Smoothing her dress, Tabeya hurried to the arched window.

Her fingers found the rope hanging beside it. Nungal had been adamant none of Tabeya's cut hair went to waste. They had spent hours working the strands into a sturdy rope.

"Tabeya?" Nungal called.

Tabeya flung the rope out of the window, turning the spool to lower it to the ground where Nungal stood waiting. Nungal slipped the girdle around her waist before climbing up the tower, using the narrow terraces spiralling around it as footholds.

The spool rotated as Tabeya rewound it, and her heart continued its fearful thudding. She wondered if her guardian could hear the sound of Tabeya's disobedience.

Nungal climbed in through the window, pulling the dark hood from her head. Her black hair gleamed in the sun's last light. Her thin lips were pressed into a line. There was an unhealthy pallor to her brown skin. It was the colour of a face that didn't see the sun.

"My little gazelle." Nungal's dark eyes rested on Tabeya. "Happy birthday! I brought this for you." She held out a small reed basket.

In it were a few balls of wool, a rainbow in solid form.

Tabeya suppressed a sigh.

She had expected a different birthday present now that she was an adult. Something that could busy the hands of a ten-year-old couldn't capture an eighteen-year-old's mind. What Tabeya wanted was a day spent outside this city, but she knew what Nungal's reply would be.

No outings! People cannot be trusted, and I will never put you in harm's way. You understand, don't you, my little gazelle?

Tabeya kept her thoughts to herself, taking the basket from Nungal and forcing a smile. "Thank you."

"You're looking a bit peaky."

Tabeya tried not to squirm under Nungal's scrutiny, at the sense that her secrets weren't quite so secret.

"Don't worry. I also brought you this." Nungal set a big basket on the table.

Tabeya hurried to pack the food into her cupboard, busying her hands to hide their nervous twitch before they revealed her for the liar she was.

The basket contained turnips, lettuce, chickpeas and onions. There was a sack of barley to make bread and cereal. There were apples, pears, apricots, and little cloth bags of herbs and spices.

Tabeya's stomach rumbled. She'd eaten some dates from the hanging gardens for lunch, but that had been hours ago.

"Are you eating enough?" Nungal frowned.

Tabeya's stomach growled again. "Of course," she said hastily. "But I work hard."

Nungal strode to the pile of Tabeya's woven cloth. "Hmm." She stretched the topmost piece between her hands. "Your technique has improved."

"I've been working on it."

Tabeya made more cloth with fewer flaws every time Nungal came to visit, but her guardian's response was always the same.

"It is still not fit for the gods."

That was Nungal's favourite comparison. She talked about the gods as if she knew them. It sent a shiver through Tabeya.

Despite her criticism, Nungal dropped the pile of cloth in her basket. The gods may not want it, but mortals were willing to pay good money for it, she always said.

"I'll keep trying." Tabeya ignored the dejected sagging of her shoulders.

"There's a good girl."

Tabeya's aching hands pleaded for more rest, but they only had tonight. Tomorrow would be the same as every day.

Tabeya would sit in front of her loom to weave until Ishtar arrived. If she didn't, Tabeya would work until sunset.

It was worth it for the dresses Tabeya created. She amused herself by trying different styles, patterns and colour combinations, but lately, she found herself yearning for more, and she couldn't figure out what it was.

Was it stories? Freedom? Both? Neither?

Nungal claimed the chair in front of the hearth. She splayed out her thin fingers to catch the fire's warmth. The flames flared towards her.

Tabeya blinked, and then they returned to normal. It was probably just her imagination.

Tabeya gazed at her guardian, at the solemn set of her mouth, at the lines on her face. They had centuries etched within them, years in numbers Tabeya couldn't name. They raised many questions about Nungal in Tabeya's mind, like where she was from and what work she did, but they weren't worth wondering about.

Many years ago, Tabeya had asked Nungal where she went when she left the tower. She had said such things weren't for little girls to know. There had been a warning in the glint of her eyes that made Tabeya afraid to ask again.

"Would you like some supper?" Tabeya asked instead. Her stomach gave a painful pinch at the thought of food. "I have barley and lentil soup."

"Of course." Nungal rewarded Tabeya with a rare smile.

She always complained about Tabeya's weaving, but she never had a bad thing to say about her cooking.

Tabeya poured the soup from its jar into a pot and hung it over the hearth to heat. Within moments, its tantalising aroma of garlic and coriander wafted upwards.

Tabeya pulled up a wooden chair beside her guardian. "What has been happening in the outside world?" she asked, trying not to sound too eager, and failing.

She had only met one person, but there were too many out there to name or count. It fascinated Tabeya how different they were, how they interacted. She would sink her teeth into every morsel of a tale Nungal tossed at her, even though it wasn't enough to satisfy her appetite.

"Outside, there is nothing but chaos and carnage," said Nungal. "Gilgar is on borrowed time. They will falter soon enough, and when they do, Amalu won't show them mercy."

Chaos, carnage... such vicious words, so heavy with the violence they accompanied. It pained Tabeya to think about people destroying one another. Mercy was a softer word, but far too soft to overpower battle.

The war had never touched Tabeya here, so far away from civilisation, but she could imagine the fear that reigned supreme, the shadow of death looming over every city and village, the terror of every attack.

Soon, the war would turn another palace as abandoned and broken as Bennam's.

"Is there anything you can do to stop this?" asked Tabeya.

"Assuming I had that kind of power, why would do that?" Nungal arched a thin eyebrow.

"Because innocent lives are being lost."

The clay tablets Tabeya hoarded told her how bloody battles could be. The clash of mighty armies could destroy their people.

Tabeya wondered whether it was worth it, whether those soldiers looked upon those they had killed and felt proud of themselves, whether they could go home to their children without seeing the faces of the ones who had died by their hand.

Nungal's gaze settled on the soup heating over the fire instead of Tabeya. "Eighteen years ago, I took a gamble. I'm still waiting to see how it works out." The corner of her mouth quirked.

Something about her tone raised goosebumps along Tabeya's arms. "What was the nature of this gamble?"

"That's not for you to worry about, my little gazelle." Nungal's smile, so bright and poised on her mouth, didn't reach her eyes.

It was at moments like these that Tabeya feared Nungal. She seemed like more than a woman with a mysterious job that kept her from her young ward, and it made Tabeya wonder whether she was something more too.

Nungal always said she had found a newborn Tabeya abandoned on a riverbank, but what if there was more to her story? What if she was a princess whose kidnappers had gotten cold feet? What if she was a demigod whose young mother couldn't care for her?

"It gives me comfort to think of you in your tower, sheltered from the evils of the world." Nungal gave Tabeya a sideways look.

The stories Tabeya had read painted an image of wonder and intrigue that called to her adventurous heart, but Nungal was right. The world outside was a frightening place.

What if Tabeya found herself on the wrong side of the soldiers? The people out there couldn't all be bad, but war could make monsters out of the noblest of men.

At the bubbling of the soup, Tabeya took two bowls and spoons from the kitchen and dished a portion for herself and her guardian. Nungal reached for her bowl with gnarled fingers that betrayed the years she had lived more than her face did.

Tabeya rested her bowl in her lap. Its warmth seeped into her thighs. She took a spoonful of soup, sighing at its warmth. It was happiness and comfort in a spoon.

Tabeya and Nungal ate in silence except for the occasional scrapes of the spoons against the bowls.

When Tabeya had drained her bowl, she stared into the hearth, watching the flames dance around each other. There were so many questions on her mind, but before she could ask Nungal any of them, her guardian stood and held out her empty bowl.

"Thank you for the lovely soup, Tabeya. Now, I'd best be leaving. I have an early morning tomorrow."

Nungal went to the window, her farewell as abrupt as always. Tabeya busied her hands washing the dishes, but she wondered where Nungal was so eager to go. She sealed her lips against the question.

After setting the dishes to dry, she joined her guardian beside the window.

"I'll see you soon." Nungal kissed Tabeya's forehead and climbed out of the window with the girdle around her waist.

Tabeya felt the weight at the end of the hair rope lift as Nungal's feet touched the ground and she slipped out of the girdle. Returning Nungal's farewell wave, Tabeya watched her shrink into a silhouette that vanished through the palace gates.

Maybe Nungal was a shadow, hiding alongside her brothers and sisters in the night and turning human when day broke. Maybe she commanded a secret army that fought for Amalu's goal. She certainly had no love for Gilgarians.

Tabeya shook herself free of her imaginings. She wrapped the rope around its spool and drew the curtain across the window. It fluttered slightly in the light breeze.

Tabeya put out the fire at the hearth and retrieved her soiled dress from her chest of clothing. Her mind was as restless as her hands as they scrubbed at the woollen fabric.

Who was Nungal really? How did she come to care for Tabeya?

The way she had looked at Tabeya as she spoke of her gamble, her eyes glinting with a coldness, her mouth quirking with an unspoken irony... it gave Tabeya the sense that this gamble had something to do with her.

No, she was being silly. Her parents had abandoned her as a baby. That was all there was to her past.

Stop it.

Tabeya didn't know that for sure. Maybe she was better off not knowing the truth, and Nungal was doing her a favour.

She frowned, wringing out the muddy water from her dress, and thought again about the conflict between Amalu and Gilgar.

Nungal had told her once that she belonged to neither group. Her home was in the no-man's-land between the warring kingdoms. Neither side would show her mercy.

Mercy. That word again. So gentle, so mellow. Some might call it weak, but Tabeya thought of it as fragile, standing tall like a blade of grass until it was trampled by a heavy foot. As lovely as the word was, for all the hope it contained, it had no place in war.

Tabeya was better off in her tower. Isolated. Safe.

Countless questions flitted through her mind as she put out the lamp beside her bed. She was eighteen now. Was this to be her life? Trapped in this tower with only Ishtar and occasionally Nungal for company?

The urge to sob nearly overwhelmed her, and she buried her face in her pillow. It was a dismal thought, this prospect of a lonely life.

Tabeya was a flower dried out by the desert heat before it had even bloomed, a butterfly with her wings torn off.

She sat up suddenly. All was not lost.

Shadows sheathed her bedroom, a gift from the watchful night. The moonlight cast a bright rectangle through the window, illuminating the curtain hanging in front of it.

Tabeya had almost forgotten something very important.

Every year on her birthday, she made a wish. Only one of them had ever come true. She had wished for a friend when she was ten years old, and Ishtar wandered into her tower the next day.

Tabeya was the only living soul for acres. She felt alone and forgotten, like the rest of the city, but she hoped that someone was listening—someone with more power than herself.

"Please," she whispered, "all I want is one day away from here; somewhere where there are people to talk to and children to play with."

Tabeya was content in her tower. She was safe, she had enough to eat, and there was always something to explore. All the same, she needed to know what it was like out there.

Did vendors really sell their wares at markets, creating a cacophony with their voices as they hoped to attract customers within the crowd? Did kings still wear garments of gold? What were men like?

Tabeya knew what women were like, of course. Nungal was one, and so was she and Ishtar. Although they had that in common, they were very different from each other. Maybe it was the same with men.

She wouldn't know until she met one, and that wouldn't happen if she stayed in this tower forever.

Tabeya burrowed beneath her comforter, where it was warm and dark and she could get some rest.

This was one of her more far-fetched wishes, but maybe things would be different this year. She was eighteen now, after all.