. “The queen has been informed of your presence.”

The queen?
So Rabbel had married again after Aretas’s mother, Gamilath, had died. The news raised Cassia’s anxiety. She had hoped to present Rabbel with his grandson, had imagined a tearful reunion of long-lost family. To be ushered to the second wife seemed less promising.

“I wish to see the king.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

The slave said nothing, and they could do nothing but follow. Cassia barely took notice of the palace halls and frantically tried to formulate what she would say to the queen.

They reached the throne room all too soon, passed through its entryway and into the gleaming chamber with its grand fluted columns, shining white. Alexander slowed and Cassia slowed with him, taking in the luxury and wealth of the room. She felt embarrassed of even the yellow silk, and the overwhelming surge of inferiority nearly swept her from her feet.

The slave was behind them now, pushing them forward to the throne, across white marble stones, their square outlines framed in dark mortar. Cassia’s throat felt like hot sand and her eyes burned. She forced her gaze from the floor to the throne.

She had still hoped to find Rabbel in the throne room, but there was no doubt it was the queen who sat there. Every bit of the woman spoke royalty, from her purple robes to her haughty eyes. She had hair the color of raven’s wings, beginning from a delicate point in the center of her forehead and waving away from her face and past her shoulders. She had eyes as dark as her hair and thin bloodred lips. She was easily the most beautiful woman Cassia had ever seen, a beauty that stole one’s breath and made Cassia want to fall to a knee in front of her.

And in fact, she did. Pulling Alex down with her, Cassia bent a knee and lowered her head to the queen, then waited to be summoned to stand. When the instruction came and she lifted her head, Cassia found the queen smiling—but it was a smile that chilled.

Alexander stood as well, and Cassia heard a gasp from the side of the room. She turned to the sound and saw a younger woman, about the same age as she, with dark hair that hung in straight strands about her face. The woman’s gaze was fixed on Alexander, and her lips were slightly parted as though she had received a shock.

The queen, too, had shifted her attention to Alexander, and her look made Cassia queasy.

“I am Hagiru, queen of Nabataea.”

Cassia dipped her head once more. “My name is Cassia.” She hardened her voice until the tremor was gone. “And this is my son, Alexander.” She breathed for a moment. “We have come to see the king.”

Hagiru reclined backward on the throne and watched them through lowered eyelids. “The king is unavailable. You may speak with me.”

Cassia met the queen’s stare. Speaking to Rabbel would be far better, but what choice did she have? She was in no position to make demands. “I have brought the king’s grandson.” She rested her hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “This is the son of his son, Aretas.”

The queen’s expression did not change, which could mean only one thing: she had foreknowledge of the claim. How had the news traveled so fast? Was it the people she met in Zeta’s home? Had one of them run ahead with a choice bit of gossip?

“Impossible.” For all the queen’s haughtiness, it was clear she did not believe her own words. “Aretas is dead.”

Cassia lowered her gaze. “That is true. But he has been dead these fifteen days only. Before that we were living in Damascus.”

“And we are to believe that
you
were his wife?” The disdain dripped from her voice.

Cassia hesitated, closed her eyes briefly. “Yes. And Alexander—”

“Impossible!” The queen waved the young woman forward from where she stood near the wall. “This is Bethea. She is Aretas’s wife.”

Cassia’s knees wobbled for the first time since entering, and she felt Alexander’s eyes turn upward to her. At only six years old, he was still old enough to understand. She had kept the truth from him all his life. But today was a new beginning, and beginnings were sometimes painful. She lifted her chin.

“It is true. I was not his wife. Aretas—acquired me—some years ago. But that does not change the fact that Alexander is his son.”

The queen waved her hand as though Cassia were an annoying insect plaguing her. “We have no reason to believe you. Already you admit that you are a liar. Take your misbegotten son and leave.”

But Cassia’s feet remained rooted to the marble floor. She was not leaving yet. “I am not lying—”

The sudden shuffle of slaves to her right silenced her. A man entered, largely built, with a frame that had at one time been muscular, no doubt, but had since turned to extra weight. He walked slowly, with the gait of royalty, but Cassia also sensed physical weakness. It took her only a fraction of a moment to see Aretas in the man’s features.

The Nabataean king, Rabbel.

Cassia’s heart thudded in relief, and with the anticipation of this next encounter.

In front of her, Hagiru vacated the throne, clearly reluctant to do so, but necessitated by protocol. Two slaves brought another, smaller chair and set it beside the carved throne, but she did not sit. Instead, she stepped down from the platform, passing Rabbel on his way up, and acknowledged him with a nod. “You do not look well today, my
king.” Her lips pursed. “Perhaps you would be wise to stay in your bedchamber.”

Cassia used her ability to read the three principal characters in the drama before her. From Rabbel she sensed apathy toward the queen. From Hagiru, disdain for her husband and the girl. And the girl, Aretas’s wife . . . a seething jealousy.

Rabbel shook his head, reached his throne, then turned and sat heavily. His gaze traveled across the room, as though he assessed the state of his kingdom by the activity in the chamber. His attention came to rest on Cassia, and his eyebrows lifted slightly with an interest men often showed in her body. She tried to smile. He shifted his attention to Alexander.

Cassia did not expect such a reaction. The king’s face drained of color, then flushed red. His jaw fell open, and he gripped the arms of the throne as though he feared he would be knocked from it.

“Who . . . who is this?” His glance flicked between Cassia and Alexander.

“Some slave girl.” Hagiru stepped in front of Alexander to block him from the king’s view. “Trying to swindle the throne—”

“My name is Cassia. And this is your grandson, Alexander.” Cold sweat broke over her neck, but she did not drop her gaze from the king. This was her moment and she would do what it took, for Alex’s sake.

The king looked to Alexander again and he breathed heavily.

Alexander, oblivious to the drama, peeked from behind the queen to get a better look at the man on the throne.

“She has no proof—” Hagiru was saying, but Rabbel raised a hand and the queen went silent.

“The proof stands before me.” His voice was heartbreakingly soft. “It is like my own Aretas, come back at last.” His words caught with emotion, and Cassia felt a rush of joy and pride.

“Come here, son.” Rabbel extended his arms.

Alexander looked to Cassia, and she nodded, smiling. He hid his face against her hip. Cassia patted his back. “Go.”

Hesitantly, Alexander climbed the few steps to the platform and walked to the throne. When he was still a few steps away, Rabbel leaned forward, gathered him up in his arms, and crushed the boy to his chest.

Tears spilled from Cassia’s eyes and tracked down her cheeks. An immediate sense of belonging here in Rabbel’s palace washed over her, despite the queen’s angry presence.

Hagiru made a little sound, low in her throat, and when Cassia turned to her, the hatred in her eyes was palpable.

Alexander sat on Rabbel’s lap. Hagiru circled around Cassia, sizing her up like a piece of market meat. “I hope you have not forgotten what trouble Aretas caused here, Rabbel—”

“My son?” The king’s attention was on Cassia. “He is here as well?”

Cassia wiped her tears with the back of her hand and lowered her eyes. “I am sorry, my king. Aretas died fifteen days ago, in Damascus. He told me of his family here in Petra, and I came, hoping to find a home for my son.”

Hagiru snorted. “Yes, I am certain you did.”

Cassia lifted her gaze to the queen. “Aretas did not tell me his father was the king.” Her voice took on strength. “I came hoping only for a good family, an honest place to make a home.” She looked back to Rabbel and nearly regretted her words, seeing the pain that Aretas’s denial of his family caused his father.

“So”—Hagiru still paced around Cassia—“we have the concubine of the rebellious son and their child. We should throw them both out, Rabbel.”

But the queen was beaten already. Rabbel had not taken his arm
from around Alexander and barely heard his wife’s speech, so taken was he with his grandson.

Hagiru must have sensed it too. Her features took on a harder edge and she faced Cassia. Her dark eyes burned and Cassia felt a coldness burrow through her body, as though the queen were chilling her from the inside out with only a look. Evil flared in the gaze that Cassia did not fully understand.

Another boy ran in at that moment, a few years older than Alexander, and bounded toward the throne. He stopped, surprise painting his features when he saw Alexander on Rabbel’s knee.

Hagiru went to the boy at once and put her arm around his shoulders. He twisted from her grasp.

“It appears this is your nephew, Obadas. Your brother Aretas’s son.”

Cassia tried to assimilate this new appearance. Clearly this boy was far younger than Aretas, too young to be his brother. And Malik had said the king’s first wife, Gamilath, died many years ago. The boy had to be . . .
Hagiru
’s son.

And then the pieces fell into place.

TWELVE

T
HE TRUTH OF THE SITUATION HIT
C
ASSIA LIKE A BLOW
.
With no heir present from the first queen and the first son, Aretas, Obadas was heir to Rabbel’s throne. But Alexander . . .

Alexander was the eldest son of the eldest son. A direct line, and one that bypassed Hagiru’s son.

And Hagiru.

The realization sent another chill through her. She and Hagiru were rivals of a sort, both mothers of royal princes. Alexander’s claim was greater, and in one way it put Cassia in a position above Hagiru. The thought weakened her knees and made her sweat. The queen was clearly not a woman to relinquish power.

Hagiru was speaking, and Cassia tried to follow the exchange in spite of her turbulent thoughts.

“The Romans are on our doorstep, Rabbel. Waiting to swallow all of Nabataea and make it one of their provinces. It is not a time to appear divided. The boy will make us seem weak, uncertain about the future of our kingdom.”

Rabbel shook his head. “You would have me cast out the boy,
as though he were nothing? You know I have long desired to have Aretas back in Petra where he belonged.” His voice wavered again, and Cassia felt a wash of pity for the man who had just learned his son would never return home.