"Where are the others, why do they not come?" Muwatallis demanded as he paced back and forth, caged within the tight confines of the tent.

"Brother," Hattusilis said, watching him, uneasy, "there is no one left to lead them. All who remain are foot soldiers, farmers and conscripts who will wait for their orders. Without a leader, they will never come."

"You left them leaderless?" Muwatallis stopped, incredulous.

"That rock must have hit you hard," Urhi-Teshub scoffed, breaking the heavy silence. "Though your brother advised against it, you believed your ambush could not fail. It was your order that sent every king and noble from the camp, leaving the soldiers leaderless." He bowed, filled with reproach. "All hail the King."

"And where were you, you arrogant whelp?" Muwatallis shouted, lunging at Urhi-Teshub, grabbing hold of his son's tunic. "On your fool's errand, sacrificing my men to the royal enclosure. If you had done as you were commanded, we might have won."

Hattusilis pushed between them. "This is what they want, for us to fight, to lose our focus," he panted, grunting with the effort to hold Muwatallis back. "Brother, you must gain our freedom at any cost. Whatever Ramesses asks, concede to it. Once we are free, we can return to the camp, regroup, and attack once more. Between the three of us, we can still destroy Egypt."

"A fine plan," Muwatallis said, sour, letting go of Urhi-Teshub, "but how shall I even begin to accomplish such a thing? Ramesses does not send for me to discuss terms, and all my demands for an audience have been ignored. By now, he must know of our camp. He will not free us."

"Why could you not have faced Egypt in true battle?" Urhi-Teshub scowled as he jerked his tunic straight. "I have heard what the Egyptians are saying. Hatti fell because their king is a coward and a--"

"You dare speak thus to the King of Hatti? I am a god!" His face white with rage, Muwatallis shoved Hattusilis aside, sending him crashing into the stools. His hands went around Urhi-Teshub's neck, tightening, choking him. "I should have thrown you to the dogs when you were a babe for taking Asuru from me," he spat, ignoring his son's distress. "But you were all that remained to remind me of her, the woman who should have been Hatti's queen--not that slut Tanu-Hepa. And now you betray me by tearing my empire apart. If I have to kill you with my own hands to stop you, I will. You will never have my throne. Never."

Scrambling to his feet, Hattusilis struggled to prise his brother's hands free. "Do not send Urhi-Teshub to the gods," he cried, his fingers sliding, useless, over his brother's relentless grip. "Asuru died to give him life! Do not dishonor her sacrifice."

His eyes wild, Muwatallis roared, frustrated. He let go, rough, pushing Urhi-Teshub against the tent's wall. "For Asuru then," he panted, backing away, rigid with anger. "But only for her."

Silence, hostile and cold descended, the men retreating to the opposite corners of the tent. Urhi-Teshub rubbed his throat, eyeing his father's back with open hatred. Desperate to divert the tension, Hattusilis went to the tent's entrance and called out another request for an audience with the pharaoh. He waited. A brief creak of leather as a guard outside shifted his weight. Then, nothing.

Depressed, he returned to his stool and poked at the dying embers of the brazier. Footsteps approached. Low voices outside. The tent's flap opened. A gust of cold air. Two soldiers entered. Hattusilis rose and nodded at Muwatallis. His brother stepped forward. The soldiers ignored him. In complete silence, they took hold of Urhi-Teshub, bound his arms behind his back, and dragged him away, struggling and protesting.

Hattusilis sank down onto his stool, fear and uncertainty clawing into him. This was not how it was done. Ramesses should be discussing terms with Muwatallis--but his brother had changed the rules, and now Egypt had the upper hand. Anything could happen. The day stretched, agonizing, slow. Evening came. Food arrived, but he had no appetite. Across from him, his brother stared into the brazier, silent, uneasy, the platter beside him untouched.

Night fell. Hattusilis slipped in and out of fragmented dreams. Deep in the night, he woke to a furtive sound. Had someone come in? He peered through the shadows at Urhi-Teshub's pallet. Empty. The sound came again. Hattusilis sat up, his flesh prickling, dread circling him.

Huddled in a darkened corner, his brother shuddered, staring, unseeing at a sheet of papyrus he held in his hand. Hattusilis went to him. He took it. Horrified, he read the pronouncement, inked with Ramesses's cartouche. Tears blurred his eyes. No. His brave, strong nephew, full of ideals--gone to the gods. He sank onto his knees. Egypt had won.

❃

Flanked by his guards, Urhi-Teshub waited in the center of the command tent, his arms bound behind him. So this was how it was going to end. Ramesses was going to kill him, his life the price his father would pay for his arrogance. Urhi-Teshub scoffed. Ramesses would be doing the King of Hatti a favor.

Ramesses rose from his chair, his expression cold, hostile. He crossed his arms over his chest, taking his time looking over Urhi-Teshub, his gaze lingering on Urhi-Teshub's untended injuries, a look of gratification flickering in his eyes. "I understand you are the one who destroyed the queen's residence," he said, expressionless, "and are responsible for the death of four of her royal guards." He moved closer and lowered his voice. "We have your woman, Prince of Hatti."

Startled, Urhi-Teshub glanced at Ramesses, who watched him, sly, a cat with its mouse. Urhi-Teshub glared at him. "You have her body," he said, harsh, though his heart ached to say it.

Without taking his eyes from him, Ramesses called out. "Lord Paser, bring her in."

A rustle of material. Urhi-Teshub turned. The man he had confronted before the queen's tent ducked inside, two massive bruises purpling his face. A veiled woman stumbled after him, her head bowed. She wore a fine linen gown, and just one piece of jewelry, a silver filigreed armband. Urhi-Teshub recognized it, it had been one of his gifts to Istara. How dare they--

Paser pulled the veil from her face. She lifted her head and looked around, bewildered. Her eyes met his, then slid away, blank.

"Istara," he breathed, "by all the gods. You live." His guards held him back, restraining him. "For the love of Arinna," he spat, struggling against them, "let me go to my wife!"

"She is deep in the thrall of an opiate," Ramesses's voice continued from behind, flat, uncaring, bored. "We felt it necessary to take precautions. Lord Paser, that will do."

Unresponsive to his cries, Urhi-Teshub watched, powerless, as Paser led her, meek as a lamb, from the tent. He swiveled back to Ramesses, his heart pounding. "Whatever you ask, you shall have it. Name your price."

Ramesses returned to his seat. Resting his elbows on the chair's arms, he examined the rings on his fingers. He looked up at Urhi-Teshub, devious. "We will free you and the prisoners to return to your camp this afternoon. You will declare the battle lost and yourself the new King of Hatti. Tomorrow at first light, you will lead your father's army back to Tarhuntassa. If you fulfill these terms, Princess Istara will be sent back to you. However, if you do not do these things, or if your men attack our divisions as we march home, she will be executed."

Urhi-Teshub stared at Ramesses, disbelieving. Istara had warned him of the ambush, and this was how he intended to repay her? Ramesses met his look, expressionless.

"And what of my father and uncle?" Urhi-Teshub finally asked.

"They will be led to believe you have been executed," Ramesses replied, bland. "We will release them when we feel the time is appropriate."

"So you ask me to commit treason," Urhi-Teshub said.

"You said you would do whatever I asked," Ramesses answered, his attention drifting back down to his rings. "But perhaps it is too much for you. Since your wife will no longer be of any use, I will send her to the gods. Be grateful, the opiate will ensure she will not feel a thing."

Urhi-Teshub staggered, stunned by Ramesses's ruthlessness. The Pharaoh of Egypt was more than a match for the King of Hatti's machinations.

"So be it," he muttered after a long silence.

Ramesses picked up a sheet of papyrus. "You will be taken to the prisoners and escorted to the river," he said as he perused its contents. He glanced up. "We will be watching you, Prince of Hatti."

Urhi-Teshub choked back a bitter laugh. "Do so, for it will be the only way I can be certain Istara is safe from your dagger."

Ramesses met his look, enigmatic and uncompromising. He waved his hand, dismissing him. Shoving his guards aside, Urhi-Teshub pushed his way out the tent, seething with anger. One day, Ramesses would pay, but for now, it was time to commit treason.