Chapter 1 The Tawny Eagle #2
A sharp chirp made her jump. A mighty eagle with tawny feathers stood in the window. Zahra froze, stunned by the bird’s presence. She had seen eagles up in the sky or on the arms of medjay—Auran police—but never perched in a small window. To see one up close was a blessing.
“Hello.” Zahra’s hand lingered on her necklace, which held a bronze coin with the image of a soaring eagle.
Zahra’s mother had always said that eagles were the eyes and ears of Selene—her people’s name for the moon goddess.
As Zahra gazed into the eagle’s eyes, she knew that was true.
The eagle stared right through her, unafraid of her presence, nor making any threatening motions.
Its eyes, rich and deep like the Sea, reminded her of her childhood home in Ionia.
It was as if the eagle knew her, and she knew it.
“No, Mwt.” The voice startled the eagle from its trance, and it lifted its wings.
Zahra stepped away from the window as the bird took to the sky.
Eshe stormed through the hallway beyond the vestibule. “I will not try on the dress. I am not going to the Feast!”
Fukayna followed close behind her. “You must! Can you not see, child? Your reasoning will be your undoing!”
“I am not going!”
The argument continued out of sight, and Eshe’s shouts soon turned into loud sobs. After several minutes, Fukayna returned, tucking a loose curl behind her ear and smiling broadly at Zahra. “Thank you for waiting, Zahra. Is that the dress?”
“It is, Mistress.” Zahra handed the gown to Fukayna. She prayed under her breath that she had not missed anything. “I made it to the young lady’s measurements. As soon as she tries it on, I can make the final adjustments.”
Fukayna examined the fabric and stitching, holding the dress up to see the product in full. She folded it and sighed. “That won’t be necessary.”
Zahra’s heart dropped to her stomach. “Are you not pleased with it, Mistress?”
“I am very pleased,” Fukayna clarified. She turned to Faisal, who stood nearby. “Fetch her payment, please.”
Zahra stuttered a response. “The agreement was that I was only to be paid once the young lady was happy with the fitting.”
“I am sure it will fit fine,” Fukayna said, “but she will not try it on. I trust your abilities, and I do not wish to waste your time. You shall receive your payment in full. If I need alterations, I shall call upon you.”
Faisal returned with a small pouch of deben. He handed it to Zahra before returning to Fukayna’s side.
Zahra weighed the pouch in her hands. “I am afraid I will be occupied helping my master’s daughters all night. I can’t come if you call.”
Fukayna nodded in understanding. “We shall manage by ourselves, then.”
Zahra bowed. “Thank you, Mistress.”
Fukayna responded with a small nod before returning to the main part of the house. Faisal accompanied Zahra to the door. “The young lady appreciates your efforts, Zahra, though she does not show it.”
Zahra leaned back on her foot as she considered the young girl. “I only hope the gown meets her expectations.”
Faisal nodded. “I am sure it will, even if the circumstances do not.”
Zahra waved goodbye before Faisal shut the door.
She walked away from the estate, pausing near a small grove of palm trees to check how much she had been paid.
She was surprised at the amount of deben.
Joy bubbled in her chest, and Zahra skipped a little as she walked home.
Never before had she made so much deben at once.
She was eager to count it and add it to her savings.
Zahra only remembered the lost deben and fruit when her master’s estate came into view. She ducked behind a tree and headed downhill toward the servants’ entrance.
Zahra ducked inside. The servants’ area was in chaos.
Preparations were being made for Master Darius’s return that night and the young ladies’ trip to the Feast in the capital.
Master Darius was an hour priest, so he spent most of his time in the observatories around Aur and running the obelisk near them.
Since he was usually not home, his wife, Bahiti, ran the affairs of the household.
Zahra pushed past the other servants and stepped into her room. Twelve hammocks hung from the walls with wooden chests beneath them. The room was cramped, and the only source of light came from a window near the ceiling.
Zahra opened her chest, moving the few dresses and sheets she called her own to the side. Underneath the bottom-most sheet sat her collection of deben. She added the pouch to the pile, wishing she had the time to count it.
“Sobki,” Bahiti screamed from upstairs.
Zahra returned everything to its place before running out of the room. She grabbed an empty basket from the kitchen and dashed up the stairs, thinking of what excuse Bahiti would hate the least. She arrived at the top right as Bahiti turned the corner from the dining area.
Bahiti’s eyes locked on the empty basket. “What have you been up to, girl?”
“I can explain.”
Bahiti pushed Zahra against the wall, ripped the basket from her hands, and threw it on the floor. The basket splintered into pieces. Bahiti’s jewelry clinked together as she leaned over Zahra, her straight wig falling over her ears. “My fruit, girl. Where is it? Where is my deben?”
“It was stolen in the marketplace,” Zahra stammered. “I tried to get it back but—”
Bahiti slapped Zahra hard. Zahra fell to the floor, holding her hand over her throbbing cheek. She wiped her lip, swallowing the taste of blood.
Bahiti’s eyes burned into Zahra’s back. “Stand.”
Zahra stood, her legs wobbling.
Bahiti raised her head. “Tell me again. What happened to my deben?”
Zahra summoned a breath. Bahiti wouldn’t believe that someone would dare steal from her.
She had not believed it when the Ur brothers had struck in the past, and she wouldn’t believe it now—especially when they were the sons of an esteemed military general.
“I lost the basket. I put it down, and it was taken. I apologize for my foolishness, and I accept responsibility for the payment lost.”
Bahiti sneered at Zahra. Warm spittle soaked Zahra’s cheek. “Clean yourself up,” she ordered, waving her away. “You cannot serve my daughters looking like a rat. Fix that basket, too, while you are at it. I will add the lost deben to your father’s debt.”
Zahra clenched her fists. “Yes, Mistress.” She picked up the broken basket and walked down the stairs, glad for the solitude her empty room offered.
She attacked the basket first, trying to connect its splintered pieces.
When she finished, she turned to her clothes and replaced her dress and shawl, using a wet cloth to wipe her limbs free of dirt.
Zahra considered the savings that hid at the bottom of her chest as she scrubbed at the dirt.
For the last year, Zahra had been stashing away any extra deben she earned.
Her debt was not as simple as Aaliyah’s, and she couldn’t trust Bahiti to properly apply the money to her and her father’s debt.
So, here it stayed until she had enough to settle her debt in full.
A hard knock came at the door. Zahra put her things away and opened it.
Jala, her roommate, stood there and bore a folded gown in her arms. “Femi said her dress needs to be mended for the Feast tonight.”
Zahra sighed and took the gown. She had finished Femi’s dress yesterday, and already the girl had torn it. She collected her sewing supplies from her chest. “Thank you, Jala.”
Jala remained in the doorway with an uncertain expression.
Zahra eyed Jala. “Is there anything else that you require?”
Jala’s eyes darted outside of the room, where the other servants were busily running about. She glanced at the gown as she grabbed the door to close it. “If you go, please don’t tell Bahiti I was the one that told you.” Then she shut the door.
Zahra stood, bewildered. Her gaze landed on the gown as Aaliyah and Jala’s words went through her mind.
With a doubtful glance at the closed door, she knelt on the ground and unfolded the gown in her lap.
Sure enough, hidden within the folds of the fabric was a papyrus.
It was already opened, and the original honey seal had been cut in two, but the symbol upon the seal was clear—the two crowns of the Pharaohs.
Zahra sucked in a breath. She glanced up toward the window, making sure no one was watching before she pulled the papyrus toward her. She recognized her name at the top of the paper and, with a fast-beating heart, read the letter.
“Zahra, daughter of Omar. You are hereby invited to join the King for the great Pa-sekhemty Feast. Should you choose to come, you will be numbered among the many maidens honored to dance with the King, of whom one will become his bride and the Queen of Aur.”
The letter fell in her lap before she could finish reading the rest. Aaliyah had been right after all. The King had invited her people. He had invited her.
So why had she not received this invitation sooner?
Zahra thought of her Mistress. Bahiti must have been horrified to see that Zahra had received the same invitation as her high-born daughters. It was no wonder Jala had been so discreet when delivering the papyrus.
Zahra studied the message once more before rolling up the papyrus. It did not matter that Bahiti had tried to hide this from her. She had no intention of going to the Feast except to help Bahiti’s daughters. A belated invitation from the King wouldn’t change that.
She felt the bends of the papyrus in her hands, and she stopped rolling it. Her breath hitched in her throat, a deep sense of familiarity rushing through her. The invitation… She had received one in her dream.
She had been there, at the Feast.
Vibrant images of wealthy Aurans danced through her mind. She imagined the tall, white pillars of the pr-aa’s outdoor room and the King that would occupy it. She couldn’t imagine herself among the thousands of women present, but she could see them from afar as the medjay chased her down.
The papyrus fell from Zahra’s hands as the images replayed in her mind. A letter had come from her father in her dream, warning her to leave the kingdom of Aur that night. She had not listened, and death had greeted her at the Pa-sekhemty Feast.
“Zahra!”
Zahra buried the letter within the folds of the gown, hopping to her feet as the door opened.
One of her other roommates stood beside a nervous-looking gentleman who wore the clothes of a temple messenger.
Her roommate glanced at the gown in Zahra’s hands before turning to the messenger.
“This is she.” She said nothing more before leaving the two alone.
The messenger breathed heavily, sweat trickling down his forehead. “Are you Zahra, daughter of Omar?”
Zahra abandoned the gown on the chest. “Yes.”
He dug in his bag and handed her a rolled papyrus. “Your father sent a letter for you.”
Zahra sucked in a breath as she took the letter.
The messenger put his hands on his bag’s strap. “He said it was urgent.”
Urgent—another word from her dream. Zahra’s hands trembled as she unrolled the papyrus, and her features paled as she read the letter’s contents. “Flee Aur,” her father wrote in scribbled Ionic, “and never return.”
Zahra swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Her dream was coming true.