“My brother was the leader of that band of men and took Chrosoes in. When he learned who the boy was, he decided that he would help him. Chrosoes and Baraz traveled with us for a winter and we took them, Sahul and I, to Constantinople. Sahul thought that Chrosoes would find safety in the court of the Emperor Maurice.
“At first, we told no one who the Persian boy was, but Sahul gained a private audience with the Emperor’s son, the Prince Theodosius, and convinced him that with the Empire’s aid, a grateful Chrosoes could be restored to the Persian throne. The Prince convinced his father, who became good friends with Chrosoes, and together, they overthrew Bahram.”
Jusuf stopped and shook his head in sorrow. “That was a good time. We rode with Chrosoes and Sahul stood at his side when Bahram was killed in the battle outside of Dastagird. That was when Chrosoes met Shirin, in the tents of our people. The boy had already agreed to marry Maurice’s daughter Maria to seal the peace between the two empires, but anyone could see that he loved Shirin from the moment he saw her.”
The Princess’s hand crept out of the covers and Jusuf took it in his own.
“And there was peace,” he continued, “until Maurice and all of his children were murdered by the usurper Phocas. That turned Maria against the Empire, I think, to hear that her father and mother and all of her brothers and sisters had been hewn down and their heads paraded in the streets of the capital before cheering crowds. Even when Heraclius overthrew Phocas her mind did not change.“
“It is true,” Shirin said, her voice muffled by the quilts, “she urged my husband to war upon the Empire and restore the true Emperor to the throne. She had great influence over the King of Kings.”
“True Emperor?” Thyatis was careful to seem puzzled.
“Her son, Kavadh-Siroes,” Shirin said, “is the only remaining male descendant of the Emperor Maurice.” Thyatis’ eyes widened.
“He has always held me first in his heart,” Shirin mused, her voice sad, “but Maria bore him a son first and was very brave, coming with him to live in a foreign land like she did. She was a strong woman.”
“What happened? A fire in the palace?”
Shirin shrugged, her face a mask. “No one knows, save Chrosoes and the dark one. The Queen was furious with the lord General Baraz for not having smashed the Eastern Empire in the first year of this war. She struck upon some stratagem with the connivance of the black priest. There was a fire and the River Palace was destroyed. Chrosoes tried to pull her from the flames but it was too late. He bears the scars to this day… my poor husband.”
Jusuf smoothed her hair back over her ear and stood up.
“It is very late,” he said. “We should all sleep.”
“Oh,” Shirin said, “you must be tired from your journey. Please, there are couches in the other chamber. You will not be disturbed.”
– The Princess rose, shedding quilts and pillows. She yawned, stretching her lithe body, and bowed to Thyatis. Jusuf gathered her into his arms and held her close for a long time. Shirin put her head on his chest. Thyatis slipped out of the room into the garden. The air was soft and filled with a heady scent of blooms. The moon rode low in the western sky, but the silver light fell among the trees like dew. It was very peaceful.
The glassed-in doors of the sitting room closed with a click and Thyatis felt Jusuf step into the garden. She turned around and said, “You niece is very lovely, both inside and out.”
“Yes.” Jusuf sighed. “We all wished her nothing but happiness.”
“Why did Sahul break his treaty with the King of Kings?”
Jusuf shook his head. “I don’t know. Shirin always wrote to him regularly, he must have divined something from her letters. Last year he began speaking seriously with the embassies of the Eastern Empire. They gave him many presents, but he spent all of the money on armor and weapons. He feared something, but he never said what. Dahvos and I were very surprised when he declared that he would go to war against his son-in-law.”
Thyatis put her hand on Jusuf’s shoulder, feeling him start in surprise at the touch.
“My friend,” she whispered, “when the time comes, we’ll get her out.”
Jusuf looked down at his feet. It was hard to tell in the darkness if he was blushing, but Thyatis was sure that he was.
Two little brown-skinned children ran past, giggling, their white tunics in disarray and splotched with grass stains. Thyatis smiled, her face shadowed by the broad-brimmed straw hat she wore to keep from burning her nose in the fierce sun. Around her a warm winter day had settled upon the gardens at the center of the Palace of the Swans like a comforting blanket. She sipped from a tall, cut-crystal glass filled with lemon juice in water. It was sweet and tart at the same time, delighting her tongue. She sat in a wooden chair at the edge of the grassy sward outside of the domed building that held Shirin’s private quarters. The Princesses’s children were playing with Anagathios and Nikos.
The Illyrian was hiding in the rosebushes, making growling sounds like a lion. The little girls were shrieking and jumping up and down, hiding behind their brothers, who were giggling and darting forward, daring the lion to pounce on them. Anagathios was bounding about, turning cartwheels and pretending to be afraid of the terrible beast. As Thyatis watched, a callused brown hand snaked out of the bushes and seized the unwary foot of the older of the two boys.
The boy wailed in surprise and beat furiously with his little fists on the dreadful claw. His sisters jumped up and down, yelling in delight, as the lion slowly dragged their brother to his certain doom. The other boy latched onto his brother’s head and began trying to drag him back. The Prince started yelling louder as his well-meaning brother had laid hold of his ears. Anagathios became a mighty hunter and leapt into the bushes. A terrible racket began and clods of dirt and leaves flew up. Thyatis reached behind her and touched the sheath of her sword with her fingertips. It was still there. She leaned back in the chair, content to watch the flight of sparrows above the domes of the palace.
Something moving at the edge of her vision drew her attention. Shirin was descending a flight of steps that led down into the garden from the balconies on the second floor of the palace. The Princess moved slowly, one hand on the marble railing. She was dressed in a deeply cut pale-yellow silk gown, long and sheer-almost transparent-with a flocked bottom. Her hair had been done up into a sweeping cloud, shot with golden pins and sparkling amber threads, leaving her long neck bare. Thyatis got up, leaving the glass on the ground, but swinging the sword over her shoulder. She too had changed clothes, adopting a loose blouse of fine white Egyptian cotton and baggy forest-green Armenian pantaloons. Her feet were bare. The children continued to rumpus behind her, scaring a flight of white doves out of the fruit trees.
Shirin had stopped at the bottom of the stairs in a patch of shade. The Princess leaned against the carved wall, her fine olive hand laid against the shoulder of a bearded archer in shown in silhouette. Thyatis joined her, setting her back to the granite panel. It was cool in the shade. Shirin looked pale and worried.
“What is it?” Thyatis said, her voice soft. The Princess shook her head, though her hands were trembling slightly. Thyatis caught her left hand and turned the Princess to face her. Shirin would not look up. This close, Thyatis could smell her subtle cinnamon perfume.
“Some news of the war?”
Shirin nodded, her hand clenching Thyatis’ tightly. She covered her face with the other.
“Bad?”
“There was a great battle in the north.” Shirin could barely speak. “The army of the King of Kings was destroyed. All of the captains of the army were slain or captured by the Romans. Even the Boar was killed, or so the messenger said.”