The Whore of Babylon

Chapter 8 | part 1

The palace was quiet. It had been three days since the birth and there had been no visits and no summons for any of the girls.

It was a period of blessed respite as they learnt to care for Sarri, to adjust to her patterns of eating and sleeping. Eliana and Mari took it in turns to tend to Kisha and the baby – the new mother was still in some shock, and could not be persuaded to let go of her daughter for a full twenty-four hours after the birth. Eliana had to gently remove Sarri from her sister's arms as she slept in order to wash the child and change her underclothes.

Nor could Kisha be persuaded to leave the relative safety of their apartments. It was peaceful there, she said, and she could keep a constant watch over her baby.

Finally, on the third day, Mari resorted to bringing Kisha a polished obsidian mirror stone, to let her see her own reflection. The woman who stared back at her had waxen, sallow skin, hollow eyes and lank, greasy hair. She sighed, and agreed to a trip to the bathhouse, on the condition that one of them should remain behind with Sarri. Kisha would not have her taken from the apartment.

Eliana agreed to remain behind, eager for some time alone with her tiny niece.

As soon as they were gone, she picked Sarri up from the cradle. The baby gurgled and waved her hands a little before settling into her aunt's arms and going back to sleep.

Eliana stared at her in wonder, trying to imagine what sort of woman she would be. Breathing in the sweet, new baby smell, she gazed down at the fragile body with its miniature features and tuft of black hair. Sarri breathed evenly, taking deep, snuffling breaths.

She hiccupped, making Eliana giggle quietly, trying not to disturb her.

Watching the child sleep, feeling her warmth, weight and utter dependence, she felt so full of love that she could overflow. She could not love this child more if it were her own – in the scrunched up, sleeping face, so like a scaled-down version of her sister, Eliana saw a reason to live. Whatever happened to her here, knowing that this child of her own blood needed a protector would be enough to see her through anything.

The love was tempered with a small pang of sadness as she wondered if she would ever have her own child. While her imagination ran wild trying to work out what Samsu might have in store for her future, she could not be sure of anything. Her life was like a path winding into a dark forest and shrouded in mist – she could make nothing out for sure.

Would her child look like this one, she wondered. Or perhaps it would look like its father. Who would the father be? Samsu? One of the guards? Perhaps someone she hadn't yet met.

Most of all, she wondered if she would ever be free of the oppressive red glazed walls surrounding the palace – if she would ever have her freedom.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Mari had probably forgotten something and sent a servant back from the bathhouse for it. She replaced Sarri in the cradle and went to answer the knock.

Ashan stood framed in the doorway. He looked taken aback to see Eliana stood there – it was usually Mari who answered a knock. Immediately some of the friendliness drained out of his face. He shuffled a little from foot to foot.

'Hello, my lady,' he gave a stiff half-bow. 'Is Kisha in?'

Eliana was in such a buoyant mood that she was willing to forget about his former coldness, and try to thaw the ice with her own friendliness.

'She's not, I'm afraid. She went down to the bathhouse with Mari. But she shouldn't be long – would you like to come in and meet the new princess?'

'Thank you,' he nodded. She stepped aside and he crossed the threshold and went straight to the cradle, picking Sarri up with such tenderness that one might think he handled babies more often than swords.