[Bêthberry]

Apprehension worked on Bekah's thoughts like a dog worrying a bone. All the careful balancing of her life seemed about to collapse, a house of cards after all. At least, that is what she feared as she watched the heat of noon shimmer over the rooftops and buildings from her balcony. She sat at her small desk, writing and rewriting.

My beloved Brother-Monarch,

How pleased my husband and I were to hear of the birth of your child and the safe delivery of your wife. It augurs well that your blood and mine will flow like the life-giving river through time.

What news have you heard of the outside world or are you too ...

She gave up, drumming the desk with her quill and watching the small splatters of ink. Then she began again.

My Lord Faroz,

In the festivities of welcoming this Emissary of the Lord Annatar, we have not considered announching his arrival to our other alliances. Will you grant me permisison to write to Alanzia and ...

This, too, she soon gave up. These were the second and third attempts she had made to address this thought. Should her brother be told of this visitor? Was this suitable only for Pashtian discussion? Could she raise the point with Faroz and not be thought false to her Pastian role? Surely the nomadic tribes will have seen the Emissary's party travel across the land and with them news flew faster than vultures over a carcass. She rose and brought her oil lamp to her desk, setting it down carefully on her desk. Its scent of jasmine filled the room and might perhaps mask the odour of the burning paper. Bekah held each paper, twisted like a taper, over the flame, until each caught and then turned each upright, moving the papers back and forth slightly, watching the flames sway until only ashes were left, falling into the lamp itself. She jerked her hand, as she was too slow with dropping the last taper and the smallest flicker of its final flame touched her nail and singed it. As she sucked upon her finger, cooling the burn with her tongue and saliva, she could taste the ash and melted nail. Strangely, she knew the taste. Old, stale walnuts soaked in brine, with crushed wormwood. Or was she imagining it? How could it ressemble the burnt offerings from victory rituals of her long ago childhood in Alanzia?

She sat back upon her cushions and lay still, eyes closed, listening to the cicadas chirp and wondering if the other tiny noises she heard were other insects. It was not yet time for her ritual bath. Why were she and Faroz always limited to formal public interviews of courtly business? Could she not seek him in private, as he had come twice now in one day? Never before had the Queen entered the King's private quarters. Would she be admitted? Would Faroz's guards accept such an unusual act?

She rose, changing her tunic to lilac and covering her head and body with her outer garment of purple, her rajiba, the cloak denoting regal stature and masking her privacy by leaving only her eyes seen. Leaving her private bedchamber, she sought Homay and explainded her intent. Homay only looked at her closely, and said nothing. Without so much as a notice of her guards, Bekah left her room by her private door and wandered the short passage way to the King's rooms.

Bekah strode with deliberation, each step marking a soft soosh-soosh of her leather sandals upon the corridor's cool stone. Her feet were cold, a contrast to the slight burn on her hand. The guards looked up and stood to attention, saluting her with the royal address of "Majesty."

"These are days of much deliberation. We have court business and foreign affairs and matters of the private affairs of the Royal Children. I would speak with his Majesty about our daughter's marriage." She spoke with assurance and command, her manner suggesting such a request was normal rather than unusual. The guards bows and demurred to her, opening the door with an announcement, "The Queen wishes to seek an audience with his Majesty. She attends upon him now"

With those words, Bekah walked over the threshold she had never before crossed and into the private quarters of her husband. It was a world, a view, a life she had not expected to see, unlike what she had imagined Faroz would prefer. But such thoughts she put away as she sought him out, running through her mind the words she would say to him. Thinking of what she wanted to say, she at first did not realise that she was looking around for him, that he was not there to greet her. Then it dawned upon her. He was absent. She searched his balcony, peered behind the curtains of his deeply curtained bed, looked into his closets. Khamul was not here. She finally found her voice, "Majesty, Majesty, My lord Faroz."

She called not to him, but in a voice which she knew the guards whould hear. They arrived momentarily.

"The King is not here. You have missent me. Tell me where I may find him." The two guards rushed forwards, searching the rooms as she had done. Then an alarm went out.