Chapter 9 The Young Maiden #3
The woman relaxed her posture, though the makhaira still hung between them. “You may call me Pesha.” She waved the blade. “Now, tell me, what is your relationship with the King?”
Zahra felt a strange sense of relief. So, her father was not in league with these kidnappers. But they were following the King. Did Namir know they were looking for him? Why were they interested in her relationship with him?
Even though questions ran through her mind, Zahra kept a neutral face. They could have some information on the King that would be useful to her. All Zahra had to do was play along and find out what they knew.
Zahra swallowed, summoning her next breath.
She forced a scared but compliant look onto her face.
“I did not know he was the King—not at first.” She pretended to hide a smile.
“He was kind and visited often. When he revealed who he was, he made me swear I wouldn’t tell anyone.
This morning, he visited me, excited about the Pa-sekhemty Feast. I asked if he would choose me, but he said he was not sure. Then, he left.”
Her emotions showed on her face, but she let them—the sorrow, anger, and uncertainty.
Why should a king and a curse determine her fate?
Why was she punished every night for something that was not her fault?
Why could she not save her father? Why could she not save herself?
“He did not want to be seen with me. He told me he does not want me at the Feast.”
Pesha listened in silence, thinking as she spun her makhaira. After several minutes of silence, she returned the makhaira to its sheath. “No, I don’t believe he would want to be seen with you.”
Zahra feigned tears. “Why are you following the King? He is a powerful man. I would hate to see one of my people hurt because of him.”
“Our people have already been hurt because of him.” Pesha stood. “If you were truly an Ionian, you would understand that.”
The insult stung Zahra to her core. Tears spilled down her cheeks, but this time they were real. Ache sat in her chest, consuming her beating heart. She understood. She remembered.
When she and Omar had arrived at the gates of Aur ten years ago, they had been traveling at Sea for months and walking in the desert.
They had lost her mother and many others in the attack in Ionia, and the journey across the Sea and desert had taken many more lives because of sickness and lack of food and water.
Zahra could barely walk, but her father did not have the strength to carry her.
The medjay standing outside the wall were surprised at their numbers.
Even with all of their losses, the Ionians were numbered at thousands.
Zahra couldn’t recall all that happened that day, but she remembered the cries of her people. For every Ionian that was allowed in, one was tossed aside. Those that were diseased, injured, or too old to work were cast out to die in Deshret.
And then there were those that bore the tokens of their theos: jewelry, embroidered fabric, metal coins, and statues.
Though her village mostly worshiped Selene, some included other theos in their worship.
Hekate and Hermes, in particular, were associated with sorcery and snakes, which were too similar to the symbols of Apep.
These people were called sorcerers. The Pharaoh King had them branded with symbols of Deshret and drove them from the gates of Aur, sentencing them to a cruel fate in the barren desert.
From what Zahra knew, many of them joined the Naqada people, who were an enemy to Aur.
Pesha walked to the other end of the room. Above her collar, on the back of her neck, was a tattoo of a snake.
Pesha, too, it seemed, remembered. Was Zahra wrong to lie? These were her people, after all. If she broke her promise to Namir and told them about the Thoth and the power it contained, would they allow her father and her to join them in the desert? Perhaps they had a way to break her curse.
Zahra swallowed. She couldn’t tell Pesha of the Thoth. She did not know the state of Pesha’s heart. From what Pesha had told her, Zahra did not think Pesha would help them.
Another Naqada Ionian appeared through a door beside Pesha. His loose, brown curls were pulled into a tight bun, and his green eyes studied her. He spoke in Ionic. “What will we do with her?”
Pesha glanced back at Zahra, replying in Ionic. “She is blind with love, but she does not pose a threat.” She turned away. “It will not matter what she knows after tonight.”
Tonight? Zahra tugged on her bounds. “What are you planning to do?”
Pesha left the room without another word.
The man studied her with sorrow. He grabbed Zahra’s head firmly, but with a gentleness Pesha lacked, and shoved the fabric back in her mouth.
“I am sorry,” he said in choppy Auran, as if she couldn’t understand her own tongue.
“You will find you never truly loved him.”
Zahra screamed. The fabric did its job well, stopping her from making much sound. Pesha returned, along with five more people. They retrieved a variety of weapons with leather sheaths out of hiding: a bow and arrows, daggers, a xiphos, a kopis, and a spear with a shield.
Zahra yanked at the ropes around her wrists, ignoring the pain that tunneled up her muscles as the Naqada Ionians went out the door. It was not until the obelisk chimed four Khepri and golden sunlight spilled through the open door that she realized their intent.
They were going to assassinate the King.