But the prince did not feel like a boy just then.
He nodded toward a smaller room, and the priest walked into it, taking a chair only after the prince had closed the door and waved a hand toward one. Eannatum himself remained standing.
“What is it, young prince? Do you require counsel of a spiritual nature?”
“No, Lathor. I require an explanation.”
Lathor’s brows rose. “An explanation? Whatever for, my prince?”
“For the marks of the scourge I saw today, cut into the back of a girl in your care.”
Lathor frowned, then gasped, making his eyes wide. “Do you mean Nidaba? But how could you have seen... Prince Eannatum! Have you... known the girl?”
Natum had not realized he was capable of delivering his father’s very well-known glare, but he did it then, and saw the priest pale in reaction. “I owe you no answer to such a question, Lathor. I am your prince, and that you would dare ask a question like that one leaves me to doubt your judgment even more than I already did. But for the sake of the young priestess—”
“Nidaba is no priestess, but a foundling and a student,” Lathor interrupted. “And an unruly one, at that.”
“Nidaba is more priestess than any woman in the temple,” Eannatum shot back. And again, the High Priest fell silent. Good. “For the sake of her good name, I will deign to answer your impertinent question, Lathor. No. I have not known the girl. But I have seen the marks of your scourge on her tender skin.”
The priest seemed relieved. He smoothed his robes. “Punishment well deserved, I assure you. Her upbringing is in my hands, Eannatum. I must see to it as I deem appropriate.”
“Just as I will see to running Lagash as I deem appropriate when I take my father’s place on the throne one day,” Eannatum replied. He walked closer, leaned over the chair in which the High Priest sat, and braced his hands on either arm, framing the man. “And I promise you, Lathor, that should I ever see a mark on Nidaba’s flesh again, my first command as king shall be the one I give to your executioner, and I shall word it thusly: ‘Use a dull blade, and take all the time you wish.’” He said the words slowly, drawing them out.
Lathor gasped. “You... you dare speak to me in such...”
“It is only a matter of time, Lathor. My father is not a young man. I warn you, when I am king you will pay dearly for every welt on Nidaba’s body. Do not forget.”
The door to the room opened, and Lathor looked past Eannatum, his face easing in relief. Natum looked behind him to see his father standing there. And from the look on the king’s face, his son deduced he had been listening for some time. Eannatum straightened up away from Lathor and, turning, pressed his right fist into his left palm and inclined his head. Lathor scrambled to his feet to do likewise.
No one said anything for a long moment, as the king looked his son right in the eye. Natum returned the steady gaze, not blinking or looking away. Then finally the king met the eyes of his adviser instead, and he spoke. “Lathor, it seems your prince has issued his first royal command. I would advise you to heed it.”
Lathor’s eyes widened. He sputtered once or twice, then bit his lip, bowed low, and scurried away. Only when they were alone again did Natum’s father turn to him. “She will one day be a High Priestess, my son.”
“She’s not even an initiated priestess yet,” he said.
“No. But if the talk of her talents has even a grain of truth to it, she will excel in her studies and grow into a woman of great power in the temple. And as for you, you will one day be a king. Not just of Lagash, but of all of Sumer.”
‘Your dreams are bigger than the ziggurat tower, Father,” Natum said.
“They are more than dreams. They are strategies, plans that are already unfolding, Eannatum. But you do not need to know of them now. What you do need to know is this: Nidaba must serve her Goddess and you, your kingdom. Do you understand this, Eannatum?” he asked.
Natum lowered his head. “She is my only friend, Father.”
The king nodded. “She is only your friend, Natum. You would do well to remember that it is all she can ever be. With... perhaps, the exception of one night—the night of your coronation, when you must perform the sacred rite with the High Priestess of your temple. If my plans to install you to the throne of all Sumer come to fruition, and if she advances to the rank of High Priestess in time. Do you understand what I am saying?”
Natum felt the blood rush to his face, hotter with every word his father uttered. “I have never thought of Nidaba in... in such a way!”
His father smiled, came closer, and tousled his son’s hair in an almost playful manner. “Then we’ll save this talk for another time, when you have. For you will, Eannatum. You surely will. Already you are becoming a man.” He smiled. “A good man. You will be a great leader one day. And you will think of this priestess in exactly such a way.”
At the time Eannatum had thought his father could not have been more wrong.
But later... oh, later... he knew that it had been all but inevitable that he would think of Nidaba in the terms to which his father had alluded. Soon, all too soon, in fact, he found he was able to think of little else.
Chapter 4
NATHAN CRADLED HER in his arms in the back seat of the car as it sped through the rain-glistened night, and he remembered the day everything had changed between them.
She was fifteen. They had been in their secret place, swimming in the waters of the sacred river. The sun blazed in all its fury, baking the city. So they’d slipped away together, to cool themselves in the life-giving waters. They’d been laughing, splashing each other, ducking underneath the waves. And then, breathless and giddy, they got out and stretched themselves out on their backs among the tall, lush grasses along the riverbank, to let the sun dry their skin and their clothes.
“So what did you learn today, little priestess?5’ he asked her. “Have they taught you any new rites?”
He glanced sideways at her, grinning. It was a running joke between them how the magick they could work together would shock those who claimed to be far more learned about such things. Ironic, he thought, that she spent each day learning about religion and deities and powers when she ought, perhaps, to be teaching her teachers.
She didn’t smile back, however. Instead, a frown puckered her brow. Today I was taught about the Sacred Marriage Rite of the king.”
“Oh.” He turned his gaze skyward. It was a subject he thought unwise to discuss with her.
“You know of it, don’t you?” she asked.
“Well... yes, I... I know... enough.”
Her brows rising, she turned on her side to face him, elbow to the earth, her head resting in her palm. You’re embarrassed to talk to me about this, aren’t you, Natum?”
“No!”
“You are so.”
“Am not.” And to prove it, he too turned on his side, facing her, just as she faced him. “I’ll be king one day. Why should I be embarrassed about the sacred rite conferring my rulership?”
“Because you have to copulate with the High Priestess of the temple. That’s why.” She grinned. “I hope it’s soon. The current High Priestess is already an old woman. If she gets any older—”
“Maybe you’ll be High Priestess by then.”
He blurted the words in self-defense. But the moment they were out of his mouth, her eyes shot to his, widened, and remained there. And he couldn’t look away. “Maybe I will,” she answered, her voice barely a whisper.
His throat was suddenly dry, tight. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he managed to say. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know why. I’ve thought of it many times.” She closed her eyes, perhaps to find the courage to go on. “Wondered... what it would be like to be... more than your friend.”
His stomach tightened into a knot, and he felt another place tightening, stirring, and pulling as well. His gaze drifted downward while she lay there, eyes closed, awaiting his reply. Soaking wet, her wh
ite gown was all but transparent, and plastered to her breasts, so their full, soft shape was clear to him, even to the tiny nubs at their tips. The gown clung to her belly, so he could trace the well of her navel. Sex was normal and healthy, and not something whispered about or forbidden—except if a girl wished to advance to the rank of High Priestess. She must save herself then, for the time when a king would need her. Untouched, she must draw the spirit of the Goddess into her own body. And then offer herself to the new ruler, who could be anointed king only by knowing her. By having her.
And suddenly, he felt as if he was on fire.
“Natum?”
He jerked his gaze upward again, meeting her eyes, which were open now.
“Am I pleasing to you? As... as a woman?”
He swallowed hard. “You’re the most beautiful woman in all of Sumer. You know you are.”
“Then you would not mind so much, if it were me? I mean... in the role of High Priestess... when the time comes.”
He couldn’t answer her. His voice fled him. So instead of speaking, he obeyed his body’s demands. He leaned a breath closer and pressed his lips to hers. He kissed her slowly, tenderly, and he tasted lips he had dreamed of tasting for many nights. “I pray it will be you,” he whispered, and kissed her again.
* * * *
IT WAS RAINING. It had been raining a little harder with every mile they had driven, and by the time they got back to Nathan’s haven, it was pouring. It didn’t look as if it was going to let up anytime soon. The headlights gleamed on wet gravel and shiny fallen leaves, slick with water. Everything bore that unnatural sheen that comes only on rainy, moonless autumn nights. It rained on Nathan when he carried Nidaba up the flagstone path to the house. George raced along beside him, holding an umbrella that did little good, while Sheila ran ahead to open the front doors.
So Nidaba got wet, and maybe chilled too, on such a brisk night as this. If she became ill...
“One step at a time,” he muttered.
“What, Nathan? I didn’t hear you.” George started to close the door behind them, then paused. “Nathan! Nathan, look.”
“Close the door, George. It’s freezing,” Sheila chided.
“No!” George darted back outside, and a moment later he returned with a sopping-wet dog slogging in beside him. It stopped halfway through the door, and Nathan tensed with Nidaba in his arms.
“George, that’s a Rottweiler. They can be dangerous, you know.”
“C’mon, that’s a good dog. C’mon, now,” George crooned, and the beast, easily weighing ninety pounds on a dry day, slunk inside. George closed the door, and the dog shook, sending a spray of dog-scented droplets throughout the entire foyer.
“Dammit, George!”
“Nathan,” Sheila said, her tone firm. And Nathan stopped himself, knowing better than to scold the sensitive and childlike George. “We’ll deal with the dog later. Let’s see to your new charge now.”
Nathan nodded, knowing she was right. “Get some towels and dry that beast off, George. And be careful. If it starts growling at you...” He glanced back at the pair. George was on his knees now, his arms around the soaked canine, his cheek resting on its wet fur. It didn’t look as if he was in any danger of being bitten.
Nathan carried Nidaba forward, leaving wet footprints on the marble floor of the foyer, and on the plush carpeting of the front parlor, and on every step of the staircase as he carried her up. It was wide, this staircase, but steep. At the second floor, Sheila again ran ahead to open Nathan’s bedroom door.
He carried Nidaba through it, and into the adjoining room, as Sheila flicked on lights. Technically a part of the master suite, this smaller room would serve as Nidaba’s bedroom. Nathan wanted her close to him. He wanted to be able to watch over her every moment until she was well again.
If...
No. She would be well again.
Sheila pulled back the covers of the bed they had made ready. Nathan peeled off the now damp blanket he had wrapped around Nidaba in the car. She wore only a thin hospital gown beneath it. But at least it was dry. Gently, Nathan lowered her into the bed and pulled the covers over her, tucking them tight. Swallowing hard, he straightened, staring down at her, pushing a hand through his damp hair.
“Now what?” Sheila asked, sounding skeptical. “You’ve got her here, Nathan. But just what you intend to do with her is beyond me.”
He drew a breath, sighed, and turned to the fireplace. Logs and kindling lay ready, and Nathan drew a long, slender match from the holder, struck it against the brick, and knelt to touch the dancing flames to the tinder. As the tongues of fire licked and spread, he dropped the match but remained kneeling there, watching the fire dance. Fire.
Fire was the hungry beast that had devoured his only love... and her only child, or that was what he had been led to believe lifetimes upon lifetimes ago. But Nidaba lived.
What about the child?
“Nathan?”
“Go on to bed, Sheila,” he said, and his voice came out harsh, raspy. “Get warm and dry and get some rest. See to it that George does the same.”
“You might follow your own advice, Nathan,” Sheila said. “But I know full well you won’t do it, so at least change your clothes. They’re damp, and you’re chilled through.”
He felt his lips pull into an affectionate smile. “It’s a wonder I ever survived before you came along with your mothering, Sheila.” His tone was teasing.
“It’s more than a wonder,” she replied, in all seriousness. “It’s a bloody miracle.”
He glanced behind him to see her shrugging and turning to walk away, back through Nathan’s bedroom, and toward the hall beyond its door. “Thank you, Sheila,” he called. “Good night.”
“Good night, Nathan,” she called back. “Try and get at least a couple of hours’ sleep, will you?”
“I will.”
Shaking her head, she stepped into the hall, pulling the door closed behind her, and Nathan heard her mutter, “Liar.”
She knew him a little bit too well.
Straightening up from the fire, Nathan went to the windows and parted the curtains to stare out at the falling rain. It beaded like liquid diamonds on the glass, melting and sliding downward in slow motion. Beyond the rain was only blackness. The pattering sound of the droplets on the glass and the low, distant moan of the wind were lulling. Soothing, somehow.
“What will you do to me this time, Nidaba?” he asked softly, letting the curtains fall back into place. He went to the chair beside the bed and sank into it. Hooking a forefinger under his chin, he studied her. “Sleeping Beauty,” he murmured. “So peaceful, so tranquil, even if you do look a bit tousled and tangled right now. But you’re not those things, Nidaba. You’ve never been peace or tranquility. You come into my life like a sandstorm in the desert. You rain chaos on my head, and everything inside me responds by joining in the madness. And then you leave me again.”
His throat tightened on the final words. Leaning forward, he closed his hand around hers. “My life was turmoil for so long. I raged, Nidaba. For centuries I raged, and I’m not even sure I knew that you were the cause. Not then. But I fought with every Dark challenger I could find. I killed with a vengeance and a taste for blood that chills me now when I think back on it. I loved like a wanton, taking my pleasure wherever and whenever I wished and never letting it mean a thing to me.”
He shook his head slowly. “But how long can a man live like that? I was a hurricane, Nidaba, and eventually all that anger, all that grief, blew itself out and left me... empty. Drained. It took a long time. A long time to reach that point. And it only heralded a new kind of existence for me. One in which I didn’t care, didn’t feel... anything at all. I killed if I had to. Felt nothing. If sex was offered to me, I would take it, and barely feel the pleasure of release. I was a shell. I closed myself off from every emotion, blocked my mind from the touch of any feelings not my own. But eventually, that too passed.”
He ran his t
humb over the back of her hand, slowly, in circles, wondering if she could hear him at all—or if she would give a damn about any of this even if she could.
“Finally I settled into this life. Calm. Placid. I learned how to care for people again. To connect. Even to open myself up a little. With George, and with Sheila. They’re my family. I love them, but I’ve never—not in all this time—felt for anyone the way I felt for you. I made a conscious decision not to. Because I couldn’t have survived that sandstorm again. The angst. The loss that crippled me for so long. I settled for a life without that kind of passion, that kind of need. And it’s been... a good life.”
He reached out, touched her cheek, smoothed her tangled hair away from her face. “And now you’re back. And I have to tell you the truth, Nidaba. I’m scared to death of what’s going to happen next. I don’t even know if you’ll recognize me after all this time. Or if you’ll even remember the same things I do... like that night... the first time I told you I loved you. The first time you broke my heart...”
* * * *
THERE WAS A voice.
His voice.
The words were not clear, but she recognized the tone even though he spoke English rather than the ancient Sumerian language he’d used when she had known him. And there was, just once, a touch. A warmth, surrounding her hand.
But her memories called, and they were so warm and good—so much more so than the reality that tried to encroach on her dreamworld—that she willed herself to ignore the interruption and returned to the bliss of her mind.
“I love you, Nidaba.”
She had been sixteen when Natum had first said those words to her. They had been in their favorite place, the lush oasis on the far banks of the river. And she had been secretly dreaming that he would one day say those three sweet words to her. So fervently had she wished for it that she almost thought she must have imagined it.
But he took her hands firmly in his, and he said it again. “Do you hear me? I love you.”
Her lips pulled into a tremulous smile, and her eyes grew moist as she stared up into his.
Eternal Love: The Immortal Witch Series Page 73
