The Call of Eternity

05 | REPRIEVE

Alassa, Alasiya, Winter. Reign of Mursili III, Year 1

Upon her terrace, Tanu-Hepa set aside the unfinished letter, her fingers trembling. A thick blanket covered her knees and a heavy cloak hung from her shoulders, its thick folds pooling on the stone flags. To either side of her, the warmth of two blazing braziers kept the late afternoon's chill at bay. She glanced up at the watery sun, its disk misted and white, hanging low in the mid-winter sky. It was over. Her prayers had been answered. Her stepson had taken the throne, and would send a retinue to bring her to Tarhuntassa once the spring storms ended and it was safe for her to take a boat from Alasiya. She glanced back at the letter, her eyes skimming the Nesite symbols until they found the words which had made her heart clench.

Upon his deathbed, Muwatallis, King of Hatti, wished it to be known he found our stepmother, his once-queen Tanu-Hepa to be a beautiful woman and a good mother who always walked in light, while he walked in darkness. He confessed he was never the man she believed he could be, though, in another life he admitted he could have loved her.

There was more, but Tanu-Hepa didn't read it. Tears burning in her eyes, she looked back at the sun sinking toward the west, the shadows from the sandstone pillars on the terrace lengthening, creeping toward her little alcove, drenched in firelight and warmth. Just over two years before, she had been banished to Alasiya's capital, Alassa, permitted only to take the clothing she wore. Her husband had been ruthless, had stripped her of all her wealth--even what she had inherited from her first husband--striking from the records all her titles, lands and incomes. She had been devastated, but at the last heartbeat, an unexpected reprieve. Her husband's brother, Hattusilis, the one who had testified against her, had sent an ox-drawn cart to the harbor. His men had arrived at dawn as she boarded the ship, and in total silence loaded two caskets filled with gold ingots; a half-dozen crates packed with bolts of dyed linen, wool, spools of thread, leather for sandals, and even a small basket containing an assortment of jewelry. Finally, one of the men set Hattusilis's final parting gift by her feet, draped with a thick blanket--the gift which had brought her the greatest comfort during her long, lonely, alienated days. She had bent down and lifted the blanket to find a tiny gold and black songbird perched within an elegant wooden cage.

Hattusilis's gifts, borne of guilt, and perhaps fear of the retribution he would face in the Under Realm, had afforded her a luxurious villa near the palace, and granted her a semblance of dignity.

However, none would befriend her, a fallen queen. Apart from her servants, she saw no one, had never received an invitation to visit the queen's court at Alassa. In fact, when she had requested if she might have permission to promenade in the royal gardens during the summer evenings, she had received a terse reply, suggesting she find other gardens from which to take the evening air.

Soon after she arrived, she stopped going out on her palanquin to explore the city, to enjoy her newfound freedom of shopping in the bazaar--something she had not done since she had been a girl, free to roam the lanes of Hattusa. The withering looks she had received, the judgment she had felt as the city's elite turned their backs to her, waiting until she had passed had been too much to bear, so she closeted herself behind the protective walls of her villa--cultivating the flowers in the garden, taking up beadwork, and embroidering beautiful designs onto her gowns with her bird as her constant, and only, companion. She ate alone, walked alone, slept alone, dreamed alone, existed alone.

Glancing at the remains of her afternoon refreshment--honeyed almond cake--she stifled a sob, thinking of the one she had missed more than any other, her heart awakening, raw, aching with emotions she had long suppressed to survive her isolation.

A tear slipped free, her heart swelling with hope, unfurling from its tight confines, permitted to beat again. Soon she would see the one she had missed more than any other, the one she loved with all her heart. The one she had raised as her own. Istara. She picked up the letter and kissed her stepson's seal, no longer the crown prince, but The Sun, King of Hatti, Mursili III.