"Brace yourself," Urhi-Teshub warned just before one of his chariot's wheels dropped into a deep rut.

Istara tightened her grip on the box's edge, staggering as the box tilted at a steep angle. She felt Urhi-Teshub press his thigh against her back, steadying her.

"Soon we will be in Tarhuntassa," he said, as he shifted his weight and steered the horses around a boulder. "Once we arrive, you will be taken to the nursery along with the rest of the children from Kadesh."

"I know," Istara murmured, keeping her eyes open for more ruts.

Urhi-Teshub guided the horses along the rocky stretch, the lean muscles in his arms shifting and flexing as he called to them with encouraging words, low and reassuring. Once clear of the rough patch, he continued, "As soon as I am able, I will go to my stepmother, the queen and ask her to look out for you. She raised me after my mother died. She is a kind woman and will be good to you."

Istara knew he meant to offer comfort, but there could be no other mother for her than her own. And now she was gone, living in the immortal realm with Baalat. The first night they left Kadesh, Istara dreamed of her mother holding her, telling her stories and kissing the top of her head like she used to do. It felt real. But it wasn't.

As those first long iters passed under the horses' hooves, Istara had grieved for the loss of her parents, her home, and her new pony. Urhi-Teshub never said anything, but she knew from the way he looked at her it made him sad. Those evenings, he would give her extra rations at dinner and hold her up so she could brush his horses' manes. One night, not long after they left, he gave her a little carved horse he had made while she slept. She called it Kuma and kept it with her always. It helped to take the hurt away, a little.

Urhi-Teshub leaned back on the reins, slowing the horses. "Quick," he said, tilting his head toward the horizon, "before we descend into the valley, look to the west. There is Tarhuntassa."

She peered over the box's edge through the gap between the hills. In the distance, thick, towering walls circled a vast city atop an enormous plateau. At its furthest end, the walls of a smaller city rose up. The royal enclave. She stared at it. The enclave was massive, bigger than the whole of Kadesh. A gleam within the royal citadel caught her eye. Curious, she looked up at Urhi-Teshub.

"What is the shining light?"

Without troubling to conceal his pride, he answered, "It is the pillar in the central court of the Temple of the Storm God, Teshub, for whom I am named." Urhi-Teshub smiled, a rare thing. "My father, who represents the sun, had it covered in panels of gold. When the sun's light strikes it, it is a beacon for all to see, to remind them they look upon the home of Hatti's king, The Sun."

She gazed at the shining pillar, transfixed, watching it sparkle and gleam as it caught the light. "It is like nothing I have ever seen," she whispered, filled with awe.

"Tarhuntassa is beautiful," Urhi-Teshub said, still smiling. "The royal gardens bloom with colorful flowers carried from Babylon, and the palace's floors are laid with marble, shipped from the island quarries of Ahhiyawa. Even on the hottest day, marble remains cool to the touch and is so smooth you can slide across a whole room without stopping. I expect you to try at least once."

Istara mouthed the strange, new word. Marble. Did he really mean it when he said she could slide across the floor? She peeked up and caught him watching her, indulgent. Embarrassed, she focused her attention on the beam of light. They descended into another valley, and the vast city with its glittering pillar sank beneath the horizon, as if its wonders had been nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

As they descended deeper into the valley, shadows closed over them, reigniting within Istara a familiar feeling of gloom. Soon she would live in an enormous place, alone, among thousands, with no one to care about her. King Muwatallis, or, rather, The Sun, drove in front of them in somber silence. From what she had overheard in the camp, missing the opportunity to confront the Egyptians had been a humiliating blow, one he never intended to let happen again.

She studied Hatti's king. He leaned back against his reins, slowing his horses for the descent down another steep slope, the powerful muscles in his back and shoulders rippling. She had managed to stay clear of him for most of the march, but there was one evening, halfway through as she ate her evening meal with Urhi-Teshub, Muwatallis had arrived, accompanied by four of his bodyguard, the intimidating, spear wielding, Mesedi.

That night, the King of Hatti had accepted a cup of wine from his son and seated himself upon a stool, his elbows on his knees. They spoke of mundane things like Hattusilis's lame horse, and Urhi-Teshub's next campaign in the north. Her appetite gone, she crept back from the fire, watching him, wary, waiting for him to turn on her.

He had never looked at her once. All she had seen was a father talking to his son. They talked long into the night. Despite her fear, sleepiness overcame her. She curled up, shivering, near the horses, too afraid to go back to the fire, dozing until the warmth of a thick blanket settled over her. She roused, expecting to see Urhi-Teshub's kind eyes, but instead found those of the man who killed her mother eyeing her, troubled. She turned her face to the ground, terror clawing at her. He was going to kill her now too, she was sure of it.

"Asuru, my love," the King of Hatti murmured, "I beg you, cease. I can feel your anger condemning me all the way from the immortal realm. I swear I will remedy this wrong. The child will not suffer for what I have done."

His words made no sense. Istara had held her breath, waiting for the hiss of his dagger leaving its sheath, instead, with a creak of leather, he was gone.

Urhi-Teshub carried her back to the fire and lay her head on his lap. He stroked her hair, his calloused fingers gentle and soothing, calming her. Warmed by the heat of the fire, she slept and dreamed of home, reliving the lost days when she had been safe and happy.

A horse whinnied, startling Istara. She blinked, returning to the present. She glanced again at Muwatallis. Once in Tarhuntassa, lost in the vast grounds of the royal citadel, she expected it would be easy to keep her distance from him. Perhaps if she was fortunate, she would never need to see him again.

She stole a look at Urhi-Teshub, her protector and at times maybe even her friend. Soon he would leave her among strangers. Her chest tightened, the thought of losing him suddenly unbearable.

"Will you come and visit me?" she blurted out.

"Whenever I am in Tarhuntassa, I will," he said, not taking his eyes off the road. "But I must return to my uncle's city of Hakpis where I live. Together with my uncle's armies, I have been campaigning to regain the lands lost to the Kaskans." His eyes darkened and his jaw jutted out a little, betraying a stubborn streak Istara had come to recognize. "They are heathens and have desecrated the holy city of Nerik. I have sworn an oath to Teshub I will not rest until Nerik is his once more."

"How long will that take?" Istara asked.

"Years." Urhi-Teshub sighed. "It is an endless war, we have been fighting to reclaim Nerik ever since my great-grandfather, Suppiluliuma II was the king."

"Oh." Istara looked down at her feet, disappointment flooding her.

"If you like, I will write to you," he offered.

"I don't know how to read," she murmured, ashamed.

"A scribe could read my letters to you," he suggested.

"No. I want to read them myself," she answered, determined, "and I want to be able to write too, so I can write you back."

"Then you shall learn to read and write," Urhi-Teshub said, decisive. "I will see to it. This much at least I am able to do." He pointed at a wide road, paved smooth with flagged stones rising up out of the valley floor. It snaked away between the hills into the distance. A pair of towering statues depicting a strange god flanked either side of it, just where the road began. "Finally," he said. "The royal road. At last."

❃

It took most of the rest of the afternoon to cross the remaining iters to Tarhuntassa and to complete the long, winding climb uphill to its gates. Horns had been blaring from the city's walls for more than an hour, announcing the arrival of the king's army. Atop the final turn, Istara discovered a multitude waiting, cheering and crying out the king's name.

Movement along the ramparts caught Istara's eye. She gaped. Chariots?

"You might want to close your mouth," Urhi-Teshub chuckled, "else the flies will get in."

Istara pressed her lips together but kept watching, fascinated. Driving two abreast, the chariots' outer wheels almost touched the ramparts' edge. A deafening blast of horns erupted. Urhi-Teshub nudged her with his knee and nodded at the gate. The vast wooden doors opened, splitting the metalwork sunburst covering its surface in two, its spikes, huge, sharp and forbidding, the sight of it both beautiful and terrifying.

Up they went into the city, along its winding streets toward the citadel walls, past temples, bazaars, residences, parks, squares, horse markets, stables, garrisons and arenas. Wide-eyed, Istara clung to the top of the chariot gazing at the people thronging the streets and squares, filling every doorway, leaning out of windows, balconies and roof gardens. Flowers of every color and size drifted down from above, turning the floor of the chariot into a soft, scented carpet.

As they drew close to the royal citadel's gates, they passed an elegant villa, its terrace shaded by potted palms. Colorful hanging linens billowed around its edges, caught in the late summer breeze. Young women, all of them breathtaking, called out to Urhi-Teshub, their sun-bronzed breasts draped in gold and gems.

He smiled up at them. Singling out the most beautiful one by name, he asked if she would join him at the feast. Her lips curved, seductive, as she threw him a rose, dark red, its petals soft. It landed in the chariot beside his feet. Istara picked it up and inhaled its rich, enticing scent. She held it up to him.

"The lady gave you this."

A look of pleasure crossed his face. "Save that one for me, little one. I will keep it with me when I go north."

She watched him, curious, as he smiled to himself. "Do you love that lady?"

"Love?" He raised a brow, considering. "No, but I do like her very much."

Istara looked back at the woman, who could be no more than twenty, watching Urhi-Teshub, her eyes filled with longing. Istara thought she looked kind.

"Do you think she could be my friend, while you are away?" she asked.

He burst out laughing. Her cheeks burning, Istara hunched into herself, understanding enough to know she had said something foolish.

"I would not advise it," he said, still chuckling. "She is not a lady, but a whore."

Surprised, Istara turned around and inspected the woman. "But she is so pretty and clean," she said, disbelieving him, thinking he must be teasing her. "I thought whores were dirty and ugly--at least that is what my nurse told me."

"Most are, it is true," Urhi-Teshub conceded. "But these women are courtesans, trained in the art of love and owned by no man. Courtesans are beautiful, skilled and very rich. The wealthy compete for their attention, sending gifts to entice them. Tonight will cost me much, but it will be worth it."

Istara looked at the rose in her hand, and hoped she understood. "So the rose means she chose you?"

"It does." He smiled, his eyes unfocussing. "And tonight I shall be the envy of all men, for Adar is the most coveted of them all." Calling to his horses with a happy shout, he brought them to a trot, guiding them through the gate into the glittering splendor of the royal city, Istara's new home.