Palace of Darkness by Tracy L. Higley Page A

covered her shoulder with his bony hand, never taking his eyes from hers. He reached under her shoulder with his other hand. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, even at this lightest of touches. How was she ever to endure what was to come? She tried to gain strength from Malik’s eyes, but to her dismay, he closed them.
    Cassia’s heart pounded, and the fear tasted like a bitter thing in her mouth. Do it. Get it done.
    Malik was moving his lips silently. Did he pray to his gods? Cassia was unsure what gods ruled over this part of the Nabataean kingdom. Were they the same as her Damascus gods? Should she pray to Dagan as well? What if other gods were here and she angered them with her misplaced prayer? Her confusion and fear mingled until she thought she might cry out even before the great pain that was to come.
    Across the room, she heard the murmured voices again and realized the women, for it seemed most certainly to be women, were also chanting prayers softly.
    She waited, eyes closed.
    But the great pain did not come. Instead, a deep and penetrating warmth seemed to emanate from Malik’s hands above and below hershoulder. It burrowed deep into her body, not a hot tongue of fire like the pain when she had fallen against the stone wall. This was a warm blanket on a cold night. Like a heated cup of wine, going down with softness and filling her with a peace that leeched the fear from her muscles and made her sleepy.
    Malik’s lips still moved silently. His eyes remained closed. And Cassia realized the warmth was not surrounding the pain, it was replacing it.
    And as the pain receded, in its place washed in a deep and profound emotion Cassia could not name. Somewhere between terrible grief and sparkling joy, between black death and bright life, it welled up inside of her and overflowed. Tears streamed from her, flowed down her cheeks and dripped from her chin, and flowed even still, until she shook with a powerful sobbing she could not contain.
    “What . . . what is it?” she whispered.
    Only then did Malik open his eyes, slowly remove his hands, and smile.
    The emotion subsided, the warmth drifted away.
    The pain did not return.
    “A gift.” Malik’s voice was like warm oil. “You have been given a gift. You have been healed.”
    Cassia wiped at her face, first with one hand, then with the other. With the other!
    She lifted her arm above her head, rotated her shoulder. What did he do to me?
    The healing astonished her. The emotion it had drawn forth baffled her. She felt almost sadness as it subsided.
    She studied Malik’s eyes and could think of nothing more to say than “Thank you.”
    He patted her cheek and called over his shoulder, “She should eat.”
    Two women hurried to her bedside, as if they had been waiting for the summons. Each held a plate of steaming food, more than Cassia could possibly consume. She pulled herself to sitting, and one of the women handed her a plate of flat bread and seasoned beans, then pushed cushions behind her back.
    She was much older than Cassia, but perhaps not so old as Malik. It took only a moment of watching them both for Cassia to sense the woman was not his wife. The other woman sat beside her on the bed, holding another plate. She was younger still, younger even than Cassia. Cassia knitted her brow, trying to make sense of this strange family that was not a family. She could easily read several emotions passing between them. Both women felt great love and respect for Malik. But there was also a tension between the two women.
    Cassia dug into the beans. They were spicy and warm on her tongue. She closed her eyes in delight. They had eaten nothing more than hard bread and dried meat during the long journey here.
    She pushed some of the beans aside on her plate. “For Alexander. He will be hungry when he wakes.”
    The three laughed together. The older woman shook her head. “I cannot believe that boy could eat anything more for three days!”
    They had fed