Between the Wild Branches

by Connilyn Cossette

  “Lukio, I—”

  He continued on as if I’d not spoken, as if he’d been storing up these words for so long that he could not control their flow. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. Not only did I embrace all the filth of Ashdod, but I share the same blood as those who violated and enslaved you.”

  My chest ached at the self-loathing in his words. “You are not responsible for the evil of other men. Nor do I hold the decisions you made as a confused and hurting boy against you.”

  His lashes fluttered and his palm spread over his chest, as if it pained him. “Of course you would say such things. You are everything good and kind. You have been since the moment you found me under the sycamore.”

  “You had our tree painted on your wall,” I whispered, my vision blurring.

  His green and brown eyes pierced me to the marrow. “It was the only way I could keep you close to me.”

  I was helpless against the flow of tears now. This man threatened to break down every single defense I’d built against him since the moment I saw him down on the fighting grounds plowing his fist into a Phoenician’s jaw. My knees wavered.

  One of his strong arms slipped around my waist, steadying me, pulling me closer until I was a hairsbreadth from his body and could feel his warmth from head to toe. It was useless to fight him; trying to stop myself from loving him had always been a losing battle, so I surrendered, pressing myself against him and laying my hand on his thudding heart.

  All the grief and hope and longing that I’d been pressing into the smallest corner of my heart poured out of me until his tunic was sodden and my body was shuddering in his arms as I wept. He stroked my back with tenderness, his cheek pressed to the top of my head.

  “Don’t cry, Tesi,” he murmured into my hair. “I’ve always hated it when you cried.”

  His sweet words only caused me to sob harder. I’d missed him so much. Missed being close to him and dreaming of a future together. And so I dared to ask what I did not have the courage to ask before.

  “Come with us, Lukio. Come home to Kiryat-Yearim.”

  His body stiffened “You know I cannot.”

  I pulled back to look into his eyes. “Why not?”

  His lips pressed tightly together. “It is far safer for you if I stay here. My disappearance in connection with yours and the baby’s would only cause Nicaro to pursue us. I could not endanger you that way.”

  “But your family—”

  He cut me off by lifting his hands to cradle my cheeks in his palms and the determination in his expression gutted me. “Too many depend on me, Shoshana. I am needed here. Even if I wanted to return to Kiryat-Yearim, it would be negligent of me to do so.”

  The only thread of hope I’d allowed myself to cling to snapped and floated to the ground. No matter that he’d held onto a few pieces of our childhood together, I was in the past for him and would remain there. I knew that it would be fruitless to argue. He’d made up his mind. His care for me was evident, or he would not risk any of this. But it was not enough to make him choose life with me over the one he had here. The one he would have with Mariada.

  “When you see Risi . . .” His voice faltered. “Please tell her that I am sorry.”

  All the blood rushed from my head to my soles as I finally made sense of the invitation to his home and this secretive conversation in his beautiful garden. He’d not brought me here merely to tell me his plan. He’d brought me here to say good-bye.

  This would be the last time I spoke with the man I’d loved most of my life, even when I’d thought he’d been forever lost to me.

  The way we’d parted then had been so gut-wrenching, both of us shattering as I’d walked away from that smoky clearing in the woods, and I did not want to repeat such a scene. If these were my final moments with him, I would make them count.

  “You may have had our tree painted on your wall, Lukio. But I had it painted on my heart. There was nothing my father or Medad or anyone else could do to erase that. Even though these years in Ashdod have been painful, I will always be grateful that I had the chance to see you again. To know that you are safe and well and that in spite of the darkness in this city, you are a man of honor and compassion. And no matter what happens, I will always be grateful for every effort you made toward reuniting me with my children.”

  I swallowed hard as Aaliyah and Asher’s faces appeared in my mind. How they would have adored him. . . . I shook my head against the wayward thought. He’d made his choice.

  “And no matter what you’ve done,” I continued, “and no matter what lies you’ve told yourself, your family loves you. They never stopped loving you.”

  I drank my fill of his beautiful dual-colored eyes one last time, then, knowing Mariada and the others would be suspicious if I stayed away much longer, I pulled away from him, something tearing inside me as I did so. I had the fleeting thought that he looked nearly as wrecked as I felt.

  But I turned away, leaving him standing in his exquisite garden, glad that this time it would be the scent of lotus blossoms and sweet jasmine that would remain in my last memory of him instead of the bitter tinge of ash.

  However, before I descended the stairs to make my way back to my mistress, I took one last look over my shoulder, seeing not only the man he’d become but the sweet boy who’d been my sanctuary from all the hurts in my childhood.

  “And neither did I.”

  Twenty-Five

  Lukio

  Although I hoped to avoid the king until after my plans were set into motion, I was glad he’d called a meeting of his council to discuss the events for tomorrow. I’d not been able to concentrate on much of anything after Shoshana walked out of my garden yesterday, leaving my soul cleaved in two.

  At least this time I’d been able to say good-bye properly, without the acrimony and accusations of betrayal that had characterized our first parting. I was glad she’d seen my home before she returned to Kiryat-Yearim. I’d wanted her to see that tree mural and know that I’d never forgotten her. In fact, there had not been a day that went by since its creation that I did not stand in that room and think of my Tesi. In fact, it was only my determination to be honorable to the young woman I’d made a promise to marry that had kept me from locking Shoshana in my embrace to give her one last kiss before she left me again, for good.

  As I stepped into the king’s chambers, I did my best to shake off the lingering regret about my decision to remain in Ashdod. But everything I’d told Shoshana was true. The people who lived in my home and worked my lands depended on me. Many of them, like Teitu, would be worth little to anyone else, and I could not simply abandon them. Besides, for as much as I missed my sister, and for all my growing regrets over the way I’d treated Elazar and his family, they were better off without me. Even though Shoshana had forgiven me for rejecting the Hebrews, running back to their enemy and embracing their ways, I did not expect Elazar, Yoela, or their children to do so. And I would not give Nicaro any excuse to follow me to their doorstep, anyhow.

  As if I were reliving the day I’d met Jaru all over again, I found him standing next to Nicaro, who lounged on his throne with a wine cup in hand. But this time a variety of the king’s council members were in attendance, including Virka and Grabos, his chief army commanders, and Amunet’s father, who was also Pharaoh’s special envoy to the region.

  For all the times I’d entered the king’s chambers over the past few weeks, this was the first time my palms were slick with sweat. I’d seen many sides of Nicaro in my acquaintance with him: the magnanimous king who offered the wealthy of Ashdod every indulgence at his feasts; the calculated and cool ruler who viewed me with suspicion the day I’d purchased Zevi; the amiable elder who lavished me with praise like that of a father after the boat race; and even the cruel High Priest who had spilled the blood of an innocent girl on a funereal altar. But if Mataro had made my association with Shoshana known, and in turn her connection to the child Tela had stolen from her, it may very well be an a
ngry father who greeted me here today.

  But to my great relief, it was the Nicaro who’d first offered me the position of Master of Games who welcomed me to the council meeting, his blue eyes sparkling with anticipation as he asked us all to give report on the preparations for the festival. Either my deflection from my cousin’s insinuations about Shoshana had fended him off, or whomever Mataro had connections with in the palace had not yet revealed it to the king.

  A few paces away, Jaru frowned at me, his dark brows drawing together as he watched me approach, and I lauded his ability to act as though we’d not spend hours plotting together and organizing a complicated scheme that would be set into motion before the sun rose again.

  “Is everything in place, Lukio, for all the events?” asked the king.

  “I believe so,” I replied. “And my orchards are already full of tents, so I can say that there will be plenty of spectators.”

  “And how is the security holding up with the extra bodies already flowing into the city?” Nicaro asked Jaru.

  “Fairly well,” Jaru replied, speaking with calculated reluctance. “So far, we’ve had a few additional scuffles and thieves, but nothing that my men haven’t been able to handle.”

  “So, it’s not been as chaotic as you predicted?” asked Nicaro.

  Again, Jaru frowned slightly. “I’ll admit that the plan to have the bulk of the events outside the walls was a good idea, but only the next few days will prove whether Ashdod can handle a festival of this size in the future.”

  “Virka and Grabos have their men stationed all over the city, Jaru. Between your guards and their battle-honed soldiers, any scofflaws will think twice before attempting anything in Ashdod.”

  Jaru tipped his head in acknowledgment but held his posture rigid, as if still unconvinced. He knew his part well, and I could not help but be impressed. No wonder he’d been so successful in hiding his rescue efforts in this city for so long.

  I stepped back to lean against the wall while Nicaro received reports from the priests about the large-scale offerings that would be performed at sunrise before the first event, which was the citywide open invitation for those interested in vying for a chance to fight me on the third day. A few of the most powerful tradesmen touted the brisk commerce already underway in the marketplace. Even Amunet’s father agreed that the atmosphere in the city was much like festivals he remembered during his childhood in Avaris.

  “I’ve heard nothing but excitement, Nicaro,” he said to the now-grinning king. “Any negative rumors have been completely proven false. I’ve been told that talk of this festival”—the Egyptian glanced over at me—“and your champion has been buzzing about even as far as Gaza, perhaps even to Avaris itself. Pharaoh will be pleased to hear that all is well and prosperous in Ashdod. Prolific trade in your port means that ties between Egypt and Ashdod will only grow stronger.”

  “I am delighted to hear it,” said Nicaro. “We are ever grateful that Pharaoh gifted these beautiful shores to us in the first place and are thrilled to be worthy of such generosity.”

  I held back a grimace at the blatant rewriting of history, since it had been our ancestors attempted joint land-and-sea invasion of Egypt itself that had forced Pharaoh to offer the coastal region we now inhabited as appeasement. I’d always wondered if part of Pharaoh’s reason for doing so in the first place might have been to create a buffer between the Egyptians and the Hebrews, who, if Azuvah’s stories were to be believed, had devastated their land with ten increasingly horrific plagues before taking their leave through the depths of a parted sea.

  “In fact,” said Nicaro, “I have a gift for your exalted king. One I hope you will personally deliver to him with my most humble thanks for his continued friendship.”

  “Is that so?” replied Amunet’s father.

  “Yes. I have a group of Hebrews who will be an excellent addition to his labor force.” He smiled broadly. “And I plan to send many more in the near future.”

  It took every bit of restraint I had not to meet Jaru’s eyes. If all went well, those men would be free by the morning watch, not on a ship bound for Egypt.

  “Speaking of which . . . Virka. Grabos,” said Nicaro. “Tell me what news you have for me on the box.”

  Although I remained in my carefully composed posture of disinterest against the wall, my attention snapped to Virka as he addressed the king.

  “We think we have the area in which it was taken narrowed down to a collection of hills not too far from Ekron,” he said. “There are any number of small hamlets in that area, so it may take a few more weeks before we find it.”

  “If there wasn’t a surprising amount of Hebrew presence in the valleys around the area,” added Grabos, “we would already have it in hand, I’m certain. Unfortunately, our chariots cannot navigate the terrain, so any reconnaissance we do must be on foot.”

  Nicaro’s blue eyes glittered with dark intensity. “Do whatever you must. I don’t care how many Hebrews you need to dismember. Find that cursed box.”

  “We will,” vowed Virka. “Even if we have to set fire to those hills and smoke out those who are hiding it.”

  A horrific vision of Kiryat-Yearim burning made me grit my teeth and caused my blood to pound.

  The king made a humming noise in the back of his throat. “Well, let’s not be hasty. That lumber is worth a fortune. But we must seek out anyone who might know where that foul thing is. It did not simply vanish into the heavens. Someone has to know where it went eighteen years ago.”

  His accusing gaze roved over those in attendance, as if every Philistine in this room were deliberately concealing the truth from their king, and then his eyes landed on me, the only man who actually was doing so.

  A cold wash of foreboding slithered through me as he stared. I’d worried that I might be called out for my connection to Shoshana today, but perhaps the king had other plans. Every hair on the back of my neck stood at attention.

  But instead of interrogating me, he looked away, speaking to his commanders. “I have every confidence you men have it in hand. In fact, I predict that within the week we’ll know exactly where to find that abomination. And after we destroy it and conquer the Hebrews for good, we will own the trade roads in all directions. Ashdod will be at the very crux of all trade between Egypt, Tyre, and Damascus, and therefore our port will be the most powerful and profitable on the Great Sea.”

  A cheer of agreement went up from the council, everyone draining their cups in honor of our king, so Nicaro called for another round of wine to be served as the room broke into animated conversations about the festival. I participated in a few, wishing I could escape but knowing full well that I must keep up the ruse of being interested in the politics of Ashdod. Across the room, Jaru was engaged in a discussion with the Egyptian envoy. I wondered what it would be for Azuvah to know that not only had her child been saved but that he brushed up against the most powerful men in the region, men who had no idea that he was involved with the theft of people they considered to be their property.

  “Where is that great beast of yours?” asked Nicaro, who’d sidled up to me without my notice.

  “Igo?”

  “Indeed. I’ve heard he is with you at all times now. The Demon Dog, they call him,” he said with a smirk.

  I held back a bark of laughter. If only they knew the poor thing was scared of his own tail. “He’s just outside with . . . with my young slave.”

  “Ah yes. The boy you purchased to tend your cur.” He blinked a few times. “And how is his training coming?”

  My breath stilled. “His training?”

  “I do remember a boast about honing him into a fighter. Surely you’ve not neglected the promise you made.”

  I cleared my throat. “Of course not. I’ve been busy of late, as you can imagine, but he shows quite a bit of promise.”

  He clapped me on the shoulder, his fingers digging into my skin. “Show me.”

  “My lord?”

  His sm
ile was on the perfect line between gleeful and dangerous. “You’ve had nearly a month. Show me what you’ve done with the little wretch.”

  “I’d be happy to arrange a match with one of the local boys after the festival concludes.”

  “No. Now.” He followed up the iron command with another of his sharp-edged smiles. “Jaru?” he called across the room, causing every mouth to clamp shut. “Fetch the boy who tends the fires in the kitchen. Bring him out to the courtyard.”

  My stomach hollowed out. I had no idea how old the boy was or what experience he had in a fighting ring, but it was more than clear to me that this was no spontaneous match conjured in the moment. I’d done my best to treat Zevi as nothing more than an expendable slave outside of my home, but somehow Nicaro had guessed that the boy was a soft spot. My instincts before had been correct. He knew something.

  “Friends!” said the king, his tone bright as he addressed his council. “Let us convene outside. I’ve put together a bit of entertainment for you. A taste of what’s to come during the festival. Isn’t that right, Lukio?”

  Zevi stepped forward, his bare feet in almost the same spot they’d been when I’d pulled him off the soldier that first day. I’d had no time to explain anything to the boy, since Nicaro had not left my side since announcing this match, so instead of being able to prepare him for what was to come, I’d been forced to drag him by the neck of his tunic out of the palace and push him onto the fighting grounds without even a word of instruction for how to handle an opponent.

  Blinking in the harsh sunlight, Zevi looked over to where I stood about fifteen paces away with an expression of such confusion and betrayal that my stomach hollowed out. But even if my instinct was to grab him and run, I had to hold still or everything Jaru and I had set into place, including Zevi’s own chance at freedom, would be ruined. My only solace was that the kitchen slave looked to be only about a year older than Zevi and almost as confused by the proceedings as he. Unfortunately, however, the other boy was nearly a handspan taller than Zevi, with longer arms and legs.