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“Hurt you? I will never hurt you. Who have you been speaking with?”
“Francilia, Rowali, and I met with the Coven. They talked about the Ninurta. They believed that it was responsible for the loss of powers in Mogochislenia.”
I frowned. It made sense. However, there had been no talk about the Ninurta for several years. Luella seemed to have read my mind because she addressed my thoughts.
“They said that Erishkigal’s death had caused a power shift, an imbalance.”
“The last Ninurta attack happened decades ago. Erishkigal was alive then. She had been so for centuries.”
“Something must have weakened her during that time,” she reasoned, although she was not that certain. I could tell from the way her eyes darted away from mine.
I nodded in agreement. Then, my mind was back to the soil and how there was an illusion of drought. Was that the Ninurta, too?
“Will we try again, then?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, although I knew full well what she meant. A shadow fell over her face. She looked cross, and I could not blame her.
But what could I promise her? What could I give her without revealing too much more of my shame?
“You know what I mean? Do not let me beg you, Metheus. Let us make this marriage final. Consummate it.”
“I cannot do it,” I said. “Not without love.”
I could not believe the words that came out of my mouth. It seemed I was willing to say anything just for her not to ask again. She had no idea that I wanted it, too, so much, but I -. She slapped my face.
My wife was trembling with anger.
“Do you have to shame me like that, Metheus? I will accept it, then, that you do not love me. But how can you learn when you are always saying those words? Is it Cora? Do you love her? Have you made love to her?”
Luella was jealous. Suddenly, I felt a rush of regret at the words I had just said. I might not be sure if I loved her, but I wanted her. I desired her. I just did not know how to act upon that desire.
“I do not love Cora. I had never loved any woman. Not one, Luella,” I had hoped that she might have gotten what I was trying to say, but I did not think she understood. Women always thought that men collected lovers. That they went around rutting without love. I had never felt comfortable revealing too much of my feelings to anyone, much less making love. I suspected it took a lot of vulnerability. It would be a lot harder with someone passionate, a woman who was not as or more innocent than I was in terms of sex.
“You do not have to love me. Just make love to me. Maybe we will have a child or two before I get too old to have them,” she whispered.
Before I could respond, shouts were coming from a distance. Someone was running towards us at full speed.
“Your Highness! Your father!” the manservant cried.
“What happened to him?” I asked, already running towards the servant.
“He is injured.”
We rushed to get home as soon as we could. My thoughts were in a jumble, visions of my father in my head. I could not lose him. No! Rowali needed him. I needed him.
Soon, we were there in the courtyard, where he sat on his favorite chair, wooden but with red upholstery. He looked pale, but he often was. He was holding his shoulder, which had a broad white plaster. A circular blot of blood could be seen through the bandage.
“What happened?” I panted.
“It was an arrow, my son,” he simply said.
“An arrow?” echoed my wife, who was not even breathless. Something niggled in my brain. I knew something about her that I could not remember but must have heard. I did not always pay attention when my father gave me bits of information about her before we met.
“Do not fret, my dear. It rarely happens. This thing,” my father said, making light of the situation.
“An assassination is one rare thing, father. If it had hit you a little lower, you would not be there smiling as if you were not in pain.”
“I understand your concern, my son. For now, I am fine. The guards are now alert. Go and rest, the two of you,” he said, making a motion with his hand that meant to leave him alone.
