Garden of Madness (22 page)

The words were like sharp stones pelting her skin. She could not allow herself to feel, to bleed, to be destroyed by the gift he offered and then ground under his heel.

A slight breeze rustled the palm-tree branches in the air high above her, and they scratched and hissed against each other. If her father were whole, Pedaiah would be executed for such a speech.

But her father was not whole, and her mother was not innocent, and she had no one in this palace or in this world who truly cared for her.

Nor could she trust anyone. Amel had whispered to her of Shadir’s plotting, of danger to her nephews, of her mother’s involvement. Was any part of it true?

Kaldu’s death, Shealtiel’s death—were they even related?
Think, Tia
. All of it seemed muddied now. What did she know with certainty?

She forced her thoughts back over the events of the past weeks.

Shadir plotted to bring down her father. He was not in league with her mother, and had taken Amel—a son of her father—into his confidence. He must reveal Amel’s parentage at the right time and put him on the throne.

In the meantime, her mother fought against this with her own plan. Marry Tia to her Median cousin. Tia saw the logic at once. The two kingdoms joined, with her at the center. Zagros and she would be sovereign over Media and Babylon both, the bond strengthened. Perhaps even more than a treaty.
“Soon it will all be over,”
Amytis had said when Rabi asked how much longer they could keep her father’s condition a secret. Did she have plans against him herself? With him out of the way, would she give the entire kingdom to the Medes to ensure the perpetual safety and nobility of her own family?

A scratching sound, not too far away, alerted Tia to her father’s presence. She watched in silence, unmoving, as he snuffed at the base of a palm tree. So close, yet he might as well have been fighting one of his wars in a kingdom across the earth. He lifted his head, sniffed at the wind, and brought his gaze around to fix on her. Once she would have told herself they held some recognition, but she had learned better.

Two plots, then. Interwoven, yet distinct. Both Shadir and Amytis posed a threat. Tia still did not know how Kaldu’s death was related, nor if Shealtiel was truly poisoned. But what she did know called for a decision.

If her mother intended to give away Babylon to the Medes, an enormous dowry that would convince any man to marry, then Tia would have to deprive her of the means. If she had no daughter to give away in marriage, there would be no reason to harm her father.

But neither could she allow Shadir to succeed. He was evil, and any plan to put Amel on the throne could only be a bid for power himself, a way to control the kingdom for his own ends.

That night, weeks ago, when Tia had overheard Shadir on the rooftop garden, she had vowed that she would be more than a simple, pleasure-seeking princess. She tore a leaf from the stalk of mint beside her and chewed it for her stomach’s sake, but the sharp tang also brought clarity.

It would take more than a vow. She saw that to truly affect change in the world, one must be willing to lose everything for the cause. Only if she believed that what she fought for—king and kingdom—were more important than her own happiness would she be able to push forward, knowing that she must sacrifice for the sake of others.

The Gardens, for all their wild freedom, were still rooted deep in the palace. Must be rooted here to thrive. She had always felt a kinship with the Gardens in that way. She, too, was a part of this place, even as she sought out excitement and freedom. Could she rip herself from the palace and survive?

Above her, a single wisp of cloud drifted across the wide-open blue sky, like a ship alone in a vast sea with no anchor. A swell of emotion she could hardly name—fear? resolve? loneliness?—pained her chest, brought her to her feet.

Her father’s eyes swung back to her, alert, wary. Tia moved down the steps to the next tier. The old gardener saw her now and raised a weathered hand—in greeting or in warning?

She reached her father’s crouched figure, held out a palm, and waited for him to approach. He shambled over and nudged her hand upward to his matted head. Her tears were for both of them.

“We will not let them have Babylon, Father.” Tia spoke the words aloud, let them echo down over the tiers, to where the guards stood at the entrances. Three appeared below her in a moment, their hands on sheathed swords and their attention on her.

Let them see her. All of them. Let them report back to her mother and let Amytis be afraid.

Tiamat, the pampered princess, was gone.

With unknowing foresight, Amytis had chosen her name. For she would be the dragon monster.

Tiamat. Who, from her slain body, birthed a new world.

She comes. Again she comes.

All is dark when she is not here.

Sense her. Know she watches. Come out from hiding.

Let her see. Here. Here is me.

Do not go. Do not drop me back to where there is nothing but instinct and hunger and meat.

Closer. Closer she is coming.

Makes sounds with her mouth, and almost I understand. Grasping, grasping for the sounds and for my own sounds. Tia . . . Yes. Clutch the name. Hold on to the name.

Hand outstretched. I approach. Beautiful hand. Here, here on my head.

Warmth. Comfort. Affection.

Never leave me, child. You are my own, and I am coming back to you.

CHAPTER 25

Tia could not be certain that from this height the guards would recognize her.

“You there!” One of them hailed her, his shout wary.

She did not wait for them to climb the tiers to where she stood, her hand still on her father’s snarl of long hair. With a quick good-bye, she turned to run upward. But that look—that look her father gave her just before she turned—she bent to him again. “Father?”

He smelled of earth and sweat and wildness, but there was something in the eyes, something different. As though her father were trapped in a deep pit, and she stood over it with a torch, with only his upraised eyes glowing in the reflection of the light, begging her for rescue. The wordless communication shook her. She took his muddy, bearded face in her two hands and whispered to him, “I will be back for you.”

Then she dashed past red blooms and churning pools to the upper tier, through her hidden door, and locked it behind her long before the guards had climbed.

She took the dark stairs slowly downward to the belly of the palace. It was impossible, this plan forming in her mind. But she must accomplish it. She could not leave the palace yet, could not deprive her mother of her bargaining piece until Tia had secured her father’s safety. And that safety could only be found outside the palace. But how could she remove him? And where would they go?

She was in the first courtyard before she even realized it, and Gula rushed her as though in fear for her life.

“My lady!” She paused, swallowed hard.

“Catch your breath, Gula. What has happened?”

“Your mother—the prince—”

Which prince would that be
?
Pedaiah? Amel-Marduk? Zagros?
Tia sighed at the irony.

“The Prince of Media has sent runners. The caravan arrives within the hour. Your mother is frantic trying to find you.”

So. It was to be a day of change.
Let it come
.

“I will go to my chamber to prepare, Gula. Tell Amytis she can find me there if she wishes.”

Gula bowed and ran. Poor girl. She served Tia, but Amytis was her true master.

And Tia’s new master would soon arrive. She took a deep breath and made her way to her chamber. The charade would continue for yet a little while. It was not time to let her mother know her plans. Let her think that she was the compliant Tiamat at last. The ruse chafed, but it was preferable to awaiting her Akitu Festival wedding day behind locked doors.

She let them bathe her and dress her in gorgeous robes, layer her with jewels, and veil her lower face, all the while wondering if this would be the last time. Would she dress herself for the rest of her life? Rather than concern, the thought shamed her. How had she not seen how spoiled she had become?

Her mother arrived and fussed over every detail of her appearance. More color for her cheeks and lips, even though they were veiled.
Much
more kohl for her eyes. Could they not wrap more jewels around her upper arms? What about that pearl anklet— where was that piece?

Tia stood unmoving in the center of her chamber, like a goddess statue being dressed for her yearly appearance to the people. Like a package of valued goods presented for trade. Like a sacrifice prepared for offering.
Just get it done
. And let her take her father and leave this place.

A furious knock at her chamber door startled all of them. Her mother breathed a curse—or a prayer, Tia could not be sure.

Omarsa opened the door and a breathless slave boy nearly shouted, “They are coming!”

Amytis surveyed her, from the sapphires at her forehead to her onyx-encrusted sandals. “Let us hope it is enough.”

Thank you, Mother
.

Though the servants were all haste, they walked serenely, queen and princess, through the corridors of the palace, through the courtyards, to the grand palace entrance with the sweeping stairs down to the street. Here, at the top of the stairs, they waited for the envoy from Media to round the final corner.

They did not wait alone. It seemed the entire palace—magi, harem, and slave alike—had turned out to the see the arrival. Even the street below began to fill, as though Babylon waited for its own returning king. Tia’s limbs grew hot and her jaw tight at the comparison.

Amytis was soon called away to consult on some pressing matter, pulled into a tight, whispering knot with her advisors. Tia stood alone for only a moment before a figure drew up close at her back, and an unwelcome voice spoke low in her ear.

“I have been looking for you.”

She did not turn. “Hmm. I was under the impression you wished nothing more to do with me, Pedaiah.”

“I have a message for you.”

“Indeed? You did not say enough earlier?”

“I have spoken to my father about a marriage to Nedabiah.”

At this surprise, a spark of hope did turn her head, though it was a mistake to look into those eyes, so close. Her lips nearly grazed his jaw, but he did not take his gaze from the crowded street below. “And?”

“And he forbids it.”

The hope died as quickly as it was born.

“Jeconiah says the marriage to Shealtiel was a mistake he never should have made. And now he has lost his eldest son. He will not sacrifice another.”

“Sacrifice? As though I were the cause of Shealtiel’s death? Is that still what your family believes?” Her fists tightened against her thighs.

Pedaiah looked down on her, seemed to realize how close they stood, and stepped back. “If he was poisoned, I do not believe it was by your hand, no. But his alliance with your family undoubtedly brought about his death.”

The Medians had reached the palace street, and the crowd sent up a cheer. Musicians had been pushed to the head of the caravan, and two bare-chested slaves piped merrily as the chariots ground along behind them, their wheels churning the dust into angry puffs.

“Very well.” Tia had no wish to beg Pedaiah. She supposed she had given up her plan to marry Nedabiah some time ago. She had a new plan now. But the refusal, and its reasoning, still flushed her with shame and indignation. “Your precious brother shall be safe from danger. Safe from
pollution
.”

From the corner of her eye she saw Pedaiah draw himself up at the word, jaw tight, the proud Pedaiah again. Here was the arrogant, detached man she had despised for so many years. She secured her veil across the lower half of her face.

The prince’s gold chariot followed a cluster of loaded camels, driven by slaves with white switches. The shouts of acclaim dwindled until she could hear the snorts of the camels and the jingle of their festooned packs, all reds and golds.

Her first sight of the Median prince came a moment later. He stood in the second chariot and raised a fist to the crowd. Again, they cheered as though he were their conquering king. Tia scanned the palace entryway for her mother and saw her across the steps, fingers entwined at her waist and a pleased smile for the prince.

Zagros alighted from his chariot with a flourish, landed squarely on the street, and then swept up the stairs, trailing his entourage. Amytis held both hands to him, still smiling, and he grasped her fingers and brought each hand to his lips for a kiss. “My lady, you are like a drink of water after a long, parched journey.”

Tia assessed him quickly. Tall, but not lean. He was imposing in every way, a future king to inspire confidence in his subjects. Thick lips, full nose, unnaturally large hands. Some might say good-looking, but it was the attraction of someone with
presence
more than beauty. He was perhaps ten or fifteen years older than she, but when Amytis turned him toward her, Tia felt like a child under his powerful gaze.

“My daughter, Princess Tiamat.” Amytis’s voice overflowed with affection and pride, and Tia nearly laughed to hear it. She could play any situation for her own benefit.

Zagros approached, and she fleetingly looked behind her for Pedaiah, but he was gone. Zagros took his time assessing her. Did not want to purchase inferior stock, she supposed. But whatever he saw seemed to be to his liking. Those thick lips widened into a leering grin. Amytis stood behind him. Would she have been concerned if she had seen the look he gave Tia?

“Ah, cousin, your letters did not exaggerate.” He licked his lips. “She is even more than I have been imagining for all these long nights in the desert.”

Tia was breathing hard now, lips tight, short, jagged breaths through her nose.

“Shall we get out of the heat?” Amytis extended a hand toward the palace. “Somewhere we can speak more privately?”

Zagros took Tia’s hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm, and did not release her from his gaze. “Yes, private. Excellent.”