Shadow of Ararat

THE HOUSE OF THE WHITE SWAN, PALACE OF BIRDS, CTESIPHON

H

My lady?“ Princess Shirin looked up from her harp at the sound.

Ara, the dark-haired woman who had come to meet Jusuf and Thyatis their first night in the palace, stood at the door of the music room. As before, she was clad in subdued colors and her face was grave. Thyatis, who had been lying on her stomach on the floor, rolled over to look at her. Shirin put the harp away and folded her hands on her lap. Late-afternoon sun gleamed through the glass windows, painting her profile and the light silk gown she wore with rich golden colors.

“What is it, Ara?”

The lady bowed, motioning to the outer rooms of the house. “It is the Prince Kavadh-Siroes, my lady, he wishes to speak with you. He seems…” The lady in waiting paused, her dark eyes flitting to Thyatis, recumbent on the floor, then back to her mistress. “… he seems agitated.”

Shirin frowned and put the harp back into its waxed leather case. “Send him in, then, but wait just a moment.”

Thyatis rolled up onto her feet. She was wearing a pair of dark-amber silk pants-a gift from Shirin-and a deep forest-green shirt. A sash of muted red the color of old wine was bound around her trim waist. She grinned broadly at the Princess, drawing a glimmer of a smile in return.

“Thank you for the song, my lady. I will make myself entirely invisible.”

Thyatis bowed to the Princess and scooped up her sword, which had been placed at the side of the couch Shirin had been sitting cross-legged on. The Princess thought it amusing that the Roman woman took her blade wherever she went. Thyatis became nervous if she couldn’t touch it at any time. On bare feet, she padded out of the room, drawing a heavy linen drape closed behind her. The tip of her scabbard made a tiny tinging noise on the marble floor as she went. In the other corridor, through a screen of carved wood intertwined with flowers, she could hear the sound of Ara’s voice and a thin masculine tone. The Prince, she supposed.

Thyatis waited at the end of the corridor, her back pressed to the wall in a niche once reserved for a large urn. A few moments later Ara walked past, her face set and serene. Behind her back, Thyatis glided back down the corridor, completely silent, holding the scabbard at the hilts behind her back, out of the way.

“Beloved aunt.” The tension in Kavadh-Siroes’ voice was marked, even muffled a little by the drapes.

“Nephew, welcome. Please sit and take refreshment with me. There are light cakes and a sherbet.” A plate tinkled against glass.

Shirin sounded languid and at ease, comfortable with the affairs of the day. Thyatis eased the edge of the drape aside, gaining a thin wedge of visibility into the room. Shirin remained on the couch, though now she lay along the length of it and she had draped a shawl of tiny knots around her bare shoulders, covering her breast. The Prince was dressed in dark silk, almost black, but with a rich brown highlight. His long hair was in disarray, and he kept trying to push it back behind his head. Thyatis raised an eyebrow-being mewed up in the House of Swans did not allow any of them to mingle with the nobility of the palace. This was the first time that she had laid eyes on the heir to the Peacock Throne.

He was handsome, his features strong, with clean lines to his face and body. A high brow promised a quick wit or lively intelligence. His dark eyes were edged with a little kohl, just enough to bring them out. In all, a very pretty young man. The commanding expression that doubtless marked his father was absent, though, replaced by sick worry and bags under his eyes that no makeup could disguise. A scared young man.

“Aunt, I know that you love my father truly-and have been as a second mother to me since the death of the Empress. I could not ask for more of you, not in good conscience. But I am driven and I must ask-you, who see him most, please, I beg a question.”

“Of course,” Shirin said, her voice questioning. “What is it? Pray, ask and I will answer.”

The Prince bit at his knuckle, looking around the room. Thyatis became very still, but she judged that the boy was so agitated that a cohort of legionnaires could have been standing against the walls and he would not have noticed. “Please, do not take this amiss-I mean no ill will by it- but doubts plague me, keeping me from sleep. I must know… is my father insane?”

A shadow passed over Shirin’s face. Her folded hands trembled.

“I… I do not know, Kavadh. Like you, he has sent me away. He stays in his own chambers now and does not summon me to them. Like you, I am worried. The palace is filled with rumors and strange stories. When did you last see my husband?”

Kavadh bowed his head, staring at the floor. “A week or more… he had summoned his advisors to him to discuss the matter of the Romans.” Behind the drape, Thyatis’ ears perked up.

“Only a few of us were there, not even half of all those he demanded. At first he was in a rage-then he suddenly calmed down and greeted each man with a glad smile. I was in the back of the room, hiding from him, but even I he welcomed as a guest. I saw his eyes through the holes in the mask-they were calm, but his voice was strange.”

Kavadh sighed and picked at the gold laces of his high riding boots.

“He asked if the great Prince Shahin had returned from the conquest of Egypt yet. No one could answer him-no word has come from that army since it entered the deserts of Syria months ago. He asked if the Boar had returned from his hunting trip in the North, the bright-bannered Immortals at his back. No one could answer him-few have come from the North save messengers bearing word of the constant approach of the Roman army.

“He asked if the new army had been raised from the people of the city. No one spoke. I looked around and saw only old men and servants around me. All of the great lords have fled-to Ecbatana or beyond, back to their estates. Aunt, we are abandoned!”

Shirin sighed and pulled the shawl closer around her shoulders. Her hair had been loose while she had been singing for Thyatis; now she began to braid it.

“Nephew,” she said, her voice soft, “there are many pressures upon the King of Kings. This war does not go well, the people-even the nobles-are afraid. If he shows that fear he holds himself, then there will be a panic and all will be lost. It is natural to feel fear, each of us, man and woman, does. But you must not let it master you. Be strong for your father, stand by his side, bend your bow as he does.”

Her voice trailed off, seeing the desolation in Kavadh’s eyes. He stood, shaking his head.

“No one is coming to save us. The Boar is dead, the great Prince Shahin may be as well. There are no armies to succor us if we hold out in siege and no one to hold the walls against the Romans. Our only choice to survive is to flee now down the river or into the moutains. This I will say to my father, for there is no other choice.”

Shirin watched him, her luminous eyes filled with worry. She held up a hand and he stopped as he would stalk out the door. “Your father honors courage and bravery above all things, dear nephew. Do not anger him when you say these things. He is quick to take offense.“ Kavadh made a half smile while one hand picked at the drape of his shirt. ”You mean he accounts me a base coward, hiding behind my dead mother’s skirts? That he will ignore and revile me if I speak the truth to him? I know, but I am by rights the son of a King. I should speak honestly to my father in this.“ He bowed and left the” room. Behind him, the Princess stared out the tall windows. Thyatis closed the drape, though she had to restrain herself from stepping in and putting her arms around Shirin. Instead, she waited in the dim corridor, patient and quiet. She wondered if the boy-Prince would be killed by his father in an insane rage. and brown fluid slid over his foot, trapping it again. Ahead of him, the other mages toiled forward as well, their heads low, their hands on the sides of the wagons for support. Riders splashed past in both directions, urging their weary horses forward through‘ the sodden road. The Hibernian wondered if they would ever seen an end to the mud, if their destination would ever rise out of this endless plain of fields and towns and rows of palms and other trees. The army had come down out of the mountains above the city of Nineveh in a break in the weather. For a brief few days they had marched down firm roads under sunny skies. The air had been crisp and cool, with miles passing away under their marching feet. But past the great northern city they had entered the plain between the two rivers, a vast expanse of mud and deep loamy soil. Then the rains had come again, and the world had dissolved into endless leagues of gray sky and muddy road. He put one foot, dragging it out of the muck, in front of the other. He was weary, very weary. Zoe looked back over her shoulder, her face drawn and grim. He was falling behind. She motioned for him to catch up. Dwyrin sighed and pushed harder through the mud.