She was beautiful and perfect, and she hated herself.
But what else could she do? Carrying Mery’s secret became more difficult with each passing day. It had nearly gotten to thepoint where no amount of wine or distraction could prevent the dread from spreading through her every waking moment. She had to do something to keep from going mad.Besides, I’m not hurting Femi, not really, she reasoned.
But the thought didn’t ring true.
Sita blew out the lamp on the table and fell back into bed, praying for a dreamless night. But sleep stayed far from her chambers, and she turned to gaze at the frieze again, illuminated by the moonlight. In the hunting scene, the colorful, elegant birds were painted midflight, their wings spread as the net closed around them.
For the birds, time had stopped. Their eyes were forever turned toward the sky, but they’d never reach it. They were trapped.
She closed her eyes, but the crisscrossing clap net remained like an afterimage, tightening around her in the darkness of her mind.
***
The Tashan prince was speaking to her.
“What?” Sita had to shout to be heard over the music of flutes, harps, and drums.
“I said, ‘Do you want some lentils, princess?’” the prince shouted back.
“Oh. No, thank you,” she replied, and turned back to her cup. The shedeh she was drinking—a kind of fermented pomegranate juice—was a nice change from the wine. Though she’d had so much of it already that she’d ruined what was left of her appetite. Normally she loved the savory lentils they served at banquets. They were stewed with onion, garlic, and cumin—but that night, the mere sight of them turned her stomach.
She’d been seated between Harsi, the Tashan prince, and asleepy old vizier who nodded off after the first course. She was certain her mother had put her there on purpose, in the hopes she and Harsi would strike up a rapport. After all, the prince was a striking figure in his bright green sash and emerald-encrusted circlet, and the queen was eager to find a suitable match for her only daughter. The prince was handsome, with a broad, elegant face, an easy smile, and deep brown skin. He was also courtly, and, most important of all, he was the next in line to the Tashan throne.
Unfortunately for the queen, enticing the visiting prince was the furthest thing from Sita’s mind.
She’d managed to engage him in some banter when he’d first arrived, placing a garland of flowers around his neck, but now that she was five cups into her shedeh, her charm had faded. Harsi was courteous to a fault, but Sita was certain he’d noticed.
Despite her many years of diplomatic instruction at the hands of her mother, she couldn’t bring herself to care. The mounting sense of unease had so completely overtaken her life that even polite conversation felt like an impossible task.
The banquet table overflowed with dishes piled with roast oxen and goose, bowls of plump figs and red grapes, bright radish and cucumber salad mixed with vinegar and parsley, and honey and tiger nut cookies baked into crescent shapes and dotted with sesame seeds. The table stretched nearly the full length of the open-air hall, with guests seated on each side, one and all bedecked in their finest robes and gowns, their necks dripping with gold. Many of the women wore head cones over their wigs, which melted with the heat of their bodies, releasing a spicy-sweet fragrance into the air. Made of a combination of myrrh, wax, and resin, the cones got smaller and smaller as the night wore on, ticking away the minutes until the party was done.
Sita adjusted the silver circlet around her head, which wasinlaid with white papyrus flowers in mother-of-pearl. There was silver thread woven into the fabric of her dress as well, a long formfitting indigo kalasiris accented with ostrich feathers that her mother had procured for just such an occasion. She nibbled on a cookie, unable to tear her eyes from her father seated at the head of the table, his sunken face ghoulish in green eye paint and rouge. He wore the double crown, and his neck strained visibly beneath it. The tall White Crown of Low Khetara, crafted of electrum and diamond, sat within the curved crimson-gold basket of the Red Crown of High Khetara, the rearing cobra upon its brow staring upon the scene with sparkling garnet eyes. He’d taken to only wearing it for special occasions, favoring a simpler gold circlet the rest of the time. Sita could see why. The double crown was so heavy, her father looked as if he might collapse under its weight.
While the rest of the guests chatted and ate, the king spoke to no one. Once every few minutes, he ate a grape or a piece of one of the little cone-shaped honey cakes that he favored, but otherwise he was very still.
Sita’s stomach lurched again, and she set the cookie down, unfinished.
Her mother sat nearby, doing her best to sweeten the sour-faced Tashan ambassadors with bottomless cups of shedeh. They all wore richly patterned robes in the same bright green as Harsi’s sash. The queen’s smile was dazzling, but Sita could see her casting anxious glances toward the king.
She’s doing his job, and everyone knows it, Sita thought.
In the absence of conversation, Prince Harsi had turned his attentions to the dancing girls. There were four of them, naked except for translucent loincloths and white beaded necklaces, their braided hair swinging in time with the music. They moved with practiced ease, contorting their lithe bodies into deep backbends and high kicks while maintaining eye contact with anyguest that glanced their way. Among the dancers was Tadia, one of her father’s favorite concubines. She made the most of her voluptuous body, managing to catch Amunmose’s eye as she rotated her hips invitingly in his direction. He gave Tadia a weak smile and raised his cup to her.
Suddenly Sita felt hands gripping her shoulders and heard her mother’s voice in her ear. “What has gotten into you? The prince has been trying to engage you all evening and you’ve been as charming as an ox! I’ve got my hands full as it is without you dishonoring this house with your behavior. Are youtryingto make me look like a fool? Stop drinking and compose yourself.Now.”
Sita’s cheeks reddened. She’d forgotten that the queen noticed everything.
“Yes, Mother,” she murmured, her voice thick.
With that, the queen stood, offered Harsi another dazzling smile, and melted back into the crowd of lesser courtiers and attendants who mingled around the banquet table.
Sita didn’t think Harsi had heard her mother’s blistering reprimand, but he must have sensed the tension. He glanced at Sita uncertainly.
Just then, Maet bounded up to the king, having wriggled out of her mother’s grasp from where she sat with the other lesser wives. Sita watched her father’s eyes brighten. With great effort, he pulled the girl onto his knee and offered to share his cake with her.
Seizing the opportunity to make conversation, Harsi said, “Sweet girl. The king seems quite taken with her.”
“He is,” Sita replied, hoping the prince wouldn’t notice the pain in her voice. She knew she shouldn’t be jealous of little Maet—she loved her too. Everyone did. But Sita couldn’t help it. Seeing her father lavish affection on the child, something he’d never done for Sita, tore her heart to pieces every time. Maybe thelittle girl represented freedom from the constraints of the throne, of which Sita was a constant reminder. Maybe he’d reached a time in his life when he could appreciate the simple pleasures of a child—something he couldn’t do in the early days of his reign when Sita was young.
