Garden of Madness (36 page)

She sensed the Hanging Gardens on her left, perched above the city walls. Did the king watch? Did he know his Tia raced this night? Or that she would come to save him soon?

The scattered shouts and general roar of the crowd coalesced into a pulsing shout. Her name—shouted from a thousand lips— raised to the heavens.

Tia-mat! Tia-mat!

Fields and city, torch and dust, stars and sky flew past and then she was there, flying at the Ishtar Gate, pulling up on the reins, screaming commands at her horses before they flung themselves into the desert.

Kuri rolled in behind her, defeated. The race master bounded to her chariot, took her hand as she stepped to the stones and to the edge of the wall, then raised her fist above her head.

Below, the city yelled their approval, brandished their colorful pennants, chanted her name.

Tia searched the wall for any who would share her joy. None of her family was present.

Only Shadir.

He stood a few paces off, arms crossed and hands invisible inside the sleeves of his cloak. He nodded once, his lips sealed and eyes unmoving.

“Congratulations, Princess. It seems the night is an auspicious one for you in many ways.”

She bowed, hating herself for the humiliation. “But you must excuse me, Shadir.” Tia pulled at the sweat-soaked tunic clinging to her skin. “I must prepare for the more important events of the evening.”

“We await you eagerly.” He spoke of Amel, though the young mage-prince was not to be seen. Did he linger at the Akitu House already, anticipating her arrival? He would have a long wait.

With a last look at Babylon from the height of its massive walls, Tia escaped to the stairs and let her guards before and aft funnel her through the city, back to the palace to say good-bye to the only life she had ever known.

CHAPTER 41

Tia saw none of her coconspirators upon entering the palace. The first courtyard lay in darkness. Harem women and slaves alike attended the festival and had no need for palace entertainment.

She left her escorts and hurried along the corridors, her feet ticking a frantic rhythm toward her chambers.

Omarsa and Gula met her at the door, instructed to remain to prepare her for the ceremony.

“My lady.” Omarsa bowed, a slight smile twitching her lips. “You have survived another race, I see.”

“Survived and triumphed, Omarsa.” Tia couldn’t help the bit of pride in her voice.

Gula’s pale face emerged from the shadows. “How long until the ceremony?”

“Soon. There are several more races, and then the people will be expecting me at the Akitu House.” Tia stripped her tunic and trousers. “I would wash first.”

Her haste was no doubt logical in the minds of her women, though its reason was not what they believed. They unwound her chest bindings and led her, naked and shivering, to the bath chamber.

The women spilled two pots of warm water over her head, and the dousing ran into her eyes and splashed noisily against the floor. Back in her dressing chamber, droplets clung to her eyelashes and refracted the colors of the room into a myriad of jewels—sparkling rubies and diamonds. A room of luxury she would leave behind.

Omarsa insisted on perfumes, but when they brought the wedding robes, Tia held up a hand. “I do not need those.”

Omarsa frowned. “Your mother especially chose—”

“Plans have changed.” Excitement tinged her voice. They were really doing this—escaping the palace and all its secrets!

Tia tied her wet hair with a strip of fabric and pointed to one of her everyday robes across a chair, a dark linen that would blend with the shadows. Gula lifted it, a quizzical look on her brow.

“I will not be married tonight.” Tia took them both in with her glance, her voice lowered. “We—the family—are leaving.”

“Leaving?” Gula rubbed the palm of one hand with her thumb.

“Leaving Babylon. All of us. There is a plot afoot to murder my family, and I will take them to safety before it is accomplished.”

Gula’s face blanched and she reached a hand to the wall to steady herself. Did she fear that as Tia’s personal slave she would be included in the massacre?

“Gula, you must carry a message for me.” Better to keep her busy, to keep her mind occupied. “Go to the alley behind the northwest side of the palace. You will find wagons loaded there and some of my family. Tell my mother that I am ready for what comes next.”

Gula’s lip trembled. “I—I do not understand—”

“Tell her that, Gula. She will know what to do. Go!”

The girl fled from the room, and Tia turned to Omarsa, whose narrowed eyes held more suspicion and challenge than fear. “You are coming with us, Omarsa. I need you on the road, and I will need you wherever our journey takes us. Gather some things and meet us in the alley. We leave within the hour.”

Omarsa’s face was impassive, a wall of nonexpression. But then a quick nod and she bowed and left the room.

A last swift survey of her chambers. Her essential belongings had already been packed for her supposed trip to Media. Tia fingered the silk robe meant for her wedding and a wave of sadness swept over her—for what, she could not say. She dropped the robe to the bed and took to the corridors once more.

Her tunic and robe twisted around her legs as she ran, and she lifted both to increase her speed. The steps that led underground were barely lit, and her sandal slaps echoed against the stone floors. She found the bottom, raced through the three vaulted chambers, then up the spiral stairs that led to the seventh tier of the Gardens.

Tia unlocked the door with her key.
For the last time
. Never again would she leave her father caged.

The Gardens were silent. Too silent. Had the trusted guards her mother sent done their work?

She slipped to the sixth tier, then the fifth. The darkness was a solid thing here, with only the stars and moon for light, and yellow flowers, oddly muted.

“Father?” Tia whispered, afraid that guards who kept her father locked up would hear and run her off.

A terrible shriek pierced the night and drew her upright. Tiny hairs prickled her neck and a shudder ran through her.

The king appeared, gripped by two guards—her mother’s men.

“Where are the others?” Her voice was hoarse, as though unused for days.

One of the two jerked his head backward toward the lowest levels. “They will not detain us.”

Her father thrashed in the grasp of the younger men, his eyes huge and white and his lips drawn back over his teeth.

“Father”—Tia reached a hand to him and spoke gently—“it is Tia. All is well. Do not fear.”

He eyed her carefully, still struggling. His hands were curved into claws, the nails long and yellowed. If he could have reached their necks, he would have slashed open the throats of the guards.

She slid closer, both hands held out, palms up in invitation rather than aggression. “Father, listen to my voice.”

His scuffling eased.

“We are leaving here, Father. We are leaving together.” Tia was close enough to touch him now, and she grasped his roughened hands in her own. He held still, his eyes searching hers with something close to recognition.

“That’s it, Father. All is well.” He smelled foul, rotting earth and waste, and spittle clung to his beard. She caressed his hands, whispered to him, reassured him with her eyes.

“Come with me, Father. Let me take you from here.”

The guards interpreted her words as a signal and pulled to lead him upward toward her secret door. He jerked, lashed out with both arms, and struck Tia on the cheek. Her teeth dug into tender flesh and she tasted blood. She lifted a hand to her face, and the guards regained their hold on his arms. From beyond the Gardens, across the city, a mighty cheer lifted from thousands of citizens. The races were concluding.

“Bring him.” Tia turned and led the way upward. They were running out of time.

The larger beasts come to me in my prowling, snatch at my limbs, drag me where I do not wish to go.

But then she comes. So like her mother, who never comes.

I wish to speak her name, to reach for her. But my flesh does not obey my mind, which is only now beginning to clear, like the desert air after a sandstorm. Still gritty with confusion, still hazy and indistinct.

But one thing I know. I must follow her.

They wish me to walk upright and I am out of practice. Their grip on me is painful. I allow it, cease fighting it; they bring me along behind her.

Tiamat.

Daughter.

Up, and then down. Through darkness underground, into moonlit darkness once more, but not my Gardens. Not my familiar Gardens.

I am returning, but I will not fully return until I submit. The Most High has called my name and He will not be denied by a mortal king.

Tia sped along the back corridor, the strange trio in her wake, to the back entrance of the palace. Here the narrow alley ran alongside, a trench between palace and city wall. No torches lit the path, but even in the gray murk she could see the series of tan wagons, hitched and waiting. The alley smelled of rancid garbage. She searched the darkness for the one she must see before leaving, but Pedaiah did not appear.

Instead, her mother’s form flew toward her, her robes fluttering. At the sight of her husband, Mother drew up and sucked in a ragged breath. How long had it been since she had seen his face? Four fingers went to her lips, as though to capture breath before it left her completely. With her other hand she reached out, tentative and too far away to actually touch him. But the pity, the anguish in her eyes, it clogged Tia’s throat with emotion.

“You brought him.” Amytis’s words were a whisper, an exhalation.

“We must get him secured.” Tia spoke to the guards. They dragged him to the back of a wagon and pushed him upward onto its bed, then jumped in alongside. Tia joined them, ignoring her mother’s squeak of protest. The rough wood of the wagon’s dirty side scraped her leg, set it on fire. She hunkered down beside her father’s huddled form, tried to connect with him through the eyes.

Where is Pedaiah?
Tia had her answer, then. They both had a duty to their people. One that did not include each other. Would it be Judith who filled his life once Tia was gone?

Her mother came to stand beside Tia’s place in the wagon, her long fingers curled over the side. Still staring at her father, Tia patted her mother’s cold hand, her heart numb. “We must be off. Find your place.”

The walls were closing in on her. She felt the cold stone creeping closer, and a nausea borne of anxiety churned her stomach. Her mother disappeared into the darkness. Her wagon would be closer to the head of the procession, and Mother would give the order to be off.

Far ahead, Tia could hear the
snick
of the first driver, urging his wagon forward. A last look at the narrow door, where they had each emerged from the palace.

There—a shadow, a figure, familiar and beloved.

Tia kneeled at the wagon’s side and reached for him. “Pedaiah!”

He ran the length of the alley, grabbed her fingers, shoved a foot into the spokes of their wagon wheel, and thrust upward until their faces were a breath apart.

“Wait!” Tia called to the driver.

Pedaiah held the wagon’s side with one hand and her face with the other. He bent his lips to her cheek, her hair, her ear. “Be safe, Princess.”

A low whimper came from her throat, the sound of an animal, frightened or injured. How could she leave him?

“Pedaiah . . .”

He silenced her lips with a kiss, long and heartfelt, and she heard and felt nothing but his kiss until at last she realized that there was shouting somewhere, an angry, outraged shouting.

She pulled away, breathless, and peered down the alley. Pedaiah still cradled her head with his hand, and his fingers tensed against her neck.

Gula. Pointing. Shadir, with a raised fist and a terrible fire in his eyes.

The timid Gula. Tia had underestimated her. In a flash she thought of Daniel’s suggestion that she had been drugged. Had Gula been the source?

Shadir disappeared.

He cannot stop us all alone
. But he would bring back guards, soldiers. In chariots, on horseback, on foot. They would give chase, they would block the city gates, and this many wagons could never escape the city unseen.