to the slap of rigging and the creak of timbers. They’d been sailing forever, the ship rolling nauseatingly from side to side. She’d been sick over a bale of linen. It was too dark to make sure, but she hoped it was her mother’s best. Serve her right for shutting her in the hold.
Until yesterday Pirra had never even seen the Sea, and if the High Priestess had had her way, she still wouldn’t have, because as part of her punishment she’d been blindfoldedwhen Userref had carried her on board. But just before they’d put her in the hold, he’d broken the rules and unbound her eyes, to give her a glimpse.
She’d grown up with pictures of the Sea. It was painted on the walls of her room: neat blue waves zigzagged with yellow sunlight, and smiling dolphins nosing tidy little fishes, while big-eyed octopuses clambered about on the bottom, among sea urchins and crinkly green weeds.
The real Sea was nothing like that. Pirra had never imagined it would be so restless and so huge.
All her life she’d heard stories of the world outside, but she’d never been there. She’d grown up in the House of the Goddess: an entire hillside covered in chambers, courtyards, storerooms, cookhouses, and workshops, where people swarmed like bees. She called it the stone hive, and she’d never been allowed out.
She couldn’t see anything from her room, which gave on to a shadowy passage, but sometimes she managed to escape her slaves, and then she would race across the Great Court and up the stairs to the topmost balcony. From there she could look down over olive groves and vineyards, across barley fields and forests, to the great twin-horned Mountain of the Earthshaker.
When you’re twelve, she would tell herself, you’re getting out. You’ll drive a chariot and climb the Mountain, and have a dog.
Knowing this had made it bearable. Yassassara had promised: When she was twelve, she would be free.
The night before she turned twelve, she was so excited, she couldn’t sleep.
The next morning she learned the truth.
“But you
promised
!” she’d screamed at her mother. “You promised I’d be
free
!”
“No,” Yassassara had calmly replied. “I promised I’d let you out. And so I will. Today you leave the House of the Goddess: to sail to Lykonia to be wed.”
Pirra had raged and bitten and screamed—but deep down, she’d known it was useless. High Priestess Yassassara had a will of granite. She’d ruled Keftiu for seventeen years, and she would sacrifice anything to keep it strong, including her only daughter.
In the end, Pirra had gone quiet. In sullen silence she’d let the women dress her in purple linen spangled with gold, and when Userref had come in, she’d ignored him. Even he, who was like a big brother, had betrayed her. He’d been part of the lie.
“I’m sorry,” he’d said quietly. “I wasn’t allowed to tell you.”
“How long have you known?” she’d said without looking at him.
“The harvest before last.”
“That’s
two years.
”
He didn’t reply.
“So that’s why you were so keen that we learn Akean,” she’d said bitterly. “You said it’d be fun to learn it from the old man in the weavers’ shed; you said it’d be ‘something to do.’”
“I thought it’d help if you could speak their tongue.”
“You let me go on believing I’d be free.”
Frowning, he’d smoothed his kilt over his knees. “You needed something to hope for,” he’d muttered. “Everyone does. It’s what keeps them going.”
“Even if it’s a lie?”
“Yes. Even then.”
Coldly, she’d sent him away, but after he’d gone she realized that he’d been speaking of himself. He’d been ten when he was snatched from Egypt and sold as a slave to the House of the Goddess. That had been thirteen years ago, but he’d never stopped wanting to go home.
Uncomfortably, Pirra shifted position in the hold. Userref had given her a waterskin, so she’d managed to wash off the worst of the
Until yesterday Pirra had never even seen the Sea, and if the High Priestess had had her way, she still wouldn’t have, because as part of her punishment she’d been blindfoldedwhen Userref had carried her on board. But just before they’d put her in the hold, he’d broken the rules and unbound her eyes, to give her a glimpse.
She’d grown up with pictures of the Sea. It was painted on the walls of her room: neat blue waves zigzagged with yellow sunlight, and smiling dolphins nosing tidy little fishes, while big-eyed octopuses clambered about on the bottom, among sea urchins and crinkly green weeds.
The real Sea was nothing like that. Pirra had never imagined it would be so restless and so huge.
All her life she’d heard stories of the world outside, but she’d never been there. She’d grown up in the House of the Goddess: an entire hillside covered in chambers, courtyards, storerooms, cookhouses, and workshops, where people swarmed like bees. She called it the stone hive, and she’d never been allowed out.
She couldn’t see anything from her room, which gave on to a shadowy passage, but sometimes she managed to escape her slaves, and then she would race across the Great Court and up the stairs to the topmost balcony. From there she could look down over olive groves and vineyards, across barley fields and forests, to the great twin-horned Mountain of the Earthshaker.
When you’re twelve, she would tell herself, you’re getting out. You’ll drive a chariot and climb the Mountain, and have a dog.
Knowing this had made it bearable. Yassassara had promised: When she was twelve, she would be free.
The night before she turned twelve, she was so excited, she couldn’t sleep.
The next morning she learned the truth.
“But you
promised
!” she’d screamed at her mother. “You promised I’d be
free
!”
“No,” Yassassara had calmly replied. “I promised I’d let you out. And so I will. Today you leave the House of the Goddess: to sail to Lykonia to be wed.”
Pirra had raged and bitten and screamed—but deep down, she’d known it was useless. High Priestess Yassassara had a will of granite. She’d ruled Keftiu for seventeen years, and she would sacrifice anything to keep it strong, including her only daughter.
In the end, Pirra had gone quiet. In sullen silence she’d let the women dress her in purple linen spangled with gold, and when Userref had come in, she’d ignored him. Even he, who was like a big brother, had betrayed her. He’d been part of the lie.
“I’m sorry,” he’d said quietly. “I wasn’t allowed to tell you.”
“How long have you known?” she’d said without looking at him.
“The harvest before last.”
“That’s
two years.
”
He didn’t reply.
“So that’s why you were so keen that we learn Akean,” she’d said bitterly. “You said it’d be fun to learn it from the old man in the weavers’ shed; you said it’d be ‘something to do.’”
“I thought it’d help if you could speak their tongue.”
“You let me go on believing I’d be free.”
Frowning, he’d smoothed his kilt over his knees. “You needed something to hope for,” he’d muttered. “Everyone does. It’s what keeps them going.”
“Even if it’s a lie?”
“Yes. Even then.”
Coldly, she’d sent him away, but after he’d gone she realized that he’d been speaking of himself. He’d been ten when he was snatched from Egypt and sold as a slave to the House of the Goddess. That had been thirteen years ago, but he’d never stopped wanting to go home.
Uncomfortably, Pirra shifted position in the hold. Userref had given her a waterskin, so she’d managed to wash off the worst of the
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