The Whore of Babylon

Chapter 27 | part 1

'Sarr-eeeee!' Nisala wailed, chasing her sister across the room.

'Can't catch me!' sang Sarri over her shoulder, running for the nursery door. 'You can't – oof!'

She ran straight into Eliana and ricocheted back off her, catching her heel in her gown and nearly tumbling over backwards.

'Woah!' Eliana caught her niece under the arm.

Sarri steadied herself, laughing breathlessly as Nisala caught up. Eliana kept hold of the older girl's arm, asking 'what's going on here?'

'She's – got – my doll – AGAIN!' panted Nisala, bottom lip sticking out in a sulky pout.

Eliana gave her niece a stern look. Sarri rolled her eyes, 'oh alright,' she sighed. 'I was only playing!' She held out the doll; Nisala snatched it back and stormed off.

'Sarri,' said Eliana, softly. 'What am I going to do with you? Nisala adores you, you know. She idolises you. Must you always fight with her and wind her up?'

The girl shrugged, looking at the floor. 'I was bored. I only wanted a laugh. She's so easy to rile up – didn't you ever fight with my mother?'

'All the time,' smiled Eliana, 'but we were not princesses. You must learn to behave yourself. It's a lesson we've all had to learn.'

And some of us learnt it in harder ways than others, she thought, sending Sarri on her way.

Eight years had now passed since her arrival in Babylon. Sarri had grown into a precocious and mischievous beauty of eleven, with curls that cascaded to her waist and dark expressive eyes that tilted up at the corners – her mother's eyes. It still gave Eliana equal pangs of joy and grief when she looked at Sarri and saw Kisha's image reflected back at her. The girl had her mother's looks, and her father's sharp intelligence. She also had his sharp tongue, when it suited her; Eliana was trying to curb that at every opportunity. Sarri may be a princess, but she must grow up humble and sensible – Eliana felt a duty to her sister to make sure of that.

Kisuri, on the other hand, was as fragile and delicate as the day of her birth. She could not walk any great distance without tiring; while the other children ran about the gardens, she would sit under the shade of a tree with Eliana and watch with a gentle smile playing about her lips. She was almost ten years old, but her eyes held the wisdom of a much older woman. Where Sarri was flirtatious and coquettish, Kisuri was quiet and shy. The girl had a talent for the lyre and composing poetry, and she was always ready with a willing ear and soothing words if any of her siblings had a secret to share. She was already a princess to be proud of – Eliana prayed only that Kisuri would be married to a husband whose nature matched her own. She would never survive a man as robust as her father.

Though she loved her two nieces as dearly as her own children, the twins were Eliana's pride and joy. Now eight years old, they were strong and lively, with adventurous spirits and kind natures. It annoyed them that they were forced to spend more and more time apart as they grew, with Eshu's education being taken over by tutors who would mould him into the sort of prince that Samsu expected him to be.

Well, the tutors could mould him into Samsu's idea of a prince, but Eliana was determined that she would mould him into her own idea of a man. He was already showing signs of being a better man than Samsu could ever hope to be – the boy was stern with his sisters when they were being silly, but knew when to have fun, when to be serious, and, most importantly, when to be compassionate.

He and Ahat were thick as thieves, as close as Samsu and Ashan. Mari's son had been born on a stormy night two moons after Akitu. The gods had seen the boy safely into the world, and his mother had recovered quickly. He was not an especially attractive child, but his looks were not as unfortunate as his father's.