Crown in the Stars (13 page)

“No, Father.”

“The next time you see her, find out if she worships their Most High. I want to know if she is as devoted to such foolishness as her mother was.”

“Yes, Father.” Demamah hesitated, uncertain. “I haven’t seen her all day. She’s been barred alone in my room.”

“Then she will be eager to talk when she sees you tonight. Be sure you ask her. And tell her that you’ll both ride out with me to hunt in the morning.”

Demamah bowed her head. “Yes, Father.”

Shoshannah curled up in a corner of Demamah’s room, homesick and upset at having been left in solitude all day. She’d never been alone for so long in her life. To pass the time, she had created a straw whisk and cleaned the corners of the room. But Zeva’ah was apparently a fervent housekeeper; there hadn’t been much dirt to gather, so Shoshannah had given up.

All day, too, I’ma-Naomi’s tender voice had haunted her, saying over and over,
I am sure the Most High has made wonderful plans of His own for you
.

Shoshannah closed her eyes hard now, crying to the Most High, “I don’t like these plans! Do You hear me? How are they so wonderful? Why did You even bring me here, when I’m obviously so useless?” Then she buried her face in her hands. “Forgive me.”

She wept, longing for her parents, for her brothers and sisters, for Mithqah and Ma’khole, and more than anyone else, for Kaleb. He would find humor in this “adventure.” He would make her laugh.

A shifting, rasping sound alerted Shoshannah, making her sit up and wipe her face. Someone was lifting the bars that blocked the reed door. A grim, pale-clothed manservant stepped aside, allowing Demamah to enter the room with a small tray.

Demamah set down the tray and gently motioned the servant away. He bowed, glared at Shoshannah, and departed, his footsteps fading in the passage beyond.

“Do they all hate me?” Shoshannah asked, suddenly feeling very tired and forlorn.

“I’m sure they don’t.” Demamah lifted a fine linen cover from the tray, revealing flat bread, dried fruit, and a bowl of broth. “Look, I’ve brought you some food. Mother said you haven’t eaten.”

“Why eat? They want me to die.”

“And you’ve said
I’m
too serious.” Demamah’s attempt at lightness made Shoshannah stare at her in surprise.

“Do you pray to your Most High before you eat?” Demamah asked softly.

Shoshannah’s despair returned, swathing her miserably like wet clothes. “I doubt it would help; He doesn’t seem interested in my prayers.”

Sighing, Demamah offered her the bowl of fragrant broth, which was garnished with pungent herbs and meat. “I’m sorry, Cousin. But don’t be unhappy, please. Listen: Father said that we’re to go hunting with him in the morning.”

“A hunt? Really?” Shoshannah’s spirits lifted—though she was cautious too. “Can I see my poor Ma’khole?” She doubted she would ride Ma’khole; the little mare was never used for hunting and would probably be considered useless by Ra-Anan’s men. “If I could just see her…”

“Your mare?” Demamah wrinkled her forehead. “I don’t know, but I’ll ask Father while you eat. Though I won’t tell you what he says until you’ve eaten everything.”

“I’ll eat!” Shoshannah took the delicate red-glazed clay bowl, inhaling. The food did smell wonderful. Feeling better, she sipped the broth.

Demamah left the room.

“She didn’t pray before eating,” Demamah reported, hating her role as a spy. “And she said that the Most High wouldn’t help her… that He doesn’t seem interested in her prayers.”

Her father raised one dark eyebrow, as if surprised. But he spoke calmly. “Perhaps she will be easier to manage than her mother was. We’ll see.”

Easier to manage?
Demamah didn’t like what those words implied. She longed to warn her cousin. And she warned herself too.
Don’t become fond of Shoshannah; it will hurt too much when you lose her
.

Seven

“HOW DO I wear this?” Shoshannah wondered aloud, holding up a long, wide piece of linen.

“That will be similar to those leather leggings you wore beneath your tunic when you arrived,” Demamah said, busily securing her own garments around her slender waist with a long linen sash.

Shoshannah eyed her cousin’s flowing apparel doubtfully. “I think my leather garments covered more. How did you put these on?”

“Like so…” Demamah pulled a short-sleeved linen gown over Shoshannah’s head and arms, covering her undergarments. Then she tied one end of the long linen cloth around and behind Shoshannah’s waist and coaxed her to draw the loose fabric between her knees and wrap the other end around her waist, knotting it in front. Demamah folded, tucked, pinched, and pulled the linen
into place deftly, making Shoshannah feel swaddled like an infant. “Demamah,” she began hesitantly, as her cousin offered her a long, open-fronted, slash-skirted outer robe, “Don’t you have any brothers or sisters? I never hear you speak of any.”

“They’re all older. And busy. And brothers,” Demamah said tersely. “Father sent them to other smaller cities to keep them in order.”

“The cities or your brothers?”

“The cities. My brothers are very much like my parents—or they try to be.”

“And you never see them?”

“Rarely.” Demamah’s voice lowered as she wrapped a wide sash around Shoshannah’s waist, securing the robe. “My brothers and I don’t have much to discuss with each other.”

“But you have friends…”

“My parents are careful.” Demamah tied Shoshannah’s sash, tucking in the ends neatly. Finished, she turned away.

No sisters. No friends. No one like Mithqah to laugh and fight and play with, and to whisper secrets to, which couldn’t be shared with anyone else. Shoshannah shook her head, unable to imagine such isolation. “You’ve never been in trouble at all, have you?”

“Not for years, Cousin, but I’m afraid you’ll change that. Come now; we have to hurry.” She dug into a small wooden box and produced delicate ivory containers of face paints. When Shoshannah began to plead against using the paints, Demamah said, “You’ll get me into trouble with my parents if you don’t cooperate. Now hold still.”

“You’re as bossy as my sister Adah,” Shoshannah complained. But she submitted to the paints for Demamah’s sake.

At last, finished with Shoshannah’s lips and eyes, Demamah retrieved a small, heavy obsidian mirror from her box. Tilting her head this way and that, Demamah applied her own face paints.

“You’ll have to wear your boots,” she informed Shoshannah. “If Mother dislikes them, she will have sandals made for you instead.”

“If I live long enough to wear them,” Shoshannah muttered wryly, pulling on her boots.

“Don’t say such things!”

Shocked by Demamah’s fierceness, Shoshannah blinked. “I was joking.”

“Please don’t joke about death.”

Demamah laced on a pair of leather sandals, then went to the doorway, pointedly waiting for Shoshannah to follow.

Feeling disgraced, Shoshannah trotted after her in the gloomy passage. “Are you very angry with me?”

“No.” Changing the subject, Demamah said, “I’m sure we’re going to be drenched by the rain. But don’t let my father hear you grumble.”

“I love rain.”

“I’ll remind you of that later.”

As they pushed aside the heavy curtains and hurried through the main room, Shoshannah could feel her “skirt” hugging her waist and hips and dragging at her ankles and calves uncomfortably. “May I grumble about my clothes? They feel too tight.”

“Perhaps they’ll restrain you a little.” Demamah half smiled, softening the effect of her words. “I beg you… don’t even
breathe
unless you’ve considered it carefully. Then think several times more.”

Shoshannah bit down a teasing response; Perek was
waiting just outside in the courtyard. The misty gray morning hadn’t dampened his belligerence. Immediately, he grabbed her arm and led her to a dull tawny-and-black horse, threatening, “Do one thing wrong, Daughter of Keren, and I’ll strike you.”

Don’t worry; I won’t even breathe. And it’s not because you’re smelly
.

Perek linked his big hands and leaned down, scowling at her. “Step up.”

Squeamishly she obeyed, then gasped as he heaved her gracelessly onto the waiting horse—jarring all the bruises and strains he had inflicted upon her earlier. As she struggled to rearrange her tangled garments, the Son-of-Heaven Adoniyram rode into the courtyard. He grimaced—clearly he must consider her undignified—and Shoshannah made a face at him. Perek swatted her arm and snatched her reins.

Perek, I hate you
. She rubbed her arm. Master Ra-Anan was staring at her critically. Demamah, however, turned away. Shoshannah knew she had disappointed her cousin yet again. It had been stupid and childish to make a face at Adoniyram—she
had
to stop being so impulsive.

Adoniyram was riding toward her now. She expected him to scold her. Instead, he gave her a searching look through his long, dark eyelashes, then produced her bow and quiver as elegantly as he might offer a gift.

“Yours, Cousin?”

Sighing, ashamed and grateful, she accepted her weapons—which her father, Zekaryah, had made. “Thank you. Please forgive me for being so rude just now; I deserved that swat on the arm.”

Adoniyram smiled suddenly, his copper-brown face disturbingly attractive. “No doubt you keep Perek busy.
Try not to shoot anyone this morning; we don’t want any new disasters, Cousin.”

She stared after him as he turned his horse to follow Master Ra-Anan’s out the mud-brick gate. Adoniyram had been remarkably courteous, despite her telling him that his lifespan would be shortened.
Perhaps he’s planning to shoot me instead
. Grimly she slung her quiver across her back and resigned herself to being treated like a child as Perek—now ahead on his own tawny horse—led her spiritless mount outside the courtyard.

Demamah rode up to Shoshannah as they turned from the southernmost street out toward an open field. Very softly, eyeing Perek, she said, “Be careful of Adoniyram; I’m sure he’s plotting something.”

“As everyone here seems to be doing,” Shoshannah agreed beneath her breath. “Except you.”

Demamah seemed saddened by her words. Shoshannah watched her curiously, wondering why she seemed so grieved.

She was behaving. She didn’t complain about her pathetic creature-horse, Perek’s merciless attitude, the sticky mud that might ruin her boots, or her uncomfortable new clothes. And when Ra-Anan spoke to her, she was as mild as Demamah.

Adoniyram seemed disappointed. Waving Perek off, he rode over to her while Ra-Anan was conferring with one of his huntsmen. “I expected some courage from you, Cousin.”

“I don’t always create scenes,” Shoshannah told him,
raising her eyebrows. “Anyway, it’s a very quiet morning. I think we’re scaring everything away.”

“You’re bored. I apologize. Next time, I’ll have someone bring my leopards.” Adoniyram watched her as if he expected her to be nervous or disbelieving.