Garden of Madness (11 page)

The girl gave her a cool, empty smile. “I had not expected the princess to be joining us.” The words were benign. The tone was not.

Pedaiah jumped to his feet and signaled a slave. “We will bring another stool. There is room here.”

Something like shame threatened to swamp Tia, but she denied it. Absurd. The girl was a Judaean.

Pedaiah glanced at Tia as the stool was placed. “Forgive me, I have not introduced Judith. A . . . friend of the family.”

The girl’s eyes on Tia were anything but friendly. She pulled the stool slightly closer to Pedaiah, as though it were her rightful place.

Pedaiah seemed not to notice. “Your dedication to the Teacher is appreciated, Judith. He is aging, slowing down perhaps. I know he is grateful for your help.”

She smiled at Pedaiah and slight dimples appeared. “I am happy to serve him. Though he has not slowed so much. His daily meetings have grown a bit shorter, I suppose. But he has all the fire he ever had.”

Tia’s face heated at this familiar exchange about topics outside her knowledge. The slaves brought crusty bread and yellow onions. She dug in, fueled by unease more than appetite. The raw onions watered her eyes.

“Besides”—Judith touched Pedaiah’s arm—“it is only fitting for a woman to occupy herself with the quiet and respectable pursuits of hearth and home.” She looked to Tia once more. “Wouldn’t you agree, my lady?”

Tia choked on a bit of bread and reached for her wine.

Pedaiah did not turn but answered in her place. “Perhaps. But a certain boldness, an adventuresome spirit, are to be equally admired.”

Tia’s skin flushed under the indirect praise. Surely he did not speak of her. She swallowed the wine and glanced sideways. Judith’s eyes were twin fires. “I confess myself unskilled in domestic affairs, Judith. But my mother would no doubt share your opinion.”

As though Amytis had heard the comment, she stood, and a musician piped a tune garnering the crowd’s attention. Tia’s stomach spiraled downward and she gripped the edge of the table.

“My husband wishes he were able to attend this morning.” She began with the usual lie, one she had told so many times that perhaps she believed it. “He sends his regards from his sickbed and wishes life and happiness to all of you.” She raised a cup and the room joined her in drinking to their own good fortune. Tia sipped at her wine, and it went down sour.

Amytis’s eyes found Tia’s, but she was all good humor. “I am so pleased to make an announcement to you, our honored guests, this morning.” She set her cup down. “As you know, my dear daughter Tiamat has recently lost her husband of seven years.” She bowed in the direction of their table. “We all grieve with the family of Jeconiah and would not wish to deny their sorrow. But in these days of Babylon’s great reach, there are always threats to our power, and we must do all we can to thwart these dangers.”

There were nods all around. Tia’s palms slickened and she intertwined her fingers to keep them steady.

“It is my husband’s decision that Tiamat should be married to the prince of Media, to ensure ongoing peace between our kingdoms.”

The room hummed with surprise, but Tia’s gaze was on Marta, who jerked her head toward Tia, openmouthed. Tia shook her head, a tiny movement, but enough to signal her disagreement. Marta’s eyes narrowed and hardened.

Amytis waited for the room to quiet, her glance skimming over the room of officials and noblemen. “Zagros will arrive by the Akitu Festival next month, and we will celebrate the next generation of alliance with Media.” Again she raised a cup. “Let us drink to the health of Tiamat and Zagros.”

As one, the room raised their goblets. “Tiamat and Zagros.”

Those at Tia’s table did not move.

Amytis reclaimed her seat, and Tia leaned forward and grasped Marta’s hand. “I have no part of this and do not wish it,” she whispered. “My desire is unchanged, to wed Nedabiah and join our two families once more.”

Marta did not respond, and her wary look told Tia little trust existed between them.

“I apologize for my mother’s haste. It is in poor taste to make such an announcement so soon after Shealtiel’s death.”

Beside her, Pedaiah spoke, his words and expression like flint. “The seven days of mourning are over. Why should we ask you to grieve unnecessarily?”

Tia drew in a slow breath, in and out. Such biting sarcasm. Her fingers curled, longing to strike him, to remove the condescension his face betrayed, but she controlled the inappropriate impulse and spoke only to Marta. “I know not why she is in such haste.”

Pedaiah shoved his dish toward the table’s center, as though disgusted with the food. “She has no sons.”

Tia studied his dish, then his face.

He shrugged. “A queen with three daughters and an absent husband. Is there anything more vulnerable?”

How had Tia not seen this? She watched Amytis in the front of the room, smiling at those placed nearby, a smile that touched only her lips, false as any lie she had ever told her. In that moment Tia saw something in Amytis she had never seen—fear. Amytis truly feared all threats to the throne, from without but perhaps also from within. From her place at the table with advisors and magi, she seemed surrounded by menace more than friend.

She was like a woman held over a towering ledge, clutching furiously at the air.

But I must focus on Marta
. Marta would ultimately bow to the wishes of her husband and eldest living son, but as all women she wielded the true influence in her family.

“We can make this alliance, Marta. It is best for all, even if my mother does not see it. Please, please speak to Jeconiah.”

The nobles were exiting the banquet room, their curiosity sated by her mother’s declaration. A figure approached, one Tia had not seen earlier.

“My congratulations, Princess.” Amel’s words were languorous and his engaging smile circled the table to include Marta, Rachel, and even Judith, then stopped cold at Pedaiah. Beside her, Pedaiah drew himself upright, chin lifted.

She felt heat in her fingertips. “My mother’s plans are her own.” She regretted her words immediately. Her rebellion would be better kept quiet for now. But she wished Amel to know that she did not intend to marry Prince Zagros.

His attention was all on her now. “I am not surprised. You are your own woman, I have seen since we met.”

Tia smiled at his praise.

With a nod to the women and a glare at Pedaiah, Amel held out a hand. “May I accompany you from the hall?”

Trapped between the two men, she took his hand, too eagerly, bowed to her extended family, and smiled at Marta. “We will speak soon.”

Amel placed her hand in the crook of his arm and Tia let him escort her from the room, trailing glances from servants and nobles alike.

They strolled the hall, in what direction she cared not. He still held her hand against his arm, and she felt the warmth of his touch.

“You are the center of attention everywhere you go, Princess.”

“You are thinking of my mother.” She leaned against him and laughed.

He seemed delighted with her girlish response, though she wondered at it herself, a bit sickened at her silliness.

“It was not your mother Pedaiah watched with those hawklike eyes.”

She slowed. “You know Pedaiah?”

His face was impassive. “We have met.”

They reached the first courtyard and began to walk along bordered flower beds. “I sensed hostility.”

Amel was silent, as though reluctant to speak ill of the Jew.

“Tell me, why do you dislike him?”

“Because he is an arrogant fool.” He bowed his head. “Forgive my honesty. I know he is family, of a sort.”

“He is nothing to me, I assure you. And I would agree with your opinion.”

They stopped before a surging fountain and Amel gazed into the pool. “Before I came to the palace to train with the magi, I was in charge of one of the city furnaces, managing the slaves who fired the bricks.”

Hard to imagine the smooth, sophisticated Amel in the heat of a furnace yard.

“Most of them were Jews. Pedaiah seemed to think that his people should not need to work, as though captives should hold more privilege than Babylon’s own citizens. He constantly tried to undermine my authority there, to remove the Jews from their duties and set them in lives of ease.”

Tia huffed. Not surprising.

“I must say”—Amel patted her hand still on his arm—“for the son of a vassal king, the man has more arrogance than the daughter of true royalty herself.”

She smiled, her eyes trained on the bubbling water.

“Tiamat!”

Amel pulled away from her and they turned to her mother, striding toward her like a charging soldier.

Amel spoke a farewell low in her ear. “My lady.” Then he slipped away before her mother’s assault.

Amytis’s words were clipped and furious, if quiet. “I have only just announced your marriage to Zagros and now find you flirting in the courtyards with an apprentice mage!” Her gaze followed Amel as he fled into a hall. “Why have you taken up with him? He was with you the other night, when Kaldu’s body was discovered.”

“It is nothing, Mother. I was only questioning him about the death, since Kaldu appeared to have connections with the magi.”

Amytis’s eyes fired at her. “And what is that to you?”

“I wish to know why Kaldu was killed.”

“It is none of your concern!”

Tia studied her fury. “And is it a concern of yours? I hear that you and Kaldu spent time together. That you were with him on the night he died.”

Amytis’s face paled. “Enough, Tia!” She pinched her arm, fingers digging into Tia’s flesh. “Enough questions, enough running about the city, enough foolishness. Palace life is not a game constructed for your amusement! You will conduct yourself with decorum until Zagros arrives, or I will have you locked up until he does.”

She was sincere. No doubt of that. True anxiety licked at Tia’s resolve. Her mother had the power to force her into the detestable marriage.

Perhaps it was time to silence her questions. To focus on her freedom.

But somewhere above her, her father roamed the Gardens, captive in both mind and body.

And who would champion
his
freedom?

CHAPTER 13

Tia leaned against the stone half wall of the rooftop garden and searched the nighttime desert for answers. She had no energy for a run. Here at the northern end of the city she could forget that all of Babylon lay below and almost believe herself alone in the vast darkness, with nothing but dark sand and sky.

She scanned the blackness above, traced the outlines of Taurus and Aries with her eye, naming them as her tutors had taught, wishing she could read their messages like a mage.

What would they tell her, if she had ears to hear? Should she cease her pursuit of truth as her mother insisted?

The night breeze played with her robes, drifting the purple fabric across her arm and raising a chill. The garden’s silence pressed against her, a marked contrast with the noise and activity of the palace day. She breathed in the heavy scent of jasmine and curled her fingers around the lip of the stone wall.

“Palace life is not a game, constructed for your amusement.”

Her mother’s words haunted her steps throughout the day and followed her here, to the isolation of the garden. Tia rubbed at the stone wall until pieces loosened under her fingers, then picked at them and hurled them downward.

Was she nothing more than a palace pet? A mischievous cat chasing a ball of twine?

She wanted to deny it, but the thought plagued her. Though she wished to do something of importance, to have purpose, no opportunities to be anything but idle had been offered. And so, all her pursuits had been for her own amusement, as Amytis said. Tia took risks and sought thrills, but nothing was ever at stake. Oh, perhaps she chanced an injury, a physical blow. But she risked nothing of true importance. When there was a question of her privilege, her position—in this she took no chances.

Caught up in her own thoughts, she had not noticed the sound of conversation that drifted to her on the night air. A low laugh across the garden tensed her muscles.

She turned her head only slightly but saw no one, heard only muffled words. She shifted on silent feet along the length of the wall toward the voices.

“She knows nothing.” A man’s voice. Familiar, though Tia couldn’t place it.

“If not now, she will.” Another man.

“You concern yourself unnecessarily. Our secret is safe.”

Shadir
. The voice belonged to the old mage, her father’s favorite. Did he frequent this garden as often as she? How often had he watched her come and go? Her heart pounded, and she held her body stone-still and silent.

“We are never safe.” The other’s voice was urgent, frightened even. “Our plan is too fragile. Too easily thwarted.”

Shadir laughed again, and it seemed to Tia like the laughter of darkness. “You forget the powers that stand behind us. We cannot fail.”

There was a pause, and then his companion responded with a voice uncertain and wavering. “I—I am not always convinced—”

“Stop. There is no room for doubt.”

“There are so many pieces to put in place. How can you be certain it will come together?”

Shadir did not answer immediately, and she leaned toward the voices, pulse racing. Had she missed his response?

But when it came, it held chilling animosity. “I have waited a lifetime to bring him down. I will not be stopped, not by an unruly princess nor her conniving mother. This is our time.”

His companion was still unknown, but whoever he was, Shadir seemed to have him convinced.

“We rely on your leadership.” His tone was deferential. “And wait for the end eagerly.”

Tia imagined Shadir studying the night sky as she had seen him doing the night Shealtiel died.

“Have no fear. He will be dead within the month.”

The stone wall cut into her fingers. She loosened her grip and risked a breath. The men were moving away, crossing the garden to the palace door. And then they were gone, leaving her to review their cryptic conversation.