The Lost Valor of Love

01 | SIEGE

City of Kadesh, Summer. Reign of Muwatallis, Year 8

Istara had never been in Baalat's sanctuary before. She decided she didn't like it. It had to be a mistake, her mother couldn't mean to leave her here, alone with the golden statue of the goddess, shrouded in a suffocating haze of opium incense.

"Please," Istara said, tugging on her mother's hand, "I don't want to stay here. It's dark, and the smell makes my head hurt."

When her mother didn't respond, Istara tugged again, harder, but the Queen of Kadesh's gaze remained fixed on the image of the goddess. With a heavy sigh, her mother sank to her knees and whispered a prayer, for forgiveness.

Uneasy, Istara touched her mother's hand, bare of the usual glittering array of rings. "Ama?"

Her mother looked down at Istara's hand on hers. "I have abused my power as high priestess," she said, quiet. "For weeks now, I have been taking the goddess's food and giving it to you. I could not bear to see you starve."

Istara eyed the image of Baalat, fear slicing into her, deep. "But the punishment is--"

"I know." Her mother's fingers touched Istara's lips, silencing her. "But I pray she understands, and will forgive me."

Istara thought of all the scraps her mother had given her over the weeks, almonds, and dried figs, once she had even surprised Istara with a little piece of honey crystal. That was a good day.

Now Istara imagined her mother stealing from the offering bowls at the goddess's feet. A terrible, awful crime. She looked at her mother's gaunt, worn face, her fragile beauty diminished by extreme hunger, and saw her desperation. Overcome, Istara hugged her, her hands brushing against her mother's shoulder blades, protruding, sharp.

"Oh Ama. I do not deserve you."

In her mother's quiet embrace, Istara closed her eyes and recalled the day when everything began. It was raining when the Egyptian army streamed out of Labwi Wood, driving their fancy horses and chariots over the pretty meadow outside the city walls. For two days the soldiers worked to set up a vast city of tents. Istara was certain about that part, because she had watched.

Her father sent couriers to Hatti's far-off capital, Tarhuntassa, to King Muwatallis. The gates slammed closed, and Istara learned a new hateful word. Siege. Weeks passed. Her lessons dwindled, then ended, the palace's quiet order turning to chaos.

Rooms were closed off, deemed unnecessary. Soon there was no fuel left to burn in the braziers, and Istara shivered in her bed, as the stone walls sweated out the heavy rains of spring.

Her father changed, becoming angry, shouting, sometimes even breaking things. The food ran out. They braved hunger for two days, waiting for Muwatallis to come, her stomach cramping so much, she cried. The cats disappeared, even her favorite, the stable cat, Mada, and her litter of kittens. The hunting dogs followed soon after. Then, one by one, the horses in the stables vanished, until even Istara's pony, Kuma, was gone, and the stables lay silent, the quiet, deafening.

The night Kuma disappeared, there was meat on Istara's platter for the first time in almost two weeks. Both her mother and father had come to her, to sit in silence, while she ate, their eyes haunted. Despite her heartache, Istara could not disappoint them. She ate her beloved friend, trying not to think of the happy hours she had passed with her, each bite tainted with bitterness against the Egyptians. As soon as her parents left, she cried until she fell asleep, dreaming of Kuma being taken away, whinnying in fear, to be cut into pieces to feed the starving people. To feed her own mistress.

The next day, Istara slipped away to the rooftop garden of the palace, stripped bare of its vegetation and hurled rocks over the walls, calling the Egyptians every name she could think of. When she ran out, she created new ones.

Exhausted, she sagged, panting, against the wall, glaring at their camp, filled with hate. From its edge, surrounded by soldiers, one young man emerged, dressed in gleaming armor. He stopped and looked up. Right at her.

Indignant, she rose up, and returned his gaze, focusing all her unhappiness on him. Her fingers shaking, she prised a large rock loose from the wall and heaved it over the side, screaming out the worst insult she knew. Dirty bottom eater.

The rock tumbled, useless, straight down into the olive grove beneath the city's walls. Humiliated, she looked back at him, waiting for him to mock her. But instead, he lifted his hand, inviting her to join them. One of his men pulled his ration bag from his belt and held it up, a heartbeat later, the others joined in, holding theirs up to her, silent.

Shamed, she backed away, so she could no longer see them. On the long walk back to her apartment she experienced confusion, no longer certain who to blame for Kuma's death. She decided she would think about it when she was older and wiser, when she had had more lessons. Until then, she learned, nothing was as simple as it seemed.

❃

Istara looked around, afraid. Now, after three months of hunger and waiting, she was going to be locked in here, in Baalat's dark, oppressive sanctuary. Istara felt her mother's thin fingers wrap around her arms, her grip so faint, it felt like a whisper.

"I cannot remain with you much longer," she said. "By your father's command you must stay here until I come for you. We have lost. King Muwatallis has not come. Today your father will open the gates and kneel before the Pharaoh of Egypt."

"But I heard you say if he kneels to Egypt," Istara said, pulling back, anxious, "the King of Hatti will punish us all."

Her mother looked away, blinking hard. She took Istara's hand and led her back to the sanctuary's thick cedarwood doors. "You have suffered much these past months, and without one word of complaint," she murmured, changing the subject. "I am proud of you. But today, you must face one last challenge and wait here, alone, until my return. You must trust your father's judgement. He only thinks to protect you."

Istara clung to her mother's hand, her small store of courage fleeing. She had thought she was ready, but she wasn't; in the meager light of the single flame there were too many shadows lurking, sinuous, at the edge of her vision.

"Promise you will come back to me," she whispered.

"I promise." Her mother brushed the hair from Istara's forehead and smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "You are safe here in the goddess's sanctuary. Stay close to her, and she will protect you. Soon this will be over, and we will be happy again."

She prised Istara's fingers free and went outside. Istara made to follow her, but her mother shook her head, a warning flaring, sharp, in her eyes. She gestured to the guards to push the doors closed. They came to with a low boom. Istara jumped. She didn't like that sound. A scraping noise followed as the guards settled the beam into place, locking her inside. She pressed her ear against the thick door. She couldn't hear anything. She tried to be brave but her heart pounded so hard it hurt.

Her back pressed against the door, she peered into the dim, smoky space, its pillared edges lost in deep shadow. She counted to three, before darting through the darkness to the little pool of light at the base of the statue. Huddling against the cold stone platform, she wrapped her arms around her knees and waited, hoping with all her heart the lamp wouldn't run out of oil before her mother returned.