Aretas took Phasa’s hand and pulled her toward the landing. “Join us in drink and food. You must tell us about your journey. Everything. We weren’t told of your plans. Why did you not send word?”
Saba, Judah, and I were left standing in the middle of the floor. None of us had thought to bow. Unsure, I remained still.
They had reached the foot of the steps leading up to the thrones and banqueting table when the queen spoke.
“Aretas?”
He stopped and glanced up. “Yes?”
“Who are they?” Shaquilath stared at us without pointing.
Only now did Aretas become aware of our presence. He looked back and stared at us, then at Phasa for explanation.
“They are my slaves,” Phasa said, smiling. “My guard. How else would you have me cross such treacherous ground to reach my father?”
“They are Phasa’s slaves,” Aretas said, satisfied. Then to a servant, “See that they are fed and bathed.” Then to Phasa, “Come.”
“And why are your slaves Bedu from the desert?” Shaquilath asked, not in an accusing voice, but still firm. “Where is Herod’s guard?”
Sweat clung to my brow and my heart beat heavily, for it knew too well the danger at hand.
“Judah and Saba could slay ten of Herod’s guard,” Phasa said. “There is no match for the Bedu save the Nabataeans.”
Why was she delaying the simple truth?
“There you have it,” Aretas said. “Judah and Saba. Only the strongest for any daughter of mine.”
“And the woman? What is her name?” Shaquilath pressed.
Phasa hesitated, but would not lie.
“She is Maviah. Daughter of the desert. As strong as any man.”
Stillness fell upon the room and I knew immediately that my name was known.
“Maviah,” Aretas said, slowly turning back to me. His countenance had shifted. “And where does Maviah come from?”
“From Dumah,” Phasa said.
“From Dumah. Who is your father?”
I, no more than Phasa, could undermine my character by lying, so I did not hesitate.
“I am Maviah, daughter of Rami bin Malik.”
Aretas released his daughter’s hand and glared. He strode toward me, glancing first at Judah and Saba just beyond me.
“The daughter of the sheikh who fails me comes to my court with my own daughter?”
“The daughter of Rami, the great warrior who brought you great honor at the side of Varus. Rami, the conqueror whom you yourself once celebrated with great—”
“How dare you!” he thundered, eyes fired. “Do you think that I do not know what happens in my kingdom?”
“You fled Dumah with the dagger of Varus,” the queen said.
How much they’d learned of my mission I could only guess, but I was now wholly at their mercy.
“I did. And I have now come to you of my own free will.”
“Then you have come to your death willingly.”
“No, Father!” Phasa rushed to Aretas. “You must listen to me. Whatever you think you know, it is only half. If not for Maviah I would be dead. How can you have so little mercy on the one who is the savior of your own daughter?”
“What absurdity is this?” Shaquilath demanded. “Where is Herod’s guard?”
Phasa ignored the queen, pleading instead with her father.
“Did you hear me, Father?” She pointed to me, growing more bold. “If not for this woman who is like a sister to me, I would be dead. She and her slaves have saved my life.”
He was slow to respond, eyeing me with great suspicion. “Nashquya, my niece entrusted to your family, is dead,” he said. “In what manner has Rami angered the gods? He has betrayed me, and my blessing now remains only with the Thamud, who even now grace the courts of Petra. And yet here stands the daughter of Rami bearing the dagger of Varus, begging favor.”
The Thamud were now in Petra? An image of Kahil bin Saman throwing my son from the window flashed through my mind.
“Nasha was my dearest friend,” I said, unable to still the tremor in my voice. “I mourned her passing more than any. And I—”
“A slave cannot mourn the passing of Nasha like her own blood!” he thundered.
“And did I not also lose a father?” I said, knowing that it was too bold.
“Your father? Rami is in chains, begging for his death, a just punishment for the death of Nasha!”
“I am your daughter!” Phasa cried. “And Maviah has saved this daughter of yours from certain death. I beg you hear her.”
Shaquilath’s voice cut through the hall. “Where is Herod’s—”
“Herod’s guard is with him!” Phasa cried, spinning to the queen. “And with the woman he would take to be his wife.”