Books by Maggie Shayne (323 page)

She simply nodded and watched him go.

“So,” she said to George, who had taken a seat beside her, and was staring at her oddly, “who is this... Sheila?”

George smiled. “She’s Nathan’s friend, just like me. She lives here, does the cooking, and takes care of the flowers, and things like that. She’s an awfully good cook, you know.”

“Is she?” So some woman lived here with Natum. Nidaba wondered what that signified, and then wondered why she cared. “I am starving nearly to death. I would love to sample some of her cooking.”

George looked at the floor. “We could... go to the kitchen and get some ... but the cellar door is still open, and I don’t know what happened down there.”

Nidaba frowned. “Something happened in the cellar?”

Nodding, George cast a nervous glance toward the closed library door. “Sheila was down there screaming. And the lights wouldn’t work. And then Nathan went down to see what was wrong. And then he came running back up, pulling Sheila behind him, and he told me to get her to her room, and then he ran up the stairs again. I don’t know what happened. But something sure scared Sheila pretty bad.”

“It scared you too, didn’t it, George?”

He bit his lip and picked at his sweater.

“Maybe we don’t need to go to the kitchen,” Nidaba said, feeling sorry for him. Feeling almost... protective of him, if that wasn’t the strangest thing in the world. It wasn’t like her to go soft over mortals. But this one ... well, he’d touched something inside her. “Isn’t there any food any where else in this house?”

George’s looked up and smiled. “There’s a fruit bowl in the living room!”

“Then let’s go to the living room,” she suggested.

Still grinning, George swooped down on her like the world’s clumsiest hawk, awkwardly lifting her up into the air. When she protested, he said, “Nathan said for you to stay off your feet.” Then he carried her right out of the library, through a formal dining room, and into a wide parlor with a fireplace on one side and exquisite antique furnishings all around.

None of that caught her eye, though. What caught her attention was the painting—larger than life—above the mantel. An image of a woman in the unmistakable white gown and headpiece of a Sumerian High Priestess of Inanna. She stood in the desert, amid ruins of once great towers, with her arms extended up toward the giant moon. Crescent-shaped moonbeams reflected from her black eyes, and a nimbus of light surrounded her. As if she truly were some sort of divine being. “It’s ... me,” she whispered.

“Yeah. I thought so too, but Nathan wouldn’t admit it,” George said, plunking her down into an armchair. He reached out for a bowl of fruit and set it in her lap.

Narrowing her eyes, Nidaba tried to make out the signature that was barely visible in the left corner, hidden within the swirling strands of long black hair. Eventually she saw it. But it was made up of lines in the shape of the old cuneiform script, rather than any modern alphabet, and appeared to the casual observer to be no more than swirls in the blowing sand. But she was no casual observer. The symbols stood for his name: Eannatum.

A scratching sound drew her head around. George leapt to his feet, his face lighting up as he lumbered unevenly toward the closed door.

“George, don’t—” Nidaba began, but even before she could finish the sentence, George was opening the door.

Nidaba tensed ... then relaxed as a beautiful, sleek-coated dog dove through the door, leaping on George, and licking his hands. George fell to his knees, hugging and petting the animal. “Oh, Queenie, I’m so glad you came home!” he said, laughing.

Nidaba couldn’t help but smile at the two of them as she bit into a gleaming red apple. “You mean she’s been missing?”

“I was so afraid she wouldn’t come back!” George said in between laughter, hugging the animal, rolling on the floor with the dog.

Like a little boy and his long lost pup, she thought as she watched them.

Nathan watched her eat.

And he thought that a few days ago he had been leading a placid, calm, even respectable mortal life and had been perfectly content with it. And then, with no more than a glimpse of that face in a blurry newspaper photo, everything had changed. He had broken-and-entered, kidnapped a mental patient, fled the police, and at this moment there was a dead body lying in his basement.

He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do about poor Lisette. Right now, Sheila was upstairs resting, with the help of a double dose of sleeping pills. And George was confused, frightened by all the turmoil, but thankfully distracted from it by the reappearance of his stray. The dog lay underneath the dining table at George’s feet, eagerly but delicately devouring the bits of food George offered.

Nidaba, in stark contrast, wolfed her own meal as if she hadn’t been fed in a month. She didn’t even seem to notice that it consisted of prepackaged frozen foods he’d dug out of the freezer and heated in the microwave, with dehydrated side dishes. The stuff must have been buried in there since his pre-Sheila days. Pseudo fried chicken, instant mashed potatoes, heat-and-serve gravy. He was not untalented in the culinary arts, but he’d been in a hurry. The meal had all the flavor of cardboard, but flavor wasn’t what Nidaba needed. Protein and carbohydrates were. Calories, for energy and the strength to restore her. There were plenty in the food he served her.

As she ate, he could already see the changes taking place: the color, slowly creeping more deeply into her skin; her hair, losing that limp dullness, and coming alive, thickening, shining. The changes were so gradual mortal eyes would likely never notice—not until later, when they might well look twice and wonder when she’d improved so drastically. But his eyes were not mortal. And they saw everything. The way her cheeks began to plump and fill out, the slow fading of the dark circles beneath her eyes, and of the bruises that had just begun to form on her face. The mending of her split lip and the cut in her cheek.

George, thankfully, was oblivious to all of it.

Finally Nidaba seemed to have sated her hunger. She drank two full glasses of water, leaned back in her chair, and looked at him, looking at her. Her arms no longer resembled twigs beneath the white nightgown. Her collarbones no longer protruded so sharply. He let his gaze slide lower, to where her breasts pushed at the buttons on the soft white cotton nightgown as they had not done before, making the fabric pull tight and gape slightly in between. He knew she was aware of his gaze, because of the way those breasts reacted to it—peaks stiffening as if his stare were a physical touch. And he could not help remembering the first time he’d seen them full and healthy, and aroused. For just a moment, he allowed himself the pleasure of exploring that memory. He couldn’t have resisted it even had he wanted to.

Eannatum sat upon the satin pillows in the throne room, which was filled with honored guests come to attend his coronation. Platters of food were heaped on every table. Chalices were filled to overflowing, and the pleasant, excited hum of conversation filled the room. But he was hearing none of it. He had only one thing on his mind.

Nidaba. He had finally made sense of the priestess Lia’s words to him just after his father’s death. She had arranged it so that every High Priestess in the kingdom would come here—so that he would be allowed to choose from among them which one would serve as his
lukur.
And Nidaba, according to Natum’s dying father, had been elevated to High Priestess status in the faraway land of Mari. By royal command, she had to be here.

She had left him long ago, chosen to serve her Goddess, made him realize he must serve his country. She had broken his heart, and he knew he had broken hers. But he was not the same heartsick boy now. Two years of training with his father’s armies, battling in skirmishes with the Ummamites to prove the new united Sumer equal to the task, had changed him. And now ... now he was her king. And tonight she would serve
him,
as custom and the law decreed. He could not but help come alive at the prospect. He wouldn’t have been human to do otherwise. He was burning inside. Tomorrow he would marry another, but tonight... tonight he would know the woman he’d wanted for what seemed like his entire life. Tonight, Nidaba would be his.

He had waited as long as he could. All propriety had been observed. He clapped his hands twice, and the din turned to silence. “Begin the dance,” he commanded.

Immediately the musicians began to play. The
algar
and harp players plucked at their strings in a harmonious and sensual melody while the others kept time with the jangling cadence of the
ala
and the beat of the drums. One by one, the High Priestesses entered the chamber, cloaked by veils of colorful silk that floated and swirled as they moved. Eannatum’s eyes searched for Nidaba’s among the women who twirled before him. But they were covered well. . . and they kept their eyes respectfully lowered.

Lia retold the tale as the woman danced and twirled.

“Long ago the Queen of Heaven turned her eyes to the Great Below. The Queen of the Great Above did turn her eyes to the Great Below. And so she journeyed there. Inanna, unafraid, peered into the darkness that so frightens us all. Bravely, she journeyed there. And at each of the seven gates, she was stopped by the guardians of the netherworld. Seven times she was stopped by the netherworld gatekeepers. And at each gate, as was the custom, she had to give over one of her garments before she was allowed to pass. For no one carries earthly costumes, nor masks, nor jewels, nor riches, nor titles with them into the land of the dead. The darkness must be entered into naked. With no pretense, no pride. Only the true self. This is what makes visiting there so frightening.”

At Lia’s nod, Natum clapped his hands once, and the first of the seven veils fell away from each woman. The one that had covered their hair. Narrowing his eyes, Natum got to his feet and moved among the dancers, eyeing each one closely. There were twenty women dancing for him. Twenty dropping a second veil, and a third. Twenty hoping to be chosen as the king’s sacred
lukur.
But only one he wanted.

“Naked, Inanna was brought before her Dark Sister, Ereshkigal. Naked, she had to face her own Dark Sister. Her own dark side. Just as we must each face the darkness within us. But Inanna emerged from the darkness— proving that we can do the same. Meet, embrace, accept, understand, and in the end gain mastery over our own shadow side.”

Natum clapped his hands again, and the fourth veil fell away. Twenty beautiful copper-skinned bodies gyrated for his pleasure. Round, delectable buttocks swung from side to side as he passed. Golden breasts bounced for him,
nunuz
stones weighing down their swollen tips. Soft bellies, dark eyes ...

Nidaba’s dark eyes.

He stilled when he saw her, and kept his gaze locked only to hers. She didn’t look away, but held his eyes. Her hips rolled toward him, and away, and only three veils remained on her. The one that covered her nose and mouth from his view, the one knotted at her wrist, and the one that hung from the chain of gold at her waist, draping down to cover her center. He didn’t clap his hands. Instead he reached out, and took that veil away from the chain at her waist. Then he held up his hand, and the music and dancing stopped.

The chains of precious stone that dangled from her waist concealed very little of her. Her small waist and large breasts pleased him immensely, as did the unusual length and grace of her arms, and her endless legs. He’d never seen her unclothed before. But he’d known she would be exquisite, and he was not disappointed. And with a flick of his wrist, he tugged the delicate scarf away from her face so he could watch her every expression.

“Turn around,” he told her.

Her eyes widened ever so slightly. But she knew she had no choice here, and she did as her king commanded. She turned.

And he took his time. He let his eyes feast on the long curve of her spine, and the swell of her rounded buttocks, and the slight crease at the base where they met her thighs. He would press his lips to that crease tonight. He saw with some surprise the birthmark she bore. The crescent moon blazed on her thigh. Perhaps it was a sign of divine approval, for he bore the same mark himself.

“Face me,” he told her.

Again, she did as he told her, her eyes defiant but full of fire. And he knew beyond any doubt she was as aroused right now as he was. Though she might have denied it, he could see it there in her eyes. Her chin was high, her stance proud. But her eyes blazed with secret longings, denied desires. He reached up to touch the
nunuz
stone that dangled from her breast, fingered the stone slowly. Each time it moved he saw the reaction in her eyes, until finally he gave the stone the slightest tug, and heard her suck her breath through her teeth. “This one,” he said at last, catching the veil that was tied to her wrist and pulling her out of the group of priestesses. “This is the priestess who shall be my
lukur.
Take her to the sacred bedchamber to await the arrival of her king.”

At his nod, his men-at-arms came forward and flanked Nidaba, ready to lead her away. How times had changed, he thought vaguely. Only a generation ago, it would have been the High Priestess doing the choosing. She would have had final say over whether the son of a king was worthy of the throne, and if he fell short of her standards, she would have chosen his replacement.

Now, the reality of the old ways was rapidly fading into symbolic acts with far less meaning, played out to reinforce the image of the king as supreme commander of all within his reach—even the High Priestesses of Inanna.

“Do not forget, my king,” Nidaba said softly, shocking everyone in the throne room by speaking to him without permission at such a formal event. “It will be the Goddess you embrace this night. Not me. Inanna will use my body as her sacred vessel. I myself will have no part to play. But if you displease her, she may very well strike you down.”

He leaned in close, and whispered in her ear, “Do you really believe that is the way it will be, Nidaba?” His cheek brushed over hers. “I do not. But we shall see. Either way, I have no intention of displeasing... the woman I will be with tonight.”