Asag listened gravely as Eliana related the story in a low voice out on the roof terrace. She had sent Adra off on some menial errand to be assured of privacy.

'Will you arrange Eshnunna's burial?' she asked.

'I shall certainly see if there is space for her in the royal catacombs,' he said. 'But I have a few other things to arrange first.'

'That's fine,' she nodded. 'As long as the girl receives a decent burial. I'm sure she can wait a couple more days, after twenty years.'

'Indeed, Your Highness,' Asag stood up. 'Is there anything else I can do for you?'

'No, thank you Asag.'

He bowed and retreated.

The next day, she was utterly dismayed to learn what his 'few other things' were. He had been charged with keeping law and order in the king's absence. While Samsu trusted Eliana's judgement as far as matters of general policy were concerned, he had always been of the opinion that she was too soft, too womanly to ever be a true politician. The document that he had drawn up as he departed had left matters of governance to Eshu and Eliana, and matters of punishment to Asag.

Taking his responsibilities seriously, Asag had hunted out the two slave boys who had acted as Susa's henchmen and hanged them above the palace gates, and Adra had received a severe whipping.

When Adra limped in with a bitter stare and a torn and bloodied dress, Eliana had coaxed the story from her before sending for Mari to treat the wounds.

She summoned Asag to her chambers.

'I did not ask you to do that!' she cried. 'Those poor boys were probably offered money, or even their freedom, by Susa to do what they did.'

'They did not have to accept it,' Asag was unapologetic. 'They have broken the law, and been punished accordingly.'

'Are you aware that, many years ago, she bribed Mari similarly?' demanded Eliana. 'If I had taken your approach, your beloved would be dead, and you would never have had your son.'

Asag shrugged. 'Then I am fortunate that you are a gentle queen. But the king left me in charge of law and order. I take my responsibilities seriously. I cannot apologise for acting within the law, Your Highness.'

She gave a frustrated sigh, knowing that his responsibilities were only part of the reason he had been so harsh. If she died, Mari would never be freed, and he could never marry her. As long as Eliana lived, there was hope.

Reprimanding Asag would not bring the boys back, or heal Adra's wounds, but it made her feel a little better. 'I didn't even have any proof of Adra's involvement,' she said, 'only a suspicion. It was not fair to punish her without it.'

'The attempted assassination of a queen cannot be pushed aside as a matter of no consequence. The state of relations with Elam is delicate – they teeter on the brink of joining the rebellion. I cannot touch their princess for fear of making the situation worse, but chastising her spy sends a clear message, and I have set a spy of my own to watch her in case that message goes unheeded.'

Eliana turned away. 'I would not have chosen this retaliation,' she murmured.

'I know, Your Highness. That is why the king left matters like this to me,' said Asag, softly.

'Very well,' she sighed. 'You are dismissed.'

There was no point arguing, she knew. The deed was done. Adra moved around the apartments gingerly, clearly in pain, darting quick resentful glances at Eliana.

Eliana ignored them; but, remembering the agony of her own whipping soon after she was taken by Samsu, she placed fewer demands on the girl for a couple of weeks.

The time flew past at an alarming rate whilst Samsu was away. Eshu began to come into his own at the weekly audiences – after just a couple of months, the solutions he began to propose were making Eliana proud. He made them tentatively at first, as if afraid of being laughed at or scolded for being wrong, but his mother was quick to praise him for trying, even when she needed to correct him when his ideas were misguided or needed more thinking through.

Reports from the army came once a fortnight, carrying news of the rebellion and Samsu's movements. He travelled south through the empire, crushing the resistance city by city, making his way down to Larsa, where Rimsin was rumoured to be massing his own army.

It was after the first attack on Larsa that news of Samsu's injury came through. There were no details of the circumstance, the messenger merely said that the king had suffered a serious wound to his leg, and that it had festered. He knew nothing more, he swore.

She kept the news from Eshu. There was nothing the boy could do – it was useless to make him fret when the outcome was so uncertain.

Waiting anxiously for an update, her feelings were mixed as she considered the possibility of Samsu's death. In a way, it would set her free – she would no longer be subject to his whims and tempers. But on the other hand, it would certainly plunge her into a power struggle that she had only the faintest hope of winning. Susa would act swiftly, that much was certain. Eliana had the title of queen, as well as custody of the crown prince; but Susa had wealth, royal blood, an adult son, and, perhaps the strongest weapon of all, the Brute. He commanded his own men, and his ruthlessness was second to none, not even Samsu.

A decade ago, she would have been certain that Ashan would not accept the throne if it was offered to him, but now... it had been so long since their time together – who knew how the years and his experiences in this war might have changed him?

She wanted to plan for the event of Eshu's succession, take advice on the best course of action, but the only one she could ask would be Asag, and she could not be certain where his loyalties lay: to her, to Samsu, to Babylon... or to himself.

The reports dried up for several weeks, and the possibility of Eshu becoming king loomed large as she began to fear the worst for Samsu.

Finally, a messenger arrived, dusty and travel-strained – he fell to his knees at Eliana's feet.

'Your Highness,' he began, 'the king has won a great victory at Larsa. The pretender Rimsin is defeated and captured, the city of Larsa sacked and torn down. Nothing remains there but rubble. Your husband is on his way home to you as I speak.'

'Marduk be praised!' Eliana smiled, meaning it. Relief flooded through her as she realised that she would not have to battle for her son's throne just yet. 'When should we expect the king?'

'He is little more than a week behind me,' replied the messenger. 'His train is lighter of men, but substantially weighed down with the spoils of war.'

Eliana nodded her thanks and dismissed the man with a wave of her hand.

Eight days later, she and the children waited in the forecourt of the palace as the dusty and worn procession straggled through the great gates – a stark contrast to the paragon of shining strength that had ridden out almost a year ago.

Samsu had to be helped down from his horse. It shocked Eliana to the core – she had never seen her husband accept assistance from anyone, for anything. He limped towards her, leaning heavily on a wooden staff. His leg was heavily bandaged, and the flesh above and below looked angry and inflamed. He grimaced with every step.

'Welcome home, sir,' Eliana bowed, the children following suit. 'We are so glad to have you back with us, and victorious.'

'Did you ever doubt it?' he snapped. 'I'll bet you were quietly hoping that I would not return.'

'Not for a moment, sir,' she lied, smoothly. 'We always knew that you would...'

'Quiet!' he barked; she flinched. 'Your chirping irritates me. Where is my son?'

'Here, father,' Eshu stepped forward.

'You have grown in my absence,' he nodded. 'Have you grown in wisdom, too?'

'Yes, father. I have learned a great deal about government from mother and my advisors.'

Samsu grunted. 'Good. I shall talk with you when I am rested.'

'Father,' Eshu bowed and stepped back as Samsu stalked past towards the palace door, not even acknowledging his daughters. They were used to it, but looked crushed nonetheless.

Hot on Samsu's heels was the Brute, looking immensely satisfied, leading a man in chains.

This could only be Rimsin, Eliana knew. Brought all the way back to the palace for the sole purpose of executing him before half of Babylon. The man was in appalling condition – he was missing several teeth, his nose was crooked and bloodied, and one arm hung crooked and useless by his side. He limped as badly as Samsu, and his tunic was torn and bloodstained.

There was a sharp crack, the clatter of breaking pottery, and a cry of pain near the door of the palace – Eliana wheeled around to see a slave boy stagger sideways, clutching at his head, a drinking bowl lying shattered on the ground in a pool of wine, red as blood.

'Idiot!' shouted Samsu, lowering his stick and resuming his slow progress to the door.

Eliana glanced back towards the horses, where Ashan was just dismounting. Their eyes met for a moment and they exchanged looks of concern.

Despite the seriousness of the moment, her heart beat a little faster as she looked at him. His face was more careworn, with lines of strain etched around his eyes and mouth, but his skin had been burnished dark copper by long months out in the sun, living in an army camp. His body was leaner, more defined, any trace of the softness of palace life long vanished. Hair tangled to his shoulders, a little longer than it had been. It suited him.

She smiled a little as memories blazed within her, tinged with sadness that their love had been ensnared in a complex web of responsibilities, loyalties and circumstance.

Asag went to greet his old friend with a brotherly clasp of the hand. Bending his head, Ashan muttered a few words to him before clapping him on the shoulder and stalking after Samsu.

Coming back to his queen, Asag whispered, 'Ashan needs to speak to us both this evening. He warns you to avoid the king, if possible. Do not seek him out.'

She nodded, her stomach fluttering a little at the thought of being so near him again.

**

After dark, the three of them met out on Eliana's roof terrace, lit by a mere sliver of moon that reminded her of the night she had first been captured, stupidly falling into a palace pond.

Adra had been delighted by the queen dismissing her for the night, and had quickly disappeared to spend the night with the Brute, Eliana supposed. Mari was keeping Tabi busy, and so they could be assured of some degree of privacy.

Despite this, Ashan was brittle and formal with her, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort. She felt ashamed that she had ever held onto ever the smallest shard of her love for him – his for her was clearly long-dead. Close enough to feel the heat of his body, smell the scent of his hair, she felt part of her come alive again.

She wished it would not.

He came straight to the point. 'The king is half-mad. His leg is putrid – the pain is debilitating, and makes him irrational and irritable, but it is more than that. His paranoia consumes him.'

'How did it happen?' asked Eliana.

'During the first assault on Larsa, one of the archers miscalculated – he shot an arrow straight into Samsu's leg. The king was sat atop his horse – it panicked and bolted. He fell hard, hitting his head and falling unconscious. The shaft of the arrow was snapped off in the fall and became wedged inside the leg. He did not regain his sensibility for two hours, and his leg had to be cut open still further to remove the arrow.'

Eliana recoiled – the pain that must have caused...

'The physician stitched him up, but the wound never healed properly. Samsu grew fevered and delirious. At the height of his madness, he accused us all of plotting his death, trying to assassinate him. He forgave the archer initially, but as fever took him, he ordered the man shot with all the arrows in his quiver.'

'And now...?' she feared to hear the answer.

'His paranoia grows. He has never questioned the loyalty of his men before now, but he began to dole out harsh punishments for the most minor transgressions, making life difficult for the men. His battle plans became nonsensical and illogical – hundreds of men died because of them, and dozens more defected. Had he not won that final battle, the war would have been lost. So many men were killed... we could not have afforded another victory such as that one.'

'Has he said anything about me? About the children?' she asked, anxiously.

'He suspects everybody of deception and treason. He trusts no-one but me, and is more violent, irrational and unpredictable than ever. You must do nothing to upset him. Nothing to make him suspect you.'

She glanced at Asag; his lips were pressed together with tension.

An awkward silence descended over the trio, and for just the briefest moment, she longed to reach over and take Ashan's hand, as though she could wipe the last decade clean from their minds and return things to the way they used to be.

**

Eliana managed to take Ashan's advice, and was able to avoid Samsu for several days. It was not until the following week that she had to face him, when she, along with the entire court, was summoned to audience.

Sitting beside him on her small throne, it felt odd to be a mere spectator at the audiences again. Eshu sat on Samsu's other side. The steward banged his staff against the floor, and an expectant hush fell over the assembly.

'Rimsin, the vile pretender,' announced the man, as the huge doors at the end of the hall were flung open, and the broken man was marched up and thrown to his knees before the dais. The man's decency was barely covered by his torn and decaying tunic, and every inch of bare skin was smeared with dust, mud, and dried blood. He raised his head and directed an impassioned stare at Eliana – a silent plea for mercy. The haunted look in his eyes pierced her heart, and she quickly looked away. Even she could not be so much of a fool as to try to interfere with the king's justice.

'Do you have anything to say for yourself?' asked Samsu in a dangerous voice.

'I am a lowly and wretched creature,' croaked the man, forcing out his rehearsed speech. 'I have greatly transgressed against the rightful king, and I beg your royal forgiveness and mercy.' His voice broke on the last word.

'Denied,' snarled Samsu. 'You take me away from the business of government for a full year, raise my empire in rebellion against me, and cause the deaths of hundreds of men, then have the audacity to beg mercy?'

'But, you promised...' begged the man, 'if I gave myself up... gave your word...'

'As a promise from a traitor is worthless, a promise to a traitor is no promise at all.' Samsu gestured to Rimsin's guards. They stepped forward with a thick wooden post, taller than a man, made stable by the cross it was mounted on. Chains hung from the top.

They set it down and swept him up from the floor, attaching the manacles to his wrists – he cried out in pain as they forced the useless arm above his head to secure it.

Samsu gestured again. The Brute emerged from the crowd, a look of great anticipation on his face as he flexed his fingers and advanced on the helpless man.

Staring into Rimsin's eyes, the Brute wrapped his fingers around his throat and began to squeeze, slowly, eking it out, watching the life begin to drain away.

The man's face reddened, then purpled. His eyes bulged and he began to flail weakly, uselessly, choking out his final, indistinguishable words. Eliana forced herself to watch – Samsu would criticise if she looked away, would accuse her of having sympathy for the traitor. Every second physically sickened her, but she must pay attention. She wished that she could protect Eshu from having to see this; glancing at him quickly, she saw that he was pale, but he kept his eyes fixed on the execution, his face impassive.

As a final insult, the Brute spat in Rimsin's face just before the man lost consciousness. When he slumped from his chains, the Brute took the head between his hands and gave a sharp twist.

There was a nauseating crack as Rimsin's neck snapped in two.

His work done, wearing an expression of immense gratification, the Brute moved back to his place as the guards removed the body and the post.

When everything was cleared away, Samsu raised his hands. 'Marduk has been good to me, this last year, guiding me to victory at every stage of the campaign. His generosity must not go unrewarded. As thanks, it is my intention to give him my eldest daughter, Sarri, when she turns thirteen next year.'

Eliana was stunned – she had not heard so much as a whisper of this. She looked around to see shock and consternation on every face.

Poor Sarri, Eliana thought. The girl was never meant to be a priestess. She will find the life insufferably dull. She needs excitement and challenge. Kisuri would make a far better priestess of Marduk – it would suit her down to the ground. Perhaps I can persuade him...

Of all the faces in the assembly, Ashan's stood out, horror plain in every contour of his body. Eliana was surprised at the strength of the reaction all round – she knew Sarri, knew that the life would not suit her, but nobody else was close enough to realise that. Being a priestess was not such a terrible fate, it was just not the one she would have chosen for her headstrong niece.

It was with a slow-dawning terror that she began to wonder if she had interpreted Samsu's words correctly.