Ark(13)

I made light of her pleas, and when that did not work, I ignored her.

But, of course, Irkalla’s fears were realized.

It was the month of Arah Tisritum, two months after I met him, two months of days and nights spent losing myself in Japheth. Two months of discovering the deepest pleasures of the flesh.

It was just past sunset, the evening sky red as blood. If I had bothered to look, it was an omen I should have seen.

Japheth and I had met at the bazaar, as we always did, and were walking to his house by the wall, taking a circuitous route, keeping to side streets, my hood drawn. We rounded a corner, and Japheth skidded to a sudden stop, and I slammed into him from behind. There, standing before us, his eight-foot-tall frame slouched easily against a wall, his burly arms crossed, his face clouded with puzzled anger, was my oldest brother, Kichu. His broad, scarred face and golden eyes seared into me, disapproving.

“What are you doing, Aresia?” he demanded. He reached for me with a calloused paw; I pulled out of reach. “You shouldn’t be here. You belong in the palace. And what are you doing with Japheth?” He obviously knew Japheth personally, but kept his focus on me.

“I can do what I want, Kichu. I’m not a child.” I cursed silently, because I had sounded exactly like a child.

“You’re coming with me, Aresia. Father will not be pleased with you.”

“I will not!”

Kichu looked from me to Japheth. “Don’t be a fool, Japheth. You know what you risk. If I respect any human, it’s you, but I cannot help you if you continue in this.”

Kichu was the least vile, the least despicable of my brothers, so if I could worm my way out this with anyone, it would be him.

“I’m not doing anything wrong, Kichu,” I said, in my most convincing voice. “Just pretend you didn’t see anything. Please?”

My brother sighed and scratched his beard.

“Fine,” he growled. “But only this once. And no more of this. You, Aresia—you will stay in the palace. And you, Japheth, will stay away from my sister. She is not for you.” He turned on his heel and stalked off.

I looked to Japheth, expecting to see resignation on his face.

“What?” He pulled me up against him, smirking arrogantly. “Do you think I am so easily dissuaded? I told you, your brothers don’t scare me. I know what I want, and I will not be frightened away like some puling servant boy.” He stopped suddenly and leveled an intent, searching gaze at me. “Unless you would rather return to the palace? I will take you back, if you wish . . .”

He was teasing me. Damn him, he knew he could goad me, prod me, manipulate me. I glared at him, but he just grinned and resumed walking.

“I didn’t think so.” A tease, those words.

“You are arrogant,” I said, each word crisp and clear. My attempt to get the upper hand only seemed to amuse him further.

“Yes, I am. And you love it.”

He kissed me hard and deep, right there in the street, and pinched my backside hard enough to elicit a surprised squeal. I cursed him, slapped him. My hand cracked loudly against his face, leaving a red handprint, drawing gazes and a few chuckles from passersby.

He just laughed and rubbed his face. “Temper, temper, princess. You’ll draw attention, acting like that.”

He drew me into a walk, then, and we went to his house and divested each other of our garments and lost ourselves in the now familiar dance of flesh on flesh.

I thought the matter of my brother was ended.

It wasn’t that day, nor the next, but nearly a full week later. Dawn, the sky just beginning to lighten from black to gray, the air sharp with cold, our breath frosting in the air as we wound our way from his house back to the palace.

Less than fifty yards from the side gate through which I normally entered, we were confronted by a phalanx of Nephilim warriors. The captain stepped forward, a small, barrel-chested man with an oily, curled beard and a scar running from left eye to right mouth corner.

“Japheth, son of Noah, son of Lamech, son of Methuselah. You will come with us.” He pounded his spear-butt into the ground, and the phalanx split apart and surrounded us in a neat, precise maneuver.

I recognized the captain: he was my father’s personal bodyguard, and procurer—a title Father had given him; a grand sounding title, to be sure, but all it meant was Enkidu had the authority to snatch anyone off the streets and drag him before Father for “questioning,” meaning torture. Enkidu was a vicious, bloodthirsty monster who delighted in the shrill sound of screams and the salty tang of spilled blood. That he was here meant that Japheth had been identified to Father as a worshipper of Elohim. He hadn’t looked at me, yet, so perhaps . . .

“And you, Princess Aresia.” He grabbed me by the wrist before I could even blink, a motion faster than I would have thought possible. “You, girl, are in trouble. Half the city has seen you with this human . . . this God-worshipper. Your father is ready to rip the city into broken bits, Highness.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Japheth fingering his sappara. I still had my left hand on his bicep, and I squeezed it, tried to beg him wordlessly not to throw his life away; even he couldn’t best this many warriors. He flashed me a fierce grin belied by the glittering hatred in his eyes. Lightning struck then, a bronze gleam in the early morning haze. The sappara buried itself in Enkidu’s neck, nearly severing it, and the hand on my wrist fell away. What a fool—brave and deadly, but a fool. This thing between us was not worth him dying.