Ilati ran her fingers over Youtab’s soft nose in greeting, taking some solace in her horse’s company. She’d left several small melons standing on various fence posts with the intent of practicing her archery in the early dawn hours. Most of Ulmanna was asleep, especially after the great excess of the feast of Lugal. “I am afraid of what will happen if I was wrong,” she admitted to her hooved companion, the only one she felt safe in giving this confidence to. Menes, Shir Del, and Roshanak were all too worried about Eigou to vent her own anxiety to.

Youtab huffed and stomped her hooves restlessly. Ilati understood: her companion wanted to run. Currently they were in pastureland, which was fairly expansive for being in the middle of the city, but the greenery around the stables was nothing compared to the endlessness of the silver grass steppe. Ilati stepped up onto the fence and then swung neatly onto her horse’s back. Once she was perched there, she strung her bow by hooking it around her foot and drawing it back into the proper shape as she adjusted the string into place. She couldn’t do it with her mount in motion the way Roshanak or Shir Del could, but she’d learned the basics of the trick.

The rhythm of Youtab’s hooves against the earth was as comforting as the beat of her mother’s heart against her ear had been in childhood. Ilati had no trouble staying on her horse’s back now, legs and core trained well by months of practice. She drew a fistful of arrows from her quiver and flicked the first up to her bowstring, drawing and releasing in the span of a single heartbeat. She knew with supernatural clarity Youtab’s racing step, swift as the wind, and could time her arrows between the impacts of hooves.

The first slammed into the melon, piercing it all the way through. The second struck with even more power as Youtab went from canter to gallop, racing along parallel to the targets. When they reached the end, Youtab simply turned, racing the circuit of the fence. Ilati felt the wild horse’s bright joy like a shining star, dimmed only by the encirclement. Youtab longed for the silver-grass steppe, the wild places of the world. Though she had once been only a child of the city, Ilati felt it too.

Ilati took shots until she was out of arrows, focusing on her aim. She drew back the bowstring and loosed her final arrow, watching with satisfaction as it struck another arrow at the center of the melon, breaking its shaft. Youtab slowed to a stop in a Sut Resi war dance, menacing hooves on full display for a few moments before she settled down.

“Most impressive.”

Ilati looked over to see Sarhad in his full armor, her blood running cold as he inspected her handiwork with the melons.

He looked up at her, smiling genially. “I had heard Sut Resi practiced their archery on severed heads, but I suppose melons might suit you better.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ilati said sharply. Beneath her, Youtab snorted and churned the earth with her hooves.

“You are not Sut Resi.” He rested his hands on the wood of the fence rail. “The stories spread even now of the desert witch birthed of a sorcerer’s accursed daughter, with a scorpion’s tongue for a sting. Yet I find it curious.”

Ilati’s arm burned where her promise to K’adau was branded on her flesh beneath bandages. “I care nothing for your curiosity, snake. Crawl back to your hole on your belly, as is proper.”

“You seemed so very familiar with Prince Zidanta. Who knew it would take a feral woman to capture his heart? I think you are not as unconquerable as he believes.”

Ilati was out of arrows, but not disarmed. “The desert has consumed the bones of many a conqueror. Its daughter will bury you before tolerating you. If you wish a conquest to challenge you, try your priestess or her craven goddess.”

Sarhad laughed, the sound cruel and cold. “I have enjoyed Yaeeta many times. You, though…I wonder how difficult it would be to find your rooms, if Zidanta has not already managed it.”

The priestess felt a distinct chill at that threat. She didn’t know if she could fight off Sarhad alone and the idea of him finding her in the middle of the night was terrifying. Yet, had she not come so far in spite of her fears, her terrors, even those at his hands? “I will not be made to bow like a reed to you, serpent of Nadar,” Ilati said, touching the bronze dagger she wore—it was the one she had taken from a Nadaren soldier so long ago. “I submit to nothing except the night winds and the sands.”

Before Sarhad could speak his threats again, Zidanta rounded the corner of the stables, a bundle slung over one shoulder. Ilati stayed tense, knowing better than to show relief at his presence. Such a reliance on Zidanta would make her seem weak to a predator like Sarhad.

“Emissary, you are dismissed,” Zidanta said curtly, reading the situation for what it was. “I have private words from the great king for the granddaughter of Eigou.”

“Of course, o mighty prince,” Sarhad said with a wicked smile, retreating.

Once he was gone, Zidanta turned to Ilati. “Are you alright, lotus? You have the furious aspect of the demons who drain the blood from men.”

“He would have been better served keeping his forked tongue behind his fangs,” Ilati said hotly, her anger burning through every attempt to stay calm. “Someday I will cut it from his mouth.”

The second-born prince hesitated a moment before speaking, waiting until Ilati relaxed. “He is a dangerous foe, and to cut his tongue would earn his master’s ire.”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The caution stilled much of Ilati’s anger, a reminder that she would have to walk as carefully as one treading across coals. Thwarting Nysra and honoring her vow was more important than just taking Sarhad’s head as a trophy. “You are right,” Ilati admitted. “I just…did not appreciate his threats.”

Zidanta’s brows drew together as they furrowed like the clouds of a gathering storm. “What threats?”

“That he would find my rooms in the palace and have his way,” Ilati said, rubbing Youtab’s shoulder for comfort. The horse shifted beneath her and nickered softly, attuned to the anxiety of her rider.

Zidanta’s mouth formed a grim line. “He will do no such thing. You are an honored guest, and I will see him made a eunuch before assaulting you.”

Ilati sighed and unstrung her bow. “His master protects him.”

Zidanta didn’t answer, disposition still stormy. He took a few moments to center himself again. “I have something for you, o warrior lotus. I know you are not likely to wish to hunt today, but I still wanted you to have them.”

He unslung the bundle and then undid the cloth wrapping, flicking it open to reveal a quiver packed full of grey goose-fletched arrows. When he pulled them forth, she saw the gleam of a bronze arrowhead, sharp and strong. The shafts themselves were thick as her ring finger and fire-hardened. They were suited perfectly for a war bow.

Ilati’s eyes widened slightly. “A fine gift.”

“I asked Shir Del of the length for you, so they were proper in size. You should find them sturdier than the flint or bone tipped arrows used by the Sut Resi,” Zidanta said.

Ilati studied him, a hint of a smile touching the corners of her mouth. “I will use them,” she promised, admiring the quiver as well. Instead of the simple wrap of hide that made up her current one, it was boiled leather carved with the patterns of thunderbolts in the sky—but still made in the style of Sut Resi quivers, only covering the first third of the arrows. She felt an immense appreciation for Zidanta in that moment. The prince of the closed fist understood her better than most.

He returned the arrows to the quiver, packed tight and full, and then handed it over to her with a bowed head. “May they always fly true for you, lotus.”

Ilati undid her other quiver, bound at her left hip facing her back, and replaced it with Zidanta’s gift. The arrows were packed well, not in danger of slipping, and would be easy to draw and fire. “You should meet Youtab properly. At the gate?”

“If you are confident she will not mind,” Zidanta said.

“I honor her sense of your intentions, for she is as clever and wise as she is wild,” Ilati said. Youtab had been still and calm as her rider and Zidanta spoke, a far cry from the war dance that had heralded Sarhad. She braided a lock of Youtab’s mane as the horse walked back towards the gate, then gently unraveled it. The love she felt for Youtab didn’t heal every grief, but at least she was no longer alone. “Proud and wild, beauty of the silver-grass steppe. Even I am your friend, not your mistress.” She leaned down, rubbing the mare’s neck.

The promise she’d made still burned on her arm. It was impossible to turn her thoughts from it for long. By the time she reached the gate on Youtab’s back, the pull of scar tissue across her face as she frowned began an ache. She swung her leg over and dismounted, landing feet on the ground in front of Zidanta with an ease she’d lacked months ago. “Youtab, beauty and fury of the wild steppe, this is Zidanta, son of Tudhaliya, prince of Sarru,” Ilati said, stopping beside Youtab’s head.

Zidanta bowed to the horse. “A great honor,” he said with a smile.

Youtab’s nostrils flared in a huff and she took a step back before rearing up. Zidanta took a half-step back reflexively, but his hand did not fall to his sword. Instead, he held up his hands appeasingly and bowed his head. The mare stomped and stirred at the earth, her hooves as dangerous as ever. There were shouts from stablehands who came running, but Zidanta turned his attention to them. “Leave the wild one be,” he commanded, voice cracking like a whip.

At once the men stopped and Youtab finished her testing of his mettle. Ilati stroked the mare’s neck. “See?” the priestess murmured to her horse. “He is not one coming with a bridle and whip.”

Zidanta grinned. “She is fiercer than any horse I have known, even more than those drawing my chariot in war.”

“They have known the hands and wills of men all their days. Even for me to ride her is a privilege, not a demand that must be honored. She knows only the gods of the Sut Resi as masters, Earthmother and Skyfather, for they have provided for her since she was born.”

“It is fitting, I think,” Zidanta said thoughtfully. “It is known that like attracts like. Perhaps then it is not so strange to see a granddaughter of a man like your grandfather standing beside the unconquerable.”

“I am not my grandfather,” Ilati said, thinking of the fearsome king she had known. “Tell me, what did you think of the interpretation of your father’s dream?”

Zidanta sighed with a bitterness as sharp as a wild almond’s. “I do not know which I would prefer, for such a vision of malevolence and destruction to be true or Eigou’s head to roll.”

“He did nothing to deserve that fate, yet already the palace is poisoned against him, worst of all your father. I am not ignorant of how he smiled and bestowed graces, then turned and bit like a snake when displeased by the words of the One With a Thousand Faces.”

“That is my father’s way,” Zidanta said, hardening slightly. “Trust me when I say he is a man more cruel than even myself when the mood takes him.” The weight of unforgiven sins hung off the younger prince’s words. “He targets Eigou out of fear that his house will see the same fate as the House of Ilishu.”

“He risks the wrath of Heaven,” Ilati pointed out.

Zidanta bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Fear makes men like my father scornful and proud. King Tudhaliya is clever, yes, but his hubris eclipses his wits. I strive not to follow in his footsteps.”

The priestess softened, leaning against Youtab. “Both you and Hattusa seem better men than that.”

Zidanta looked away, as if he’d been stung. “I do not like being spoken of in equivalence to him,” he said harshly. “Not when all eyes in Ulmanna can look upon him with love and reserve their resentments for me.”

It took Ilati a moment to realize Zidanta was referring to Hattusa. “Is there no love between you any longer, brother to brother?”

“If he is my brother, he has forgotten it. The sons of Amar-Sin, in a land that was not my own, were kinder than him.”

Ilati knew this was a pain she couldn’t understand. Her brothers hadn’t left her by choice—Nadar had carved them from her heart. Zidanta had to see Hattusa, growing ever more distant by the day, constantly. No wonder he spent long days hunting when he had to return to Ulmanna between wars. “I do not think he means to wound you,” Ilati said softly. “Your father has pitted you one against the other. Surely Zidanta the general can see this, no?”

“I can,” Zidanta said quietly as he turned away. “He cannot. Forgive me, lotus.” With no further explanation, the second-born prince of Sarru strode away.

With a painful clarity, Ilati could see the path forward. If Hattusa was half the man his people thought, he would correct the course if made aware. But first, she needed to see Eigou—and the One With a Thousand Faces needed to protect their servant.