The Tattooed Princess

A Turning of the Tide

        The Scythians were her own peoples' eternal enemies, but she could now not help but feel oddly akin to them. These ruminations occupied Zaria day and night while secuded. During her indulgent perfumed baths she thought of these matters--but then found solace in her familiar fantasies of Tsudros. For while steeped within those reveries for hours, she longed for his kisses. And from the sumptuous and tepid water she imagined his lovely mouth and hands once again exploring her flesh--all parts of her, both decorated and areas still unadorned.   

                                                                *     *     *  

            It was on a noticeably warm evening that a soldier came late in the night and called out Zaria's name from the hallway. 

            "Zaria . . .Princess!" 

            She rose to her feet and and tried to imagin why she was being disturbed at that hour.

            "Princess!" 

            "Yes?" 

            "There has been . . . some violence tonight. You must be told of it!" 

             Zaria quickly put on a wool coat and her deer hide boots. 

            "What kind of violence?" she asked through the locked door. 

            "The king has been. . . captured and detained! He is being held by a group of our own generals. There is much confusion! No one knows what will come of this. Perhaps you should . . . escape." 

            Zaria opened the door and saw a familiar guard, his young face was bloodied. One of his arms also severely cut. He still held his heavy sword but relaxed at his side, in an unthreatening manner. 

            "Where is Sharvur?" Zaria asked loudky, feeling a sudden sense of panic setting in. 

            "He is perhaps . . . dead. I am not sure."

        "How?" 

            The soldiers . . . following orders of these generals. They stormed the gate and entered the palace not long before. They overtook us . . . but did not want to harm us further." 

            Zaria remained speechless before the young solder. She was in a state of shock. 

            "They entered the king's chamber, Princess. They beat him . . . badly and dragged him into Svetlana's room. I do not know yet if they have killed him there." 

            Zaria leaned gainst the doorway for support. She felt weakened by the unprecedented news. "Tell me more of this, soldier . . . tell me what has happened here!" 

            "They are looking for the wise man . . . Krido now. To ask him for his support. Their overthrow of the king. One of the generals has told us . . . to disavow our allegiance to him. . . or be killed ourselves! Sharvur will rule no more, he said.! 

            Zaria was not certain what to do. As the soldier advised, she thought of leaving the palace—escaping to the house of Moshtok or Murka. Perhaps her lover Tsudros should be told of these happenings. Yet she knew it was still too  dangerously cold to attempt a crossing of the frigid Steppe together. Their flight to the West would have to wait for spring. Nevertheless, Zaria knew she would have to go and assess the situation further. She needed to learn if her nemesis, the brutal Sharvur, was now dead or alive.