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.
He cooed over her with a little smile on his lips. 'He would make such a wonderful father,' Eliana thought, with a little smile of her own. There was an unexpected rub of irritation as it occurred to her that he might already be a father. Perhaps he was married and had several children already.
Once she had thought of it, she couldn't see how it wouldn't be true. He was such a wonderful man, compared to the others here, and he was at least Samsu's age. Of course he was married, how had she not seen it before?
For no reason at all that she could explain to herself, she was annoyed with him; all her good humour drained away like rain into the ground. 'I bet his wife is beautiful,' she thought bitterly. 'And accomplished – probably a high-born Babylonian. She would have to be, to be worthy of such a man.' Though exactly what sort of a man he was, she couldn't put into words.
'So, you like children?' she made a half-hearted attempt at conversation.
'Yes.'
'She is beautiful.'
'She is.'
'Is she prettier than yours?'
'My what?'
'Your children, of course.'
'I don't have any.'
'Oh. Well, is your wife going to give you any soon?'
'I doubt it.'
'Oh.'
'I'm not married.'
'Oh.' Eliana was beginning to feel like an idiot, but the feeling was tempered with inexplicable relief.
There was a long pause. Still, Ashan did not look away from the baby. He held her and bounced gently up and down, back and forth.
Eliana broke the silence again. 'So, the palace seems very quiet these last few days.'
Ashan raised his eyebrows. 'Did you not know? Samsu has gone back to Babylon – an urgent summons from his father. He's taken most of his guard with him – there's only a skeleton staff here at the palace, and not many more left for the garrison. He's left me to hold the place in his stead.'
Eliana's heart leapt – she could have jumped around the room in sheer delight. Just one question lingered on her tongue, but she hardly dared to ask it...
'Yes, the Brute has gone too. I'm sure you wanted to know.'
'Thank the gods!' she exclaimed. 'How long will they be gone?'
'At least a moon. You have a few weeks of peace yet.'
She suddenly felt liberated and full of relief – so light and unburdened that she could lift off into the sky like a feather on the breeze!
Eliana laughed aloud, 'I can almost feel the weight of the shackles fall away! Oh, Ashan, you can't know how happy you've made me!'
He looked up at her then, his expression so opaque that she could read nothing into it.
She barely noticed, babbling in her happiness, 'I constantly wonder why he keeps me here – he doesn't have anything to do with me himself. If he hates me, why keep me here?'
Looking surprised again, Ashan said, 'hates you? He doesn't hate you. He admires you.'
The smile fell off her face. 'Admires... me!' She nearly fell over in shock. 'What on earth would make you say that?'
'He's quite open about it. A couple of weeks ago he accused a soldier of cowardice – told him he could learn a thing or two about courage from you, and you just a woman. If you were a man, he'd have you in his army.'
She was staggered. 'But, why?'
'He's used to unquestioning, mindless obedience. That's what he likes, and what he frightens people into giving him. But he can't frighten you into submission so easily. You don't break, you don't give in or surrender unless you judge that it's the best thing in the circumstances. You balance your pride with protecting the people you love. He sees right through you, and so do I. He knows he hasn't won you yet, even when you go through the motions of obedience. He will keep you until he can win your obedience and loyalty, as he wins his soldiers'. And I...'
Ashan tailed off. It was the longest speech Eliana had ever heard him make, she wondered if he'd run out of words.
'You what?'
'Nothing. It doesn't matter.'
Putting Sarri down, he turned to leave. Eliana felt an acute wave of fury – he had been so close to breaking through that barrier he had erected around her, and she was not going to let him leave it like this.
'What's changed?' she asked abruptly.
'What?' he balked at the direct challenge.
'Why have you gone from being kind and sweet and solicitous, to blanking me and even refusing to look at me? Do I disgust you – is that it?'
She stood with her feet apart, hands clenched on her hips in indignation, hair tumbling wildly around her face, her eyes glittering with ire – she was more beautiful in her anger than in perfume and silks, and she fired Ashan's blood.
In three strides, Ashan was stood before her, just a hand's breadth away. She looked up at him, still with her hands fisted on her hips; a heat rose up from her core to stain her cheeks as the very nearness of him warmed her.
He lifted his hand to her face.
She flinched.
A dozen emotions flitted through Ashan's eyes; anger chased embarrassment chased shame, and others she couldn't identify.
He moved his hand more slowly, bringing it up to stroke her cheek. Then, unexpectedly, he bent his head to kiss her.
She felt her insides dissolve as he brought his other arm around her lower back and drew her close. For all that she had experienced of men in the last couple of moons, she had never been kissed, nor treated with any kind of tenderness.
Ashan kissed her so gently that it took her breath away and made her legs tremble. Her lips parted for him. His tongue grazed hers. She exhaled slowly, savouring the cinnamon taste of him as her heart raced and her stomach fluttered.
He broke away too soon. 'You do not disgust me, Eliana. I disgust myself. Samsu is not the only one who admires you. I owe all my fealty to him, I am a sworn general of his army... I have pledged an iron oath of devotion to him that binds me until death. And so, no matter how deeply I love you, I cannot protect you from him.'
'You – you love me?' she was so taken aback that she could do nothing but echo his words.
His expression changed in a heartbeat, clouding to one of intense rage. He dropped her as though she burned him to touch. 'I should never have said that.'
Without another word, he turned and marched out.
'Why not? Ashan!' she called after him in desperation. He did not look back.