House of Eclipses by Casey L. Bond
3
Kiran took the golden urn from me at the bottom of the temple steps and dared a whisper, begging me to come to the temple if anything seemed amiss when I returned home. I lied to him just to get him out of the sand. I would never endanger the priests by hiding among them. Besides that, I refused to hide.
It seemed that all that remained of mine and Kiran’s friendship was lies I spoke to comfort worries he voiced. Our former relationship, if you could call it that, was preserved like the bits of bone entrenched in the sand.
Pale curtains waved from my window as I approached the House of the Sun, just before ducking inside and walking to my rooms. Servants buzzed about the corridors, ever tending the hive they lived in, careful of the deadly stingers my family brandished.
A petite girl carrying freshly laundered linens stopped and bowed to me as I passed. She kept her eyes averted and folded her spine. I hated it. No person should bow to another.
Our House was cool and inviting and I wanted nothing more than to collapse into a warm pool of water and float for days. The desert heat never drained me, but the heaviness of the day settled into my bones.
That weariness was compounded when I entered my rooms and saw Citali waiting for me on a settee. She’d changed from her pure-white, pleated departure dress into something more her style: a blood-orange skirt and matching top that plumped her small breasts and bared her stomach.
Her legs were crossed and she managed a bored expression, though her impatience simmered below the surface in the way she drummed her fingers on her crossed arms.
Her dark hair lay in waves over her shoulders. She brushed it away when she leaned forward, sending it splaying down her back.
“Father wishes to make an announcement. If you don’t hurry and change, you’ll be late to the feast he’s arranged. After today, you wouldn’t want to anger him further.” It almost sounded like she cared. Almost… Her eyes slid over me, her lip curling in disgust. “You brought back half the desert on your skin.”
Feast? Why would he arrange for a celebration to directly follow a departure?
“A new wife?” I asked. He never wasted time filling his bed.
Citali shrugged.
“Why did you wait for me? He could’ve sent a servant with the request.” I narrowed my eyes at her.
“You took forever,” she complained.
She wasn’t worried about my wellbeing, but hers. “You thought Sol had chosen among us?”
“Zarina has not transformed. Neither have I,” she admitted with an unapologetic shrug. “I had to be sure.”
“I thought you said Sol would never stoop so low as to consider me for the role of Aten.”
I moved to the folded screens where someone had hung a pressed gown and stripped out of the departure dress. A basin of fresh water sat on a table beside me. I scrubbed the blood from my chin and cupped water to my lips before wiping down my legs and arms and dragging the ruddy sand away. I dried my face and dove into the mustard yellow gown. It was sleeveless and straight to the ankle, my curved hips stretching the seams a little.
“We are to wear our aureoles.”
My eyes locked with hers as I stepped from behind the screens. “You don’t know why?”
She shook her head, toying with her aureole lying beside her. I hadn’t noticed it before. We only wore the heavy sunburst crowns on occasions of great importance. Not even departures required them. What could Father possibly announce tonight?
Citali could be lying about Zarina. Had Sol chosen her after all? Father expected it at any moment. He had recommended our eldest sister to Sol when she came of age many years ago. When his recommendation was ignored and Zarina seemingly looked over, Father consulted the Sphinx, who warned that Sol would not choose among us until all the Atenas were of age. Citali was eighteen and I would be seventeen in less than two weeks. Perhaps Sol had grown impatient and decided to declare her heir, and the next Aten, now.
Citali stood, plucking her aureole from the settee. I glanced at her shrewdly. “Why did you tell me any of this?”
What was in it for her?
She gave a predatory smile, full of teeth. “Because I am your sister.” She lithely moved toward the door, pausing with her hand on the door. “And, because after what you dared say to him earlier, I want to watch when you face him again.”
My heart drummed so loudly I wondered if she could hear it and feel the reverberation, but I kept my face stony and my back straight. I would not let her see me squirm. I wouldn’t let anyone see my fear.
After a lingering moment, she slid from the room. I locked my door behind her.
Aureole in hand, I made my way down the long corridor, the seamless, polished stone cold underfoot. There was no time to bathe or arrange my hair. I had just enough time to hastily brush it, layer bracelets onto my forearm, slide rings onto my fingers, and clasp chains around my ankles. I raked the pads of my fingers over the sheer fabric layer stretching from breast to stomach, focusing on the faces of the servants bowing as I passed.
They’re emaciated.
Their cheekbones are so sharp, I could use them as knives.
They’re starving, and it’s Father’s fault.
But the Aten and his family never starve. We are lavished upon. We feast.
The dining hall teemed with people – all finely dressed. How had Father gathered them so quickly after Joba’s departure? I paused at the door, watching the wealthy nobility of Helios meander around the room, eating their fill. Watching the servants refill platter after platter, even as their clothing hung from their gaunt frames.
At the Aten’s table, my father sat at the head. Zarina sat at his right hand; Citali sat to his left. Their aureoles glistened from the sun rays beaming in from the grand terrace outside. There was an uncommon, pleasantly hot breeze wending through the room, toying with the curtains and the hair of noble women.
Most were draped in gold. Many were giggling from too much drink. Few noticed me, but Father did. His dark eyes fastened on mine the moment I stepped into the room. I raised my chin, placed my aureole onto my head, and strode purposefully into the room.
Many considered me a princess, when I knew I was a queen.
People always noticed the aureole first, then their faces would show surprise. Reverence. Fear. The crowd parted for me as a wave of bows raced across the room. I made my way to the table and took my seat beside Citali, still unsure why we were gathered.
I held my tongue, even as Father smirked in pleasure at the sight of the split in my lip. Servants filled a decadent plate and placed it in front of me along with a goblet of wine. By the rich aroma, it was our finest. My suspicion was confirmed when I swirled the liquid in the golden cup and took a sip.
I sat the goblet down and picked at my plate, never eating a bite nor taking another drink. How could I when my people were starving just outside these polished walls? Not to mention the fact that Father had threatened me. Poisoning me would certainly silence my lips for good.
“This afternoon while you were strolling about in the dunes, Noor, I spoke with the Sphinx,” he finally said.
I laid down my fork. The gold clinked against the golden table.
Strolling around the dunes?
Gritting my teeth, I struggled to hold my tongue and somehow managed a bored expression. I was curious about his dealings with the Sphinx. “And did she give you a prophecy?”
His brows lifted with his lips. “Indeed she did. A very fortunate prophecy.”
Father was far too pleased for it to be of anything but my demise.
I looked to Joba’s empty chair at the end of the table opposite Father. Yesterday at supper, she’d eaten her last meal with us and none of us were the wiser. I wondered if he planned to kill them, or if a moment of passionate rage consumed him like Sol’s fire and his composure broke like the spine of a bird before it was prepared for the dinner table.
The fact that her seat lay empty meant he hadn’t taken another wife… I hoped.
The fowl on my plate made my stomach turn. I pushed it away.
“In fact,” Father began, “her prophecy was so precise, it began to fall into place the exact moment I stepped out of her lair. Zuul met me with a missive right then.”
Zuul, a cold-eyed man built like a stone wall stood behind him. He was head of Father’s personal guard for a reason. He was ruthless in the sparring matches Father insisted his men partake in, and fiercely loyal to the Aten. So loyal, he cut out his own brother’s tongue when he made a joke about my father. His brother was a laborer now, cutting stone in the oppressive heat until he dragged himself back to his ramshackle shanty each day, or collapsed with exhaustion so that others had to shoulder the burden of dragging him home.
Zuul always hovered near Father, scanning the room for threats I wasn’t sure had ever existed. Veins bulged under his shaved scalp and down his forearms; his chest was half as broad as our table.
The crowd, which had gone back to their mingling once I took my seat, parted once more, bowing to Sol’s priests as they entered the room single file. The priests were an order, none more important than the rest, as all were valuable to Sol in their own way. With no head or hierarchy, they were equals, each an edge of a connected circle with Sol in its center.
There were no struggles for power within their number; there was no strife or jealousy, envy or hatred. They were a family of servants who wanted nothing more than to please the goddess. As such, when her Aten called for them, they came.
Father stood to greet each priest. They folded themselves in half for him while he barely deigned to incline his head. The priests did not glance upon the Atenas and we did not bow to them. We were to limit all contact with them, per Father’s orders.
The last thing he wanted was for the priests to be tempted by one of his daughters. My eyes slid to Citali, then back again. I didn’t allow myself even a glance at Kiran.
When all greetings were made, Father asked the priests to seat themselves with us. Kiran took the seat next to Zarina, far enough from me that our eyes would not have to meet. They each accepted plates from our servants, who swarmed in with laden plates of food and drink.
Before any of the men took a bite, they rose their hands and voices, singing a prayer of thanks to Sol for the food. I watched the pinch of Father’s mouth when they failed to thank him as well, and instead, began quietly eating their fill.
Beneath the table, Kiran’s foot gently pressed down on mine and then withdrew. I sat up straighter, wiped my mouth on a napkin, and sat back to see what would come next. Priests rarely dined with us. They would accept invitations for vital events, so whatever this was, it must be something of great importance.
And if Kiran dared touch me, even if no one else was likely to see… it must be bad.
I examined Zarina, staring until she felt it, and my sister lifted her eyes to mine. Their warm amber hue was unchanged. Her skin was radiant, but it often was. Her golden gown hugged her svelte form even as she sat. As I combed over her features, she studied mine. Zarina didn’t know what this was about, either. Sol had not chosen her as Aten – yet.
Her eyes narrowed before she looked away to dissect Citali’s expression. Both sat up straighter as Father stood.
He struck a fork against his goblet and a sharp ping rang out. “Thank you for coming to the House of the Sun on such a difficult day, a day that was filled with mourning and despair… before Sol intervened on my behalf and on yours.”
My fingernails dug into the arms of my chair at the audacity of his words. How quickly he’d finished lamenting Joba’s death.
“The Kingdom of Lumina has a new Lumin. He has written to inquire about a negotiation of peace and trade between our people and lands. My personal guard, two of Sol’s priests, the two youngest Atenas, and I will travel to the House of Dusk to meet with him. We leave tomorrow, in the first hour.”
The room erupted with gasps, lending sound to the feeling crashing through my chest. Some clasped their hands over their chests, whether in worry or hope, I wasn’t sure.
When the Great Divide happened, the gods cleaved the earth in two and divided it among their peoples. Sol built Helios in her inherited northern portion, while Lumos created Lumina among his bottom half of the world.
As fiery Sol ruled over our skies, Lumos, god of silver and frost, governed theirs. And like Sol had her Aten, Lumos had his Lumin to represent him. Both Aten and Lumin were endowed with powers, though I’d heard the Lumin’s were more fearsome than Father’s.
Our kingdoms did not battle one another, but when the Great Divide occurred, contact was severed.
This missive changed everything. I wasn’t even sure how the Lumin had managed to deliver it.
The thin strip of dusk lands where neither Sol nor Lumos guarded were uninhabited and considered neutral ground. The people who once lived there had abandoned their homes long ago to move closer to their gods and leaders. But amid the crumbling cities that once lived and thrived stood the House of Dusk, a palace that once was used by both peoples and stood as a house of unity.
According to the history scrolls, before the falling out between Sol and Lumos, there was free trade and travel between our kingdoms and the land was filled with small cities and towns interspersed with countryside and farms. There was comradery between our people. Once, the Aten and Lumin worked together, their gods blissfully sharing the sky. I wondered if such a peace was possible after so much stagnancy, or whether the gods would allow their peoples to strike such a bargain.
Father waited for the initial shock to wear off before continuing.
Zarina fumed because Father was leaving her behind. But why?
Her chest heaved beneath thick, red beads. Zarina preferred the fiery color and only during departures ventured away from the bloody hue. Fury flooded her face until it matched her gown. She glared at Citali, who smiled at her from across the table. Zarina’s eyes flashed to mine. I was not smiling.
I suspected what Father was trying to do. If Zarina was left behind, closest to Sol, would the goddess be forced to choose her as heir? Traveling to the dusk lands would take several days, negotiations could take weeks – beyond my seventeenth birthday when all three Atenas would be of age. The Sphinx once told Father that Sol would finally make her choice only when she could choose between us all. That day was fast approaching. But what if Citali and I were removed from Sol, sent to a land where even her light didn’t reach?
Citali would not be smirking if she took a moment to consider what Zarina’s proximity to the goddess might mean for her.
Then again perhaps I was paranoid, and the Sphinx had instructed Father on who should travel with him to the dusk lands to meet the new Lumin. Perhaps, he had no other choice but to leave one of us behind in his stead. Being the eldest Atena, Zarina would be expected to oversee the city in Father’s absence.
He would never leave Citali with such a responsibility, and he would rather die than entrust me with something so vital.
I let my eyes trail over the priests’ faces, careful not to stop on any of them. Kiran’s expression was pensive – a replica of the others in his order. He was the youngest by many years and the eldest’s eyes drifted closed despite the fanfare.
The elderly priest Saric had been charged with escorting me into the sand all those years ago when my mother was taken from me. Once we were free of prying eyes, he carried the heavy urn despite the blistering and pain and advised me to listen to Sol as she led me to the perfect resting place for her. He brushed away my tears before singing over her ash and bones. Then he let me sit with her for a long while, so long his feet were charred when we returned.
I’ll never forget his kindness in those terrible moments. It was difficult to see age claim dominion over his bones and body.
Saric’s chin drooped; his mouth slowly fell open. His brother gently nudged him awake before Father saw or a snore escaped. The tension filling my ribs eased when he sat up straight and returned his attention to the Aten, who began talking again.
“I cannot make any promises other than to vow to hear what the Lumin might propose for Sol. I will relay the fruits of our negotiations to Sol and the goddess will decide what is acceptable and what isn’t.”
Father’s eyes flicked to mine.
Citali beamed hungrily at my side. Zarina still fumed. The priests remained quiet.
“We have much to do to prepare for this journey. Feel free to enjoy the feast as long as you would like or retire early if you’re in the traveling party.”
The priests wasted little time. Excusing themselves from the table, they bowed to their Aten one by one as they filed away from the table and retraced their steps through the crowd, making their way back to the temple.
I wondered which two priests would go and which priests would stay behind for Sol and to care for her temple, for our people if the need arose. I hoped she wouldn’t choose Kiran for the task, and yet, I hoped she did.
If we were traveling together, the temptation to talk to my friend would be too great to bear. He would be safer here.
Father took his seat again, snapping his fingers to indicate that his goblet was empty. A young man swooped in to fill it before reclaiming his place against the wall. Father wore a rare, self-satisfied half-smile, but it fell away when he looked upon Zarina, who still could not hide her rage.
He leaned forward, that unusual smile falling quickly away. “You dare question me, Atena?” he asked, a dangerous taunt in his tone.
“If I am to be Aten, I need to be seen at your side, not left behind,” she calmly voiced.
He shook his head. “And what if I tell you that you will not become Aten if you leave Helios for the dusk lands?” He leaned forward, harshly holding her gaze. “I’ll hear no more protests about the issue.”
“Yes, Father,” she quietly answered, her tone still sharp. Her aureole flashed when she turned away from him to face us once more.
Outwardly, the argument was over, but inwardly Zarina’s inner fire had not been doused. White hot, it scorched my half-sister. Could everyone sense her disdain, or was it only visible to those who also burned?