panted until her breathing approached normal, though her chest ached as if her ribs were fractured.
'I hope you'll listen now, eldest and dearest daughter,' her mother said, voice dripping acid.
There were few witnesses to Star's punishment. The bakkal and the first sama had only a dozen guards ranked behind them. Still, she huddled like a drowned rat. Flanking her were three vizars with dirt brown robes and shaved skulls. Initiate anatomists, young and strong, they were perfectly willing to shove the samira's head into the shallow pool at the queen's command, drowning her slowly or quickly. Wedded to the goddess of death, the vizars would gladly sacrifice Star or anyone else in their bony clutches. Suffering was a tonic to them.
A princess of royal blood couldn't be whipped or struck, nor even touched unless she allowed it, as when she gave her maids permission to comb her hair or dress her. Beatings were for mortals and commoners. To strike a descendant of genies, someone practically a demigod, would offend the gods themselves. For rejecting the samirs and ruining the royal gala, Star was punished by being half drowned, which left no marks or blemishes. That the princess was punished by the hated vizars, submerged in her own pool in her own courtyard, and humiliated in full view of her gossipy, snippy maids clustered at the wide windows, added to Amenstar's agony.
All through the ordeal, the bakkal of Cursrah stood stone still, arms folded across his bare chest. Behind him stood a general of the army with his ceremonial war axe jutting high. Star's father rarely spoke and had never directly addressed his daughter since her birth. As priest-king of Cursrah, the bakkal associated most with advisors and high vizars and spent days communicating with dead ancestors and distant gods. Mediumship was risky and never-ending. The dead resented the living, resisted contact, and punished intruders with hauntings and demon attacks unless the proper wards and protections were maintained with vigilance. Star was glad for silence. Her father or not, she had always found the man eerie and frightening. In Cursrah, the samas, and especially the first sama, handled worldly issues such as chastising a recalcitrant daughter.
Now Star's mother lectured: 'Your father has consulted the ancients and passed down a decree through his advisors. They and I have discussed your future for many long hours. As eldest daughter, on the first day of autumn you shall wed Samir Nagid of Zubat. His city has won the favor of Coramsh-'
'I don't want to marry that prissy, perfumed fop,' Star sputtered. 'I won't.'
The sama's plump face tinged purple. Pursing fat lips, she snapped, 'Again!'
'No!'
Star tried to scramble to her feet to run, but she was too weak. The clammy hands of junior vizars grabbed fistfuls of hair and twisted, then pinned her slippery arms and hands. Hoisting her bodily, the sadists rammed Star's head and shoulders into the pool so hard her nose bumped slimy tiles on the bottom. Furious, Star swore the bastards enjoyed this duty as a vizar mashed her belly against the pool's edge. Bubbles of precious air spurted from her bleeding nose and clamped mouth.
Star had gotten some wind back, but not enough, and immediately her lungs burned, her brain throbbed, her face felt squeezed by steel bands. Pain ripped through her chest and head, crisscrossing and redoubling as if she'd been struck by lightning. Even her wounded calf, in dry air, throbbed as if lanced by a knife. Jolts of agony rippled through her nose and lips, making muscles sting until she feared swallowing water, or worse, blacking out, for darkness drummed against her blurry thoughts.
If she passed out, she would drown. Surely her mother wouldn't allow that, but in her murky suffering, nightmare thoughts intruded. If Amenstar did die, even 'accidentally,' her sister Tunkeb would become eldest daughter and obey her parents' wishes. Could her parents coldly order her death, then stand and watch it come to pass?
Fright coursed through Star, chilling her blood, for she knew her parents were precisely that heartless. If Star opposed them they might kill her, same as they'd condemn any balky commoner to death. Water wormed into Star's nose and mouth. She panicked and kicked and wriggled to no avail. Through a haze of pain, despair drenched her soul.
Yanked upward, Star shuddered like a breaching fish. Gasping for air, she instead drew the invasive water into her nose and lungs. Fresh pain stabbed her sinuses. Retching, howling, whimpering, she was dropped to the damp flagstones. Dribbling water and red strings from her nose and mouth, trying to sip air, wracked with pain, Star began to shiver, and though she hated herself savagely for it, she cried.
'Will you listen?' Her mother's voice, hard as flint.
'I will, I will.' Star hated giving in, but she was too weak to resist. If submerged again, she'd be powerless to keep out the water. 'I'll be good,' she said. 'I promise.'
Her mother snorted, called for a chair, and said, 'It's time, Amenstar, that you learned the duties of the eldest daughter. Your two elder brothers learned their place, and both of them journey abroad representing Cursrah's interests. In these troubled times, everyone works for the city's good, as will you. Your father, bearing the blood of genies, consults our ancestors and the very gods to foretell the future and divine our destiny. I and the other royal wives keep the kingdom on an even keel. Our vizars tend the dead while our chancellors and stewards oversee the living. Every noble in Cursrah pays homage and taxes to liege lords. Our judges maintain peace for the populace and punish conspirators. Scholars and seers at our college gather information for the glory of Great Calim. Young nobles master the military, and commoners are conscripted into the ranks as needed. The lowest dung shovellers and ditchdiggers bend their backs to their tasks, for every shovelful adds to Cursrah's coffers and prestige.
'Here lurks in this royal compound,' Star's mother rattled on, 'one pampered parasite who contributes nothing! You, Amenstar, an empty-headed doll with no idea of the dangers that Cursrah daily faces. Spoiled and self-consumed, you fail to notice your surroundings. See how your father keeps at hand Mooncutter, the ceremonial war axe, a weapon signifying war and not the Serpent Staff of peacetime? Chaos has ruled Calimshan ever since Great Calim's final battle. The land itself is in upheaval, and desert sand threatens to overrun Cursrah's fields and the very streets. Every neighbor plots against us, and many would swoop upon us like vultures if we relax our vigilance for even the barest fraction of a moment.
'So, given that we live with crisis, your days of useless frittering are over,' the sama hissed. 'Your marriage to Samir Nagid, and subsequent children, will bond us by blood to Zubat. Thus Cursrah becomes equal partners with Coramshan, a city that grows daily more powerful and looms over the land like the shadow of Great Calim. Your marriage will confirm Cursrah's independence, and the whole of civilization shall know it.'
'Am I worthy of such an honor?' the samira asked. 'To save Cursrah single-handed?'
Star's usual sarcasm was creeping back, and she felt a stab of panic lest she be drowned again. She hugged her arms across her wet breasts. Despite the day's heat, she was goose-bumped and freezing.
'No, you're not worthy,' Star's mother shot back. 'It's only your position, not your personality, that makes demands. As eldest daughter of the first sama, you've inherited the largest wing of the royal house, the most personal wealth, the greatest number of maids-and been spoiled the worst, I'm afraid. Now having reached the age of sixteen, you inherit the greatest responsibility. You'll marry well, be a dutiful wife and mother, bring peace and trade to Cursrah, and dampen the avarice of restless neighbors.'
More politics, Amenstar noted with disgust, but she didn't dare argue, so she tried wheedling.
'If I'm not worthy to serve Cursrah,' she said, 'perhaps I should step aside as eldest daughter, and let Tunkeb-'
'Do not presume to negotiate with me,' her mother spat. 'You have no concept of the forces arrayed against this family, nor the thousand factors that need to be juggled. Everyone has her place and task, even you-'
'Not if I die!' Star shrieked. Cold terror gave way to white-hot anger. 'I'll kill myself and spoil your plans. I'll take poison, or cradle an asp to my bosom.'
'Poppycock and piffle,' the sama replied, then flicked a hand to her retainers, a signal to depart. 'You're too well-guarded to even consider suicide, if you had the nerve. You'll do your duty as royal blood demands, and before your wedding day you'll learn manners, poise, diplomacy, and obedience. Once you're cleaned up, you can be escorted to the library to hear The Book of Dutiful Daughters.'
'Knees of Khises, I hate those wretched tales,' Star said. The maudlin stories of addlepated daughters who fulfilled their parents' bizarre wishes and quests, and so lived happily ever after, had been drummed into her since birth. 'I won't listen. I'll vomit!'
'More likely drown,' the sama said, gesturing toward the pool. 'One thing Cursrah has in abundance is water.'
The royal parents swept from the small courtyard with retainers parading before and after. The shivering princess was left with sodden vizars and brainless maids who peeped wide-eyed through the tall windows.
