The Lost Valor of Love

09 | BOUND IN BLOOD

Istara gazed at her reflection in Tanu-Hepa's bronze mirror, admiring her new gown. It fell from her shoulders in elegant folds. White as winter snow, the linen had been woven with gold and silver threads, falling like rain from her shoulder to the hem. She turned, watching the material as it shimmered, catching in the torchlight. She smiled. The queen had ordered a gown for a woman, not a child. Istara's eyes had been made up, enhancing them, and a touch of color had been applied to her lips. A gold collar lay around her neck and wide jewelled cuffs encircled her wrists and upper arms. She could almost see the woman she was going to become in her reflection. She looked up at Tanu-Hepa standing behind her, her hands on her shoulders, a smile on her lips.

"Are you pleased?" she asked.

Istara nodded, and stole another look at herself in the mirror. So pretty. She hoped Urhi-Teshub would approve of her.

"You must make certain not to get any blood on your gown in the ritual, it would be a bad omen," Tanu-Hepa said as she straightened one of the folds at the back of Istara's gown. She glanced up and met Istara's eyes. "I have sent a message reminding Urhi-Teshub to be careful."

Istara looked down at her right hand, feeling a faint sensation of unease, though not for the ritual. She had not seen Urhi-Teshub since his return from Hakpis almost two weeks earlier. She had waved at him from the queen's rooftop gardens. Instead of his usual pleasure at seeing her, he had turned away to speak to the men around him, and carried on walking, never once looking back. Since then, every invitation Tanu-Hepa had sent inviting him to dinner had been declined, with regrets.

Tanu-Hepa said it was to be expected, he would be busy preparing for the binding ritual, making sacrifices at the temple and offerings to Teshub to bless the marriage, but Istara wasn't as certain. Something felt different, he had seen her, but looked away. She wondered if she had done something to displease him, perhaps she shouldn't have waved, it was quite childish. Soon she would know the truth, she could ask him at the feast. She bit her lip, trying to hide her smile as a thrill of joy rushed up her spine. Out of all the men she could have been forced to marry, the king had chosen her best friend, a man who could never hurt her, well, except for the part that was coming up.

"Are you afraid of the ritual?" Tanu-Hepa murmured, breaking into Istara's thoughts.

"A little. Will it be very painful?"

"It stings," Tanu-Hepa admitted with a sigh, "but as soon as the blood is mixed, Urhi-Teshub will put soothing oils on the wound and bind it. It will be his first act of protection as your husband. You must be brave and trust him." Tanu-Hepa's gown rustled as she knelt before Istara. "Remember, you must not pull back when he cuts your hand, it will be interpreted as a bad omen if you do. Just think of all the celebrations there will be afterward, and of how lucky you are to be betrothed to the Crown Prince of Hatti. You are fortunate, for you shall be loved."

A gentle knock at the door signaled the time for the procession to Arinna's temple had arrived. Istara hung back, the queen's words sending a sudden bolt of dread through Istara.

"Did you pull back?" she asked, pressing her palm against her dress, trying not to think about what was going to be done to it.

Tanu-Hepa brushed a tendril of hair back into Istara's golden hair band. "Yes, when I was bound to King Mursili." Her eyes grew distant as she smiled, sad. "Only heartache followed after. No one doubts you are a brave young woman, but I will pray for you when the time comes, to give you the strength to see it through. Now. It is time. The goddess awaits."

Tanu-Hepa rose and nodded to her guards. The doors eased back. Across the sumptuous reception room, dozens of noblewomen came to their feet dressed in beautiful gowns, their throats and arms gleaming with gold, silver, and gems. In their hands, they carried little baskets filled with rose petals. They smiled at Istara, admiring her as they passed.

Careful not to tread on the hem of her new gown, Istara followed the queen out of her opulent royal apartments into the palace gardens. The noblewomen processed along the path, weaving back and forth in an intricate, slow dance, scattering rose petals and singing the hymn of love.

Despite her apprehension, Istara tried to remember everything, how her gown shimmered in the moonlight; the sweet scent of the rose petals as she walked over them; the noblewomen's song, rising and falling, more beautiful than any she had ever heard before.

They approached the darkened Temple of Arinna, lit only by the light of the full moon. At the end of the pillared colonnade, Urhi-Teshub stood alone at the altar, waiting for her, dressed in a white tunic, his long, dark hair tied back and held in place with a golden browband. Istara's apprehension faded. She wanted to run to him, drawn by his charismatic presence like a bee to a flower, but she kept to her slow walk, her heart pounding, overwhelmed by her good fortune. The Crown Prince of Hatti looked so handsome and strong, the most bravest, noble warrior in the whole of the empire. Her heart surged with pride. Soon she would be bound to him, would one day be his wife and future queen, and no one would ever be able to take him away from her, not even the King of Hatti, no, not even the gods.

❃

Istara looked down at her hand, upturned and vulnerable in Urhi-Teshub's firm grip. He was going to cut it, very soon. He reached over and picked up the ritual dagger. She trembled, staring at the blade's sharp edge, glinting in the moonlight. It was going to hurt, a lot.

"Istara," Urhi-Teshub said, firm, "look at me."

She dragged her gaze away from the thing and met his eyes. He nodded at her. She understood. She kept her eyes on his and waited. He never looked down. The blade slid across her hand, burning, stinging, hot. She bit back a cry, but held still, willing herself not to pull back.

A collective sigh rose up from the shadows. She blushed, knowing she had done well. Urhi-Teshub let go of her hand. Without taking his eyes from hers, he pulled the blade across his palm and took her hand in his. Their blood mixed together, warm and slippery. He lifted their clasped hands over the silver bowl on the altar, waiting for their blood to drip out from between their palms.

Fascinated, Istara watched their blood, black in the moonlight, slide down the side of the dish. Now it was over, she felt euphoric. She looked up at Urhi-Teshub, giddy with relief. She belonged to him. In a few years, when she became a woman, the full wedding celebration would take place, and she would become not only his wife but Hatti's queen-in-waiting. But that was years away, all that mattered right now was that she was safe and would never have to fear for her future again. She watched as he tended her hand, his ministrations gentle.

He looked up at her as he finished, nodding at her, acknowledging her bravery. Istara smiled at him, but he didn't smile back. He turned away, expressionless, and bandaged his hand, cold, silent and distant.