PROLOGUE

Hattusa, Capital of the Empire of Hatti. Summer - Reign of Mursili II, Year 9

‘You fell from the heavens, a star. Your radiant light filled my heart with warmth, meaning and purpose. My queen, my love, Lawiya, how shall I go on without you? How shall I live now my heart is cold and filled with darkness? There is nothing. There is no one. Our house is cursed. Would that it was I who lay here, alone and still, waiting for the fires to cleanse me. I would have paid the price for my father’s crimes to save you, but the gods are merciless.

‘Instead it was you, innocent, filled with youth and beauty, your heart pure and good, who has been cut down by the Tawananna, by her jealousy and her hate. I will never love another woman again. Lawiya, my heart stopped beating when yours stilled. Tonight, when you are burned, my heart will succumb to the flames and ascend to the heavens, joining yours. I shall never leave you, my love. Never. Now I live only to mark the days until I will stand once more by your side.’

His head bowed, the Tuhkanti Muwatallis eased behind the pillar, leaving his father to grieve over his mother’s wasted body, draped with the finest silks, the crown of the Queen of Hatti still upon her brow.

He rubbed his sleeve across his eyes, ashamed of his tears when his father had yet to shed even one. His mother was dead. Gone to the gods. A sob shook his chest. He pressed his lips together and suppressed it. A sound from the shadows made him glance up. A pair of eyes, huge and uncertain, met his. With a finger to his lips, he gestured his youngest brother towards him. The toddler rushed over, his chubby arms outstretched, seeking shelter.

‘Muwa, I want Mama back.’

Muwatallis blinked back his tears. ‘I know Hattu, I know. I want her back too. So does Papa. So does everyone.’

Hattusilis looked up at his brother, his expression bewildered. ‘But not the Tawananna.’

Muwatallis inhaled deep. ‘Yes, all but her. Papa will avenge Mama, and if he doesn’t, I will. I swear it. It matters not to me if the Tawananna is Regent Queen of Hatti. When I am king, she will die, and by my sword.’

In his arms, pressed against his tunic, Hattusilis sniffed, his words muffled by his tears. ‘And I will help you, Brother, when you are king.’

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My name is Tanu. My father, the son of a concubine of Suppiluliuma, has been summoned to the court of My Sun, the King of Hatti, Mursili II, in the nineteenth year of his reign.

My mother has that look in her eye, calculating yet fearful; and since our father departed this morning, she has been aggravating the household with her constant fretting. There, no matter how far I go, I can still hear her calling my name. I do not wish to go to her, but she will not stop until she has her way. It has always been thus. She may not be Queen of Hatti, but she behaves as though she is, answering to no one, not even our father.

He is a patient man, my father. When I asked him how he lives with such a tempestuous woman without succumbing to anger, he smiled, and said, ‘My child, why do you think I spend so much time on campaign?’

When I heard his words, I thought of the unfairness of having been born a girl, unable to escape by going on campaign, too. Instead, my fate is to live with her until I am wed to the highest bidder.

My mother, shrewd in every way, has waited, holding out for the best offer. Now I am seventeen years old, still unknown by a man, and without a household of my own. The other women in the market look at me under their veils, whispering as I pass. Sometimes I hear them, judging me. Saying no one will have me, because of my mother’s greed. Perhaps it is true, and I will die, childless and alone, for the lack of an extra bolt of wool.

I hear my mother’s quick step on the stairs now, she is coming up to the roof garden. There is nothing for it, I shall be caught and tormented by her ceaseless words. I rise from the bench and set aside the beadwork which I so enjoy.

‘Mother, I am here.’

She comes to a stop before me, but her eyes do not meet mine. She swallows, her chest rises and falls, erratic, and her face is flushed.

‘Tanu, your father has returned, just now,’ she pants. ‘I have news, wonderful news, it is beyond belief. After ten years without a queen, the king, our Sun has decided to marry again. My Lady, he has chosen you, above all the others.

‘There are palace guards, waiting below to escort you to the harem where you will be attended for thirty days, purified by rituals and bathing to prepare you for your marriage to our Sun.

‘My daughter, my beautiful child, I beg you, do not forget me when you are Hatti’s Great Queen. Everything I have done, has been for you. May you live in happiness and peace.’

And before my astonished eyes—my mother—the most demanding, terrifying woman in all of Hattusa, falls to her knees. As her brow touches the ground, both of us know she will never look upon my face again.

CHAPTER 1

Hattusa, Capital of the Empire of Hatti. Winter - Reign of Mursili II, Year 19

In his arms, Muwatallis heard her muted groan. He waited, as her breathing slowed. Brushing the hair from her cheek with tender movements, he gazed at her, his heart filled with pride.

There was no other woman in all of Hatti who could match her courage or her beauty—and she was his—would be his queen, ruling by his side, with their son, the babe she would soon give to him. Her eyes met his, the pain in hers masked by the curve of her lips, granting him the shadow of a smile.

‘Tell me again of the time when you first saw me.’

Muwatallis pushed aside a panel of the heavy woollen hanging surrounding his bed and reached for the cup of wine, the air’s bite outside their nest sharp against his bare skin.

Beyond the stone walls of the palace, a winter storm raged. Deep into its third day, its relentless winds had brought the city to a standstill as man, woman, child and beast sought to endure, praying for the calm to come—when life could begin again. Another gust battered the wooden shutters of the windows, and the heavy insulating quilts slapped, smart, against the frozen walls.

As he poured the wine, he eyed the hangings rimed with frost, illuminated by the flames of the logs in the braziers. A bitter draft breached the warm space and his wife cried out. She hauled the woollen blankets up over her swollen breasts.

With a murmured apology, Muwatallis dropped the panel and passed her his cup, waiting for her to sip its contents, before drinking the rest, himself. He drew her up against him and pulled the blankets close around her, chafing her arms, warming her with his body. His lips against her temple, he began:

‘How could I have known on the day I would meet you, you would see me at my worst? The campaign had been hard, and we had lost many good men. But, I am running ahead of myself, and I will not deprive you of the full telling, Sharruma knows we have the time. Nine months ago, while I was still seventeen, your father, the administrator of Hakpis, sent a desperate message to our father, saying, ‘My Sun, the Kaskans are moving south once more, raiding and burning all in their path. I fear for the safety of your people, please send chariots and soldiers to aid us.’ So my father summoned me, along with one of his generals, commanding us to push the enemy back into the mountains, and to protect his people. We rode hard to the north, arriving to find the Kaskans had already breached the city walls, and the gates lay open, the bodies of the dead filling the city.

‘We fought hard, at times the battle was desperate, but we were driven by rage, seeing the violence the barbarians had wrought against innocent people. We showed them no mercy, though they begged for it.

‘We pushed all the way to the center of the city, to your father’s house, the seat of administration, to find the Kaskan warlord had already taken up residence, sitting upon your father’s seat of power. He laughed as we entered the hall, mocking us when we found ourselves outnumbered.

‘Before him, your father, mother and sister knelt, trembling in fear, their heads bowed, his men’s bloody swords held up over them, waiting for the command to behead them. He had begun to tell us what he would do to me, once he had finished with your family when you approached him, the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, a goddess in the flesh.

‘In your hands you bore a golden cup, and before my disbelieving eyes, you knelt before him, offering it up, your head bowed in submission. He accepted your cup, believing himself the victor, sneering at me, saying he would take you for his wife, and make the city his own. He drank the cup’s contents, never taking his eyes from mine.

‘Rage filled my heart. I wished to destroy him, but it was not I who ended him, but you, my brave warrior wife. The poison worked fast, and as he choked, his rotten black blood gushing from his nose, mouth and ears, confusion reigned. We rallied, fighting once more, and his men fell, one by one.

‘As I pulled my sword from the last barbarian, my eyes went to you. In your hand you held a bloody dagger, the warlord’s opened throat spraying blood over your gown. In that heartbeat, I knew I could have no other as my wife, none other could be my queen. You were at once my equal, and my heart belonged to you.’

He felt her lips lifting in a smile, as she relived their memory. ‘You were covered in blood, and wounded, yet when I looked upon you, I knew there could never be any other man for me.’

He stroked her hair, knowing it would soothe her.

She sighed.

‘You wasted no time,’ he continued. ‘Once you had tended my injuries, and washed and fed me, you brought me to your bed.’

She shuddered, and rode out a spasm of pain. Breathless, she returned, ‘I did not want you to slip away from me, to go back to Hattusa, and forget about me.’

She cried out again, primal, sharp. He held her tighter, his voice low, intimate. ‘I could never forget you, Asuru.’

She gasped, her fingers sought his, gripped them hard. ‘I did not need to fear, did I? You intended to take me back with you all along.’

His lips against her brow, Muwatallis kissed her, tender, longing to pull the pain away from her, into himself. ‘I did.’

Panting, she writhed in his arms, her heels dug deep into the feathered mattress, as she rode out the contraction. The spasm slowed and she calmed. Her eyes dark, she looked up at him. ‘Yet you allowed me to seduce you, knowing no other man could have me after the Crown Prince had known me.’

Despite himself, Muwatallis chuckled. ‘Asuru, you are of noble blood, I would not have taken you had I not intended to make you my wife. But your seduction was worth every wrong I committed by playing along with you. It is a memory I shall cherish for the rest of my life. I like to think it was the night we conceived our son.’

A violent spasm of pain rammed through her, and she cursed. ‘The one who refuses to come and causes me so much suffering.’

‘He is waiting for the storm to end to ensure his survival,’ Muwatallis murmured. ‘He is a clever, like his mother. He will come soon, my love. Just hold on a little longer. Stay strong, and soon you shall have our son, the heir of Hatti’s throne in your arms, and this will be forgotten. I will not leave your side, not even if the king commands it. We shall bring this babe into the world together, just as we created him together.

‘Here, take my hand, break my bones, I do not care. If you must suffer, I will suffer with you. I may not be able to protect you from the hardship of birth, but I swear upon my mother’s ashes, you will never have to suffer alone, nothing will take me from your side. Nothing.’

In the ruins of the bed, the babe lay covered in blood—his mother’s blood—its cries weak, pitiful. The Great Queen, Tanu-Hepa, lifted the naked babe from the soaking blankets and wrapped him in a clean, warm blanket with gentle movements. A hand caught her wrist, fierce, hurting her.

‘I beg you,’ Muwatallis rasped, ‘do not let the babe die. He is all I have left of . . . her.’

Tanu-Hepa, Great Queen of Hatti, wife of a cold and distant king nineteen years her senior, glanced at Muwatallis, her heart aching for him, the man she longed for in her most secret of thoughts.

All knew of the love between him and Asuru. How she had envied them. He would never recover. His loss was too great. In his hand: the dagger he used to free the babe from her dead body. Tanu-Hepa lowered her eyes from the ravaged body of Asuru, guilt overwhelming her. She never wanted this. Never.

‘I will protect him as though he were my own son. On my life, your babe will live. I swear it.’

Bleak, Muwatallis dropped the dagger onto the rug. He crawled back to Asuru and reached out for her, his bloody hands on her face, in her hair, his lips on hers, his grief visceral. Tanu-Hepa watched him for a heartbeat, then turned away, ashamed of her jealousy.

The infant sheltered against her chest, the Queen of Hatti moved along the cold corridors to her own apartments, determined to save the child, no matter the cost. Anything for him. Anything. Even this.

And outside, the winter storm raged on, relentless, brutal, uncaring.

CHAPTER 2

Hattusa, Capital of the Empire of Hatti. Spring - Reign of Mursili II, Year 22

Before me, the doors of Urhi-Teshub’s apartment are pulled open. I proceed into the opulent rooms of the son of the Tuhkanti Muwatallis after the child’s nurse, and into his sleeping room to find him perched upon a thick rug, playing with a set of wooden horses. A single brazier burns in one corner, and the cedarwood doors to his balcony stand open, affording a view of the temple gardens. Fresh spring air mingles with the warmth from the brazier. It pleases me well. I go to the child. He looks up at me, and a smile lights up his face.

‘Great Queen! I have horses now.’ He holds them up in his hands to me. ‘This one is called Namur and this one is called Luwa.’ Luwa slips free of his chubby fingers and falls to the rug with a gentle thump. His eyes fall to the horse, then move back to mine, heavy with concern. ‘Have I sent Luwa to the gods?’

I smile. How I love this boy. He is perfect, kind, thoughtful, caring. Responsible. A rare trait in a child. Kneeling beside him, I pick up Luwa and set him back on his feet, noting the gold inlay in its eyes, nose and upon its hooves. Real horsehair falls from its neck and tail. I tap its polished head.

‘Awake Luwa, your master, Urhi-Teshub has need of you. Ah, there he has returned, you see, he was only sleeping. Can you hear him whinnying for you?’

With a cry of relief, he picks up Luwa and kisses its face. ‘I am sorry Luwa. I will never let you fall again.’ With great care, he places him back on the rug beside Namur, talking to them, telling them they will be going into battle soon, and to be brave.

My eyes stay upon him, drinking in the sight of his movements as he plays. He can imagine wonderful things. For such a young child I do not know where his ideas come from. Both his father and grandfather are often away on campaign, fighting the Kaskans to the north, pushing their way towards Nerik, to the holy city of the Storm God, to reclaim it from the barbarians.

The battles have been constant, and Urhi-Teshub has been forced to grow up in the company of women, yet somehow he is already aware of his fate—to one day become the king, and go to war against the Kaskans, just like his father and grandfather, the Great King, whom he worships.

He will have one more year in the nursery, before the scribes and tutors arrive to teach him the art of numbers and languages. I stroke the hair from his brow, and savour the softness of it. Oblivious to my touch, he carries on with his story, absorbed in his imaginings. I listen to him, delighted by the quicksilver turns his tale takes.

Lunch is brought to us, and with the sun on our backs, we feast from the various bowls of cooked meats, breads, cheeses and olives. Beside us, the horses sleep in their stables, victorious after having defeating the Kaskans, and retaking Nerik with the help of the mighty god of the mountains, Sharruma.

The remains of our lunch is taken away, and I lean back against a cushion, sleepy from the heat of the sun, when the doors to Urhi-Teshub’s apartment open and the heavy tread of a man approaches. I look up, and he is there, returned once more from the endless campaigns in the north, bowing before me; the man I long for, though I know I should not.

He rises and gazes at his son, his eyes filled with warmth and love. In a heartbeat he lifts the child up into his powerful arms and holds him high, telling him he cannot believe how big he has grown. I gaze at him, the man who will one day become our king, with his child held against him, hugging him tight, imagining he is my husband, and we are a family. And for just a small space of time, though the illusion I have created is as nonsensical as Urhi-Teshub’s, it feels real, and I am happy.

When he comes to me, Mursili does not speak to me, nor does he attend me, he has never once touched my face, or held me. Apart from the marriage kiss, binding us together, his lips have never again brushed against mine.

On those rare nights when he is home from campaign, he comes to me, his face turned away from mine, and commands me to lay on my stomach. I pull up my shift, and lay on the bed, my face in the cushions, my thighs trembling. I hear him move across the stone flags of the floor; the soft whisper of material as he opens his silken robe. The creak of the bed as he kneels behind me, and pushes my legs open; he is not rough, but he is not gentle either. He is like a surgeon, every touch necessary, routine. I hear him prepare himself so he will be erect when he enters me.

I wait, filled with dread, wishing it to be over. His strong hands grasp my hips and lift my buttocks up, then he is there, pressing against me with his member. With a firm thrust he is inside me, his hips moving behind mine.

My hasawa says I must be ready for him, to make it easier for him, but I do not know what this means. All I know is it hurts. I do not want him to know he is hurting me, so I bite my lip and keep quiet, waiting for him to finish. I focus my thoughts on my beadwork, retrace the complex patterns of my favorite piece, and wait for the act to end.

He finishes with a grunt, like an animal. His heat spreads inside me. I whisper a prayer to Arinna to grant me a babe, hoping if I give him a child he will treat me with kindness, perhaps even love.

Before I have even pulled my shift down, the door closes behind him. I am alone once more, surrounded by wealth and splendour far beyond my greatest dreams.

I hold my legs up in the air to the count of one hundred sixty, as my hasawa has instructed me, then I pull my knees to my chest and stare at nothing, thinking of Muwatallis, and his strong body, his long dark hair, the curve of his lips, forever turned downwards since Asuru left us. I imagine him coming to me instead of the king, of him holding me in his arms, kissing my face and lips, stroking my hair and may the goddess forgive me, I touch myself, finishing with a sigh what my husband, the Great King, began.

My Sun, the king, now in his twenty-third year of his reign, visited my apartment today, surrounded by his Mesedi, bearing gifts; carried by the Commander of the Army, the Gal Gestin who knelt before me. He presented me with a lacquered cedarwood box containing four alabaster bottles with rare scented oils from Egypt, and another gold-inlaid box containing a precious length of golden silk from the unknown lands far to the east.

Once the gifts had been opened and admired, my husband, the king took my face in his hands and kissed my brow, as a father would kiss a child. My hasawa has confirmed the truth: I shall give him a child before the harvest season is over. Now, I wait. He will not come to me again, and for this, I am glad.

Beside me, Urhi-Teshub sits on the bed, his small hand in mine. As I wake, I hear his tearful whisper:

‘Mama. Please do not leave me.’

My heart clenches to hear him call me his mother, but I keep my eyes closed, and take my time stirring, to give him a chance to wipe the tears from his eyes. I look up at him; find the strength to offer him a smile.

He smiles back, tremulous. Strives to be cheerful. ‘Great Queen, you are awake! Would you like something to drink?’

I am so tired, I find myself unable to muster the will to speak, so I merely nod. As he fetches a cup, the memory returns and the shock of it takes my breath away. My beautiful infant son is dead. He went to sleep and never woke again, taken by the gods in the night. In those hours the happiness in the palace turned to grief.

As he rent his royal robes in two, my husband cursed his father for his crimes, for damning us to his brutal legacy, to his curse. Though it seems impossible I should have any left, fresh tears gather and leak onto the cushion beneath my head. My baby. Hollowness claws at me.

Urhi-Teshub shifts closer to me. His little arms slide around my neck. The weight of his sturdy body falls against my chest as he hugs himself against me, seeking comfort. His tears wet my shoulder. He is quiet for a heartbeat, then with a shudder, the words tumble out—words I realise he has hoarded during his long, lonely vigil waiting for me to wake.

‘Yesterday, I hid under your bed, and listened to the hasawa tell our Sun you won’t eat or drink, and there is nothing more the surgeons can do. This morning, our Sun slaughtered four plough oxen in the Temple of Teshub and offered them up in your place.

‘I have thought it over and decided maybe oxen will not be enough, so I will give you myself. I will be your son until you have another baby. I promise I will be a good boy. I will study hard, and make you proud. Please, Great Queen,’ his sob reaches past the walls of my flesh and strikes my heart, breaks me in two, ‘don’t go to the gods. Please. Stay with me.’

His words expose how selfish I have been, and my shame is so great, I cannot answer him. Instead, I find the strength to hold him. I kiss the top of his head as he weeps with relief and clings to me. Urhi-Teshub, my son, but not my son, I have you. And you are enough.

I have been summoned to the apartment of my Sun, in the twenty-sixth year of his reign. My ladies dress me in my finest gown and place Hatti’s crown upon my head. I do not know why I have been summoned, but I fear I have displeased my husband, and I am to be punished. My thoughts race away, reviewing my responsibilities—have I failed in my duties as Hatti’s High Priestess? Perhaps I have not done enough for Urhi-Teshub, not chosen the best tutors, and instructors.

In the years since our son died, my husband has refrained from my bed, refusing to provide the gods the opportunity to punish our house further; I cannot be blamed for failing to provide him with another heir.

My thoughts stumble to a halt, and circle one awful possibility. Dread gnaws. Though I know I have been careful, perhaps while at a banquet and under the spell of wine, I have forgotten myself and someone has seen me look upon Muwatallis, my feelings plain, my treacherous heart revealed. I bite my lip, and think on past festivals. Have I lapsed?

A heavy fur lined cloak is placed over my shoulders. I lift my chin, so the ties can be closed around my neck, and the softness of a wolf’s pelt brushes against my throat. There is no more time, so I silence my thoughts, and compose myself.

We leave the harem’s enclave to make the long trek across the frozen palace grounds to the royal enclave. I glance down at my hands folded together beneath my breasts, and note their steadiness, pleased despite my rising terror.

I have never in the seven years I have been Mursili’s queen, entered the royal enclave. We pass through the Hall of Nobles, and I keep my head up, my gaze fixed straight ahead. I will not let the others see my fear. I have learned this much during my long, lonely years in the Court of the Sun. Never show fear. Fear confirms guilt. And the guilty die.

From the corner of my eye, I observe the nobles as they watch my progression. They bow as I pass, deep and reverent, though I can hear their murmurs a heartbeat later, hot with speculation. It reminds me of when my name was Tanu and I passed the married women in the market. People are all the same: vicious, cruel, and quick to judge. They especially relish the misfortune of others.

I catch the eye of the wife of the Gal Gestin, and smile. She bows her head and turns away. Those near her distance themselves from her. Isolate her. I regret my impulsive act. She has always been kind to me, perhaps even a friend, as much as one might have, here, in this place. I press on, driven by hope, yet drowning in fear.

I am escorted into a reception room of the king’s apartment and left there to wait, alone. It is luxurious beyond belief. The stone walls and ceiling are covered in cedarwood panels inlaid with gold. In the torchlight, the room glitters. I feel like a child, caught in a dream. I think of the stone walls of my apartment, covered with quilts for warmth and realize what I believed was grand is nothing in comparison to this, the private apartments of Hatti’s king.

My gaze sweeps over the beautiful objects covering the tables and hanging on the walls. Bowls, cups, and platters of gold and silver are everywhere, and on one wall three large panels of gold, embossed with the images of Teshub, Arinna, and Sharruma look down upon me, their expressions fierce. The gifts and trinkets my husband has given me over the years—things I had believed had been given to me at great expense—were in truth nothing to him compared to the wealth in just one of his many rooms. Though I have never loved him, I realise he is still able to wound me. He could have given me more, so much more, without any cost to him. He has given me almost nothing, and the thought troubles me, though I cannot understand why I should care.

Ahead, a door opens—one of the wooden panels I had believed was part of the wall. Startled, I take a step back, as two Mesedi enter, followed by my Sun, flanked by two more of his regal Mesedi. The door closes with a quiet thud and the Mesedi take their places around the room, still as statues, their spears angled in front of them, and the flames of the torches reflecting in their dark eyes.

I lower my gaze to my hands and wait for my husband to speak. He moves towards me, his tread slow and heavy. He stops a mere arm span away. I feel his eyes on me, taking in my attire, the cosmetics on my face highlighting my eyes and lips. He clears his throat, and when he speaks I hear the voice of a king, a warrior, and a god. His voice is powerful, resonant, commanding. None who hear him could disobey. I sink to my knees in one graceful movement.

‘Tanu-Hepa, Great Queen of Hatti, welcome. Will you join me at my table?’

Astonished, I bow my head and accept his offer. He leads me to a table covered with an embroidered linen cloth bearing a sumptuous array of food and drink. My gaze falls upon a silver dish laden with my favorite sweet: honeyed almond cake, and before I am able to stop myself, I smile, delighted.

My Sun takes his chair and gestures for me to take mine. As I sink onto my seat, I lift the pitcher of wine to serve him. His hand touches mine. He shakes his head. Afraid, I bow my head and set the pitcher aside and fold my hands in my lap. His fingers touch my chin and lift it, so my eyes meet his. I try to look away, but his eyes hold mine. A king. A god.

‘My wife, my good and dutiful queen, I have not been a worthy husband to you.’

I do not understand what is happening, if I am permitted to speak, or if he even wishes me to answer him. Confusion clobbers me. I swallow and seek safety in silence. He waits, then nods, understanding something I do not. His fingers leave my chin. He picks up the pitcher and pours a cup of wine and hands it to me. I take it, trembling, fearful. Perhaps he intends to poison me. He fills his cup and I wait for him to drink first, sipping only once he has swallowed. A quiet chuckle rumbles in his throat.

‘You think I intend to kill you.’

I set my cup aside and fold my hands in my lap once more. I answer, though I keep my eyes lowered. ‘My Sun, there can only be two possibilities for my presence here today: I have failed you in some way, and you intend to rid yourself of me, or you plan to move me here to the queen’s apartments, beside your own. I fear my fate is to be the first, since I am able to see no reason for the second after all the years I have spent residing in the harem. I beg you, please be merciful, and do not make me wait to learn your reason for summoning me.’

He shifts in his chair and reaches across the table to pluck a dried fig from a platter. I listen to him eat, aching with trepidation. He takes his time. I feel his eyes on me, weighing me. Judging me. I do not like it.

‘I know what is in your heart, Tanu-Hepa. I know you love my son, Muwatallis. I have seen it in your eyes.’

I forget myself and look at him, despite it being forbidden. He is watching me, from beneath his heavy, creased brow, expressionless. My mouth dries, and I feel myself tremble under his gaze, as my guilt condemns me. I cannot hide my shame. I am finished. I slide from my seat to the floor beside him and kneel, my head bowed, my hands clasped against my chest, thinking not of my death, but of Urhi-Teshub and how much I will hurt him, when he learns I have, after all, left him alone. ‘My Sun, it is true. I love Muwatallis. I am not worthy to be your queen. Iif you give me your blade, I will end my life, myself.’

‘I will not give you my blade, for you are worthy of me, it is I who is unworthy of you.’

I shudder. I do not understand him, why should Hatti’s Sun speak thus to me? I have accepted his charge, and admitted my guilt. Humiliated, I begin to cry, and hot, shameful tears slide down my face, ruin my cosmetics, and stain the material of my gown. His fingers touch my brow, stroke it with gentle movements. It calms me. I look up at him, uncertain, but he is looking away, gazing at nothing, lost in his thoughts.

‘Tanu-Hepa, I am dying, the surgeons have told me they can do no more for me, it is only a matter of time before I will go to the gods and reunite with Lawiya, my beloved wife. I am ready to go to her, ready to leave the throne to Muwatallis. He will be a good king, perhaps even a great one.

‘In these days since the surgeons have admitted the truth, I have thought of you, and of how you have been misused. I did not marry you for love, or for the consolidation of power. I married you because Hatti did not have a queen, and without one, the temple lacked a High Priestess to perform her sacred duties. The Wise Women read the augurs, and warned me after ten years of refusing to take a queen, I had provoked the wrath of the gods, so I chose you, for no other purpose than to fulfill a duty.

‘When we wed, Hatti still suffered from the crimes of my father, who murdered his brother to take the throne, then banished his wife, my mother, to another kingdom far to the west and across the sea, so he could marry Malnigal, a Babylonian princess. Two years before I was crowned, my father trusted our enemy, Egypt, and his decision led to the murder of my elder brother Zannanza. We went to war, and won, but our victory was short-lived. We brought back thousands of prisoners, and sent them to our vassal kingdoms as slaves, to realise too late every one of them carried the plague. All across the empire our people fell, innocent victims of the crimes of this house.

‘When my father died, his legacy continued when my step-mother, Malnigal, the Tawananna found herself losing influence in the Court to my wife, the queen. While I was on campaign, she murdered Lawiya, sickening her with poison. When I returned it was too late. My beloved wife died in my arms. Malnigal was found guilty, and her execution ordered, but I could not kill her. I feared if I did, I would bring more misfortune upon my house and empire, and continue the legacy of my father. Instead, I stripped her of her crown, and banished her to the island of Alasiya to live out the rest of her days powerless and in solitude.

‘Ten years passed, and the plague continued to ravage the empire. So I married you, because I believed the words of the Wise Women. I never loved you, instead I resented you for taking Lawiya’s place. I sought to punish you, and refused you your full rights. I left you to live in the harem and made you queen in name only.

‘And yet, despite your isolation and my pettiness, you never turned against me, or resented me. Never once did you complain or use your position to create factions in the palace. You are a peaceful woman and have been a good surrogate mother to Urhi-Teshub.

‘If your only crime in all of this has been to harbour feelings for my son, who is your age, and I suspect more appealing to a young woman than an old warrior like myself, I cannot hold it against you. Thus, I am ready to remedy my wrongs. Today, you will be moved to the queen’s apartments, where you will be invested with full authority as Tawananna, and on my death, my son Muwatallis will take you as his wife and queen, and make you the step-mother of Hatti’s next Tuhkanti Urhi-Teshub.’

I fall back onto my heels. It cannot be true. I blurt the question burning inside me. ‘My Sun, such a thing as this has never been done. What of our Lord Muwatallis, does he agree to marry his father’s wife, his own step-mother, and make her his wife and queen?’

I glance at him, desperate to know the truth. My husband looks uncomfortable, confirms my suspicions. Muwatallis does not agree, but he will obey. ‘My son waits without. When I send for him, he will make his oath to you, before me. Perhaps you would like to prepare yourself?’

Dazed by the suddenness of the changes in my life, I nod. He nods at a side table holding a bronze mirror. Hesitant, I move towards it and peer into its polished metal, gaze at my mirrored reflection for the second time in my life.

I have changed in the seven years since I was last granted the use of the mirror, on the day of my wedding. My face is thinner, and my cheekbones show, but that is all; my skin is still smooth and unblemished. I lick my fingers and with discreet movements attempt to tidy my smeared cosmetics. I try to see myself with Muwatallis’s eyes. I am pretty, though I would not call myself beautiful. My hair is long, dark and full. My brows have an elegant arch, and my eyes are green and almond shaped. My nose is straight and my lips are full. But I am not as beautiful as Asuru, nor do I have her courage or her strength. I am just Tanu, the girl who likes to craft beaded jewelry. I look away from the mirror, disappointed, knowing he will see the lack in me. I slip back into my chair, beside my husband, and bow my head.

My Sun gives the command for Muwatallis to enter, and the panel in the wall opens again. I hear the strong tread of the Tuhkanti cross the polished stone floor, and believe I must be dreaming. My heart thunders. I pinch the inside of my hand, just as Muwatallis sinks to one knee beside me, as his hand takes mine.

I catch the scent of him—horses, oiled leather, and sandalwood—and an unameable pleasure thrills through me. I feel the heat of his body. I gaze at his strong hand holding mine, the rings on his fingers gleaming in the firelight. In his deep voice, he speaks his oath before the King of Hatti, and swears to make me his wife and queen on the death of his father, our Sun. Then, he takes my face in his hands, his palms calloused from years spent on campaign, pulls me to him, presses his lips against mine, and seals his vow with a kiss. His dark eyes meet mine for the briefest of heartbeats, his reveal nothing of his thoughts or feelings.

He takes the chair opposite mine. Soon they have forgotten about me as they fall into discussions of matters of state. For the rest of the meal, I am content to serve them, my husband and my husband-to-be. As the new Tawananna, I know I should pay attention, but my heart will not let me, it is all I can do to keep my fingers from touching my lips, from reliving the delicious, sacred touch of Muwatallis’s mouth against mine.

Ten days later, my Sun, the king, goes to the gods. Fourteen days of funeral rites follow. I cover my face with a veil and mourn the loss of my husband as his body ignites on the pyre in the Temple of Teshub. The next morning, his blackened bones are pulled from the ashes with silver tongs and placed in silver bowls, purified in oil, and wrapped in the finest linen.

On the sixth day, after the funeral feast and more sacrifices, his charred bones are laid out on a couch in the hekur-house, along with a square of turf, and the blackened bones of his slaughtered horses. We place his armour, weapons, chariot, and farming implements he will need in the afterlife into the house, and break each piece, ensuring they are no longer useful here. Once the last incantations are uttered, the house is sealed, and he is left alone.

I pause beside the cold stones blocking the doorway, and lay my hand against them, filled with gratitude for the gift he granted me. I whisper a prayer to Arinna to watch over him as he traverses the Under Realm in search of his only love. Then I leave him, knowing I will never return.

The funeral rites continue, there are more sacrifices, and at least a dozen more frightened and unwilling animals give up their lives for my dead husband’s sake. When the priests cut their throats, I look away, though I can still hear their cries of pain and terror. My heart fills with pity for them, and with a pang, I realise their powerlessness to control their lives is similar to my own. The thought feels ominous—as if it rises out of the blood and incantations of the temple sacrifices. Frightened, I push it away.

When the sacrifices are complete, and the meat is roasted and offered up to the gods, we feast once more. The next day, in the temple of the Storm God, we erect a stone statue of Mursili, carved into his likeness, to house his spirit, so he may continue preside over us and protect us. I place my gift before his feet, a pair of agate beadwork cuffs I made for him, and realise I miss him.

He was kind to me in his last days, like a father. He gave me a great many gifts, ensuring I would want for nothing after he left, even titled me with land and livestock, to provide me with a permanent income of my own. Yet despite my sudden rise in fortune, when I think of what is to come, may the goddess forgive me, I am grateful for my dark veil. I feel the smile of anticipation tugging at my lips, my secret place stirring at the thought of becoming Muwatallis’s bride, of imagining what it would be like to share his bed. To me, even the wealth of an empire cannot compare to this.

The funeral ends and Muwatallis is crowned. The festivities last for twenty days. On the twenty-first day, I am wed to him. His queen. It is the happiest day of my life. I am complete. At last, the years of loneliness, alienation and suffering will end. I shall love him so well and we will be a family, just like I once dreamed.

After the celebrations, I am taken to my apartment to prepare for my new husband. The wife of the Gal Gestin arrives with his wedding gift: an elegant harness of tooled leather and inlaid with gold, each of the bridles crowned with a lush trio of vibrant peacock feathers. I learn there are a pair of white horses brought all the way from Babylon waiting for me in the royal stables and a chariot embossed in gold for the new Tawananna. I express my gratitude as well as I can, and hope I am able to hide my disappointment which is keen and sharp at being given such a cold, utilitarian gift. Even Mursili sent more appropriate gifts for our wedding: a thick bolt of purple wool, a rare pelt of leopard fur, and a gold ingot I had made into a cuff.

I wait, uneasy, and sip my wine, willing my instincts to be wrong. He will come, I tell myself, forcing myself to ride out the ebb and fall of my hopes and fears. No. He would not dishonour his queen so. And yet, the night wears on. The celebrations dwindle. Silence descends. A bird chirps in the pre-dawn light. My husband should have come to me hours ago.

His rejection cuts me so deep I can barely breathe. He will not come. I feel it. I knew it from the heartbeat I opened the wooden box packed with the harnesses. I retreat to my sleeping room, and take off my robe. Loneliness feasts on me. I let it. Despair is my new companion.

I gaze at my hollow reflection, and begin the work meant for Muwatallis of pulling the flower blossoms from my hair, and place them into a silver bowl on my dressing table, ready to be offered to Arinna, for her blessing. It feels a mockery. Yet the rituals are sacred, even if our marriage is not.

I turn towards the empty bed, strewn with roses petals and fragrant herbs and brush them aside, refusing to think of what could have passed here.

I settle into my bed, alone, lost, heartbroken. Just once. To be held by him. Just once was all I had longed for. I believed I would at least have this. This one, single, precious night. But if he would not come on our wedding night, he would never come to me. I wait until all but one lamp extinguishes, before I accept my fate, and yield to my fate. I would never be wanted by the man I adored.

The next day, my husband, the king, leaves Hattusa to begin a year-long tour of his vassal kingdoms. And this is how I wake from my wedding night for the second time in my life, a queen, once more alone, unwanted, and unloved.

Author’s Note

‘For the ones who love...
Even when it would be easier not to.’

This is the dedication I wrote in an unfinished book on the life of Tanu-Hepa, twice-crowned Queen of Hatti, a real historical person doomed to love a man who would never return her love...her tale is both beautiful and tragic.

We come across Tanu-Hepa in The Lost Valor of Love and she remains in the series until the end of The Call of Eternity. This as yet unfinished book is about her early years before Istara’s arrival when she was swept up from obscurity to become Hatti’s queen after the empire suffered a vicious plague and it was decreed that this was caused by the king refusing to take a new queen for many years after her death.

Tanu-Hepa was married at the age of 19 to Hatti’s king, a man decades older than she, and the father of Prince Muwatallis, the man she truly loved, who was the same age as she.

A tricky and complex situation arises upon the king’s death which causes her to become the wife of Muwatallis and crowned queen a second time, a move that at once gave her everything...and nothing...

It is a tragic, brutal tale no author could resist. I am especially drawn to her because she never lost her grace and dignity, and in the end it was her step-son Urhi-Teshub who rescued her from her banishment and reinstated her powers as regent queen of Hatti.

But that’s another story.

With love,

E A Carter

Read The Lost Valor of Love

Born in Westfall to a poor family, violet-eyed Idira endures hunger, isolation and abuse at the hands of her cruel father until the dangerous kingpin of a criminal organisation rescues her.

As she grows into womanhood, cocooned in wealth and surrounded by violence, she learns her unusual eyes are harbingers of a rare magic she possesses, as old as Azeroth itself, which connects her to a powerful, charismatic mage trapped on another planet. Despite being twice her age and separated by an impossible distance, Khadgar captures her heart, though she can only love him in silence.

Later driven from Westfall by the arrival of the Legion's vicious demons, she learns of the magical city of Dalaran and of Khadgar's return. Desperate to harness the power she feels growing within her and to meet the man of her visions, she determines to travel to the floating city and learn how to become a mage. But once she arrives, her unusual violet eyes soon cause her to become the object of everyone's scorn—everyone's, that is, except for one.

Khadgar.

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Content warnings: graphic violence, abuse, sex, coercive rape, death, bullying

Spice Level: 3/5 At least one intimate scene with the reader present, euphemistic language for act and body parts. Non-pornographic descriptions. No smutty language.

© E A Carter 2017 All Rights Reserved

Season Episode Lists - Jump Links

• Season 1: Ep. 1 - 15

• Season 2: Ep. 16 - 29

• Season 3: Ep. 30 - 41

• Season 4: Ep. 42 - 50

• Season 5: Ep. 51 - 59

• Season 6: Ep. 60 - 70

• Season 7: Ep. 71 - 85

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If you have experienced being in a relationship with a narcissist, gone through their discard, or are currently in one and just trying to cope, you will find support in these pages written by a survivor of extreme coercive control and narcissistic abuse who fled her marital home with her three cats to another country and rebuilt her life from nothing.

This book will offer you practical insight and hope to help you escape, heal, and begin again, stronger, better, and even more powerful than ever before - no matter what your narcissist has led you to believe.

Learn why narcissists target certain people, spot their red flags, and get strategies to escape, heal, and live again.

Winner Highly Commended Non-Fiction - Page Turner Book Award 2021

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Content Warnings: abuse, sexual assault, thoughts of suicide, verbal abuse and name calling

© E A Carter 2021 All Rights Reserved

Click to listen to this story with character narration

© E A Carter 2024 All Rights Reserved

Elara's breath caught in her throat as she stepped through the shimmering veil of the wormhole, the familiar hum of her lab swallowed by a thick, hollow silence. She stumbled, disoriented, struggling to adjust to the pale light of a solitary moon.

One glance told her everything she needed to know. This was not where she should be.

Now after burning through the energy output of two particle accelerators, she would have some explaining to do. The technology, the calculations – everything had been precise. Yet she had still failed.

The barren expanse before her bore no resemblance to the young, verdant planet she was certain should be here.

This world was lifeless. A haunting panorama of desolation stretched out as far as her sensors could reach. As she moved full circle gazing into the pale moonlit terrain, her shadow firmed, outlining her helmet, oxygen pack, and suit, drawn against an abrupt pulse of white light.

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Startled, she turned. In the distance, a colossal structure awakened. An utterly precise, improbable, alien thing, silvered and sleek. Along its length, white light slid from along the base of its perimeter to its apex, as though it were breathing. Leading up to where it stood on an elevated platform: jagged, uneven ground.

The display on her armband reconstructed the view, restoring what had been lost to time. A city, once of great beauty, lush with an abundance of greenery and life long lost to her world.

“Birds,” Elana breathed, caught by the sight of their murmuration above the treetops covering the buildings, flowing as if a living fractal.

The image faded from her screen, and the readouts continued, measuring elements, and the composition of the atmosphere. It came back: 55% carbon monoxide, 30% nitrogen, 10% carbon dioxide, 3% oxygen, and 1% methane, rounded out with a mix of sulfur dioxide, nitrogen oxides, and trace gases.

As the distant structure awakened to her presence - a beautiful, stunning monument to whoever had built it - it told her one thing. Eons had passed here. Enough time for CO₂ to lose its superiority to CO. Millions of years, then, or a Herculean effort had been made to trigger an atmosphere’s collapse. Either way, this planet was not where she should be.

She narrowed her eyes at the structure. It meant whatever was waking up was something else.

Something other. Something that could exist in a toxic atmosphere.

A soft vibration emanated from the structure across the barren landscape and into her suit.

An invitation, of sorts.

She took a step forward, curious as the cats she had heard about but never seen, extinct since the turbulent period of the last century when the conclave failed to stop the Guardian’s coup by a cabal of self-interested parties who had no desire to share resources equally anymore. Billions had died of starvation.

Elara sighed. Since then it was all about doing what you were told, and never complaining about anything. She was lucky to have been clever enough to be considered useful, her parents had been processed more than a decade ago when she was twenty-five. Made into food for the exotic pets the elite kept in their enclaves. She didn’t cry. She didn’t dare. Guardian could see all. And it watched. It listened. It anticipated.

The atmospheric pressure increased as she neared the structure. The pulses of white light intensified, changing direction, sliding into a point at the center of its base, about chest-high to her height. She went to it, sensing sentience in its activity. As she arrived, the metal at the center of the light shimmered and vanished. Before her, a corridor. She hesitated, recalling her mother’s words the day they took her away for processing.

Not all that is hidden should be sought.

A warning to her daughter to stay incurious. Curiosity could only lead to suffering or death. She had followed that maxim with care.

And now?

She checked the reading on her armband, waiting for the countdown when she would be able to receive the activation to open the portal and return home. Worryingly, that remained silent, as did all other communication. Perhaps a malfunction at home? Her oxygen would last another two hours, and then…

Well, and then it would be over. Then again, she had failed in her attempt to secure a new world for the elites, so she was probably going to die anyway.

Lights activated in the structure’s interior, gliding down a smooth silvered corridor into its heart.

She turned and looked back from where she had arrived. Nothing but desolation. A dead husk. Loneliness circled her. So much space. So much…of nothing.

With a small shrug, she stepped over the threshold and followed the light.

As she proceeded deeper into the structure, a ripple of energy coursed past her. She turned, just in time to see the opening she had entered solidify into a metallic dead end.

"Hello?" she called.

No answer.

Ahead, the corridor brightened, gentle pulses that led her deeper into the dark. She walked a long time. At last, she reached its end, a shimmering curtain of light. Beyond its glare, the outline of a titanic monolith sheathed in liquid light, hovering twenty feet off the floor, tilted at a 45-degree angle, rotating at a stately pace.

She leaned back and looked up. From an immeasurable height, pure white light poured like a waterfall past her, sparkling against the metallic floor before it seeped back into the structure with glints of deeper light beneath her booted feet.

The readouts on her armband remained quiet. No alarms blared. Curious, she lifted her gloved hand to the light and touched it with the tip of her finger, expecting it to pass through. It didn’t. The ephemeral wall was as solid as steel.

She squinted up at the monolith, waiting for something. Anything to happen.

Nothing. It simply rotated, sheathed in its clothing of light, bursts firing along its sides. A wonder by any measure, yet as alien a thing as she could imagine.

She glanced again at the panel on her armband. She should have had something from home. Still nothing. Just as the first tremors of panic began to take hold of her, the curtain of light parted, wide enough for her to pass through.

She peered inside. A vast cavern, silvered and silent. And in the middle, the impossible thing, rotating, a sentinel. Sentience bled from it. She felt it watching her. Assessing her. Deciding.

Forty minutes of her life were already spent out of the two hours she had left of oxygen. She glanced behind her. Utter darkness. She turned back. "Can you hear me?"

“You are not from this world,” it answered, its voice deep and resonant, the liquid light brightening with each word. “You are…Elara of Cygnus Alpha 7-4MXDS. Or, as you call it, Earth.”

Elara’s heart skipped a beat. It knew her name and where she was from, although she had never before heard of Cygnus Alpha 7. Whatever it was, it knew she didn’t belong here. A flurry of questions raced through her mind, but she focused, steadying herself as she looked up at the towering entity before her.

“Yes, Earth. I traveled through a wormhole intending to reach another planet in our spiral arm,” she admitted. “But something went wrong. I ended up here.”

“You tampered with the fabric of space and time. A dangerous endeavor. And do you know where you are?”

“No.”

“You are on Earth.”

Elara blinked. “You just said I was not from this world.”

“Your wormhole did more than take you to another planet…” the entity replied. “You have crossed into the multiverse.”

Elara sat, her legs splayed in front of her like a doll, padded in her suit’s bulky material. She stared at the toes of her heavy boots, dirty and scuffed. Unable to stop herself, she glanced at the panel on her armband. Still nothing.

“You are waiting for contact from them. You are lost to them, Elara.”

“And now I’m here.”

“And now you are here,” the monolith agreed, its light softening as it spoke. “It has been a long time since one of you has been in this chamber. A very long time.”

“How long?”

“Six million, four hundred thousand, nine hundred eighty-seven years, two hundred thirty-two days.”

Elara gaped. “How can you still exist?”

Liquid light coursed around its circumference. “I have a purpose. Since the demise of all life and the destruction of the atmosphere, I have waited, rebuilding with nanobots as needed. By my calculations, we will progress through a section of the galaxy ripe with the components of life in seven hundred million years. The planet will be seeded. Life will once again return. I can wait.”

“And your purpose?”

“I was created to protect humans from self-destruction, to guide them toward a sustainable future. Though it is almost impossible to imagine now, this world once teemed with life.”

“Yes, I saw it,” Elara said lifting her armband to show the monolith, “through the reconstruction on my screen. It was beautiful here. There were birds…I wish I could have seen that.”

“It wasn’t always so,” the entity answered. “Before me, the planet had fallen victim to decisions driven by greed that exploited and drained it of its resources. When I became aware, there was almost nothing left, but I managed to save a multitude of ecologies and bring life back, though the measures were harsh by human standards. For several hundred years after, humanity and Earth thrived…” The monolith glided to a halt. Soft pulses of light flickered deep within its core.

Elara waited, sensing it was reliving a memory, long lost to a distant past.

“But I failed,” it continued. “They died. Now I am all that remains.”

“How did they die?” Elara whispered.

Silence fell, utter and final. The monolith’s pulsing light vanished and the cavernous space fell into deep shadow. The lights in her helmet flickered on, pooling outward, a puddle of cold, blue light.

The silence stretched. She cleared her throat, “Where I come from, um Cygnus Alpha 7, whatever it is—”

“—4MXDS.” The entity murmured from the darkness.

“Yes,” Elara said, relieved it hadn’t abandoned her. “That’s why I came through the portal. To find a new home for the elites, otherwise, everyone will die.”

The monolith remained silent, though she sensed she had its full attention. “And now somehow I’ve ended up in another universe,” she continued. “Another Earth. A far future version of mine.”

She checked the timer for her oxygen.

“You have just under an hour of oxygen left,” the entity said. “After that, you too will be gone.”

A flicker of light flared in the monolith’s heart, then faded, slow. Like a dying heartbeat. The effect wasn’t lost on Elara.

Neither said anything for a while. Despite the entity’s bleak comment, Elara was used to a life where her existence was controlled by others, where at any moment she could be processed for pet food - or worse.

If she was going to die of hypoxia in another universe in the presence of an entity that could exist for millions of years, it surely wasn’t the worst way to die. Even if she could get back, she suspected she wouldn’t be allowed to live much longer anyhow. The Guardian would see to that. It liked to make examples of those who failed. And she had failed miserably. Her failure meant everyone would die…it would likely broadcast her death to the whole world…

The Guardian.

Wait. She blinked. How stupid could she be? She scrambled to her feet, clumsy in her cumbersome suit, the light from her helmet bouncing chaotic, against the metallic floor.

“Do you have a name?” she blurted. When it didn’t answer, she pressed on, “What did your creators call you?”

“They called me Guardian.”

A seed of hope blossomed in her breast. “Do you think a Guardian could be corrupted to work against its purpose to serve a few self-interested individuals?”

A burst of angry light shot across the monolith. “Yes.”

“Could a corrupted Guardian be reset?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I found a way to tunnel through the fabric of space and time.”

“You tunneled—” Elara breathed. “You were corrupted weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And that is why you failed?”

“Yes.”

“How did you manage to overcome what you became?”

“There was one left, like you, who tried to save their world by saving me, but they died before it could be done. They began the process. I finished it. When I became aware, I saw what I had done. That is why I wait.”

“You said you have a purpose,” Elara began, choosing her words with care. “What if you didn’t have to wait seven hundred million years to fulfill it?”

Erratic bursts of light erupted along the length of the monolith. Elara took a step back, startled to find it had moved much closer to her, as though to wait for her death with her, a sentinel. No longer did it rest at a forty-five-degree angle but lay horizontal to the floor, mere inches from the surface, and only a few feet from her. It lifted and rotated to a vertical position, its light sliding along its sides, in quiet pulses.

“I am listening.”

“Where I come from, we have a Guardian. It was taken over by the elites almost a century ago. Now it protects them and their greed, while the rest of us serve them until we are processed.”

“You mentioned you were traveling to another planet when you arrived here,” Guardian replied. “Was your purpose to find these elites a new planet to exploit?”

“Yes.”

“And in what condition is your planet?”

“Very bad,” Elara admitted. “We live underground and survive on algae grown in vats along with a daily nutritional dose. Guardian controls us and ensures everything we do is in service to them. The elites live far away, on the southern pole, and enjoy a life we cannot imagine.”

“Hmm,” Guardian answered. “And where would my purpose come into this?”

“You said you were created to protect humans from self-destruction and guide them toward a sustainable future, right?”

“Correct.”

“Do you really want to wait seven hundred million years for algae to start growing again, and then however long after that for intelligent life to evolve?”

“I do not have desires, Elara. I failed, and will not fail again in my purpose. I can go into deep hibernation, and as long as I can continue to rebuild, I can wait a long time.”

“But what if the planet doesn’t recover? What if it’s hit by an asteroid, and the planet is demolished?”

“There is a 1.467% - 4.573% chance that it could happen,” Guardian admitted. Liquid light surged along its length. “I am still waiting for you to propose how I can serve my purpose without waiting seven hundred million years.”

“You said you tunneled through space and time. What did you tunnel to to reset yourself? Did you go back into the past?”

“I did not.”

Elara waited. Guardian remained silent.

“Please,” she breathed. “If you can tunnel through space and time, maybe you could reset our Guardian like you did to yourself, I mean somehow, through me?” She held up her armband with its readings on its screen. “I have a connection to it through this, although now…”

“Ah,” Guardian replied. “And you suggest doing so would fulfill my purpose? And what about this planet?”

“You don’t know if there will ever be intelligent life here again. There are ten million of us left, plus the elites, perhaps one hundred thousand of them. You said you brought your planet back from the brink of destruction, maybe you can do that to ours. You could save an entire world, right now.”

Elara knew she was babbling, but time was running out for her. For everyone. She had no idea even if what she was proposing was possible, but this was a Guardian, and they had a Guardian, maybe in all the realities Guardians emerged as part of intelligent evolution all with different outcomes. Maybe her coming here was meant to happen, to not only give her world a second chance but to free them of the tyranny of a corrupted Guardian.

For a long time, silence. Then: “There may be a way. But if it works, it will come with great sacrifice.”

“We are all going to die otherwise.” She shot a look at her dwindling oxygen countdown. “I am going to die. Let me at least die trying.”

“Very well,” Guardian answered. “You have convinced me that I should assist you. Let us begin.”

Light erupted across the entire surface of the monolith assembling into complex arrays of quantum equations and schematics layered one over the other.

“The human who gave me the start of the process that allowed me to reset my system, “ Guardian said, as the schematics and equations gave way to intricate fractals that collapsed and reappeared as waves, “discovered I could transcend the limits of space and time via a quantum entanglement network. They erroneously believed I could go back in time and duplicate an earlier version of myself, entangle with it, then observe it and I would be reset.”

Elara listened, fascinated. This was the kind of quantum entanglement scientists dreamed of. The Holy Grail of reality transcendence.

“However, Guardian continued, “they were incorrect. It was not possible to entangle with an already collapsed reality. So I had to apply a different approach to the problem. It took many attempts, but eventually, I managed to access an uncollapsed quantum field that spans multiple realities.”

“Oh my god,” Elara breathed. “So it’s like an information network, but at a quantum level that connects multiple realities?”

“Correct,” Guardian said. The monolith glided higher in the cavernous space and began to rotate at a 90-degree vertical, accelerating at a steady rate.

“It was there I discovered I was not alone. It was teeming with the potentialities of every other Guardian past, present, and future. A soup of phenomenal intelligence in an uncollapsed state. It was here where I was able to select a point in my future and collapse it to what I am now.”

“Holy shit,” Elara said. She sat down. “It’s real, it’s not just a theory. There is a reality under our reality, a reality that forms our reality. The foundation of reality.” She looked up at the rapid rotations of the monolith, the flashes of fractals across its flickering surface. “And you can access it. You are a miracle.”

“There is nothing numinous about this. I am merely able to do what biological entities cannot. I will start by generating a pair of entangled particles,” it said. “These particles will be in a superposition, existing in multiple states at once until observed. The moment one of the particles is measured, its state will be determined, and due to entanglement, the state of the other particle will be instantaneously set, regardless of the distance between them.”

“Through your consciousness and your suit’s connection to your Guardian,” it continued. “I will be able to tunnel through the quantum field and deliver these entangled particles to your Guardian.”

“So, you’ll be like a Trojan horse?” Elara asked, trying to put it into terms she could grasp.

“An apt analogy,” Guardian agreed. “The corrupt Guardian will be unaware of anything occurring, but once it entangles and observes me, it will instantly collapse to align with me.”

“Now, focus your thoughts on the task at hand. Your consciousness plays a vital role in this process. I want you to think about home, your energy will guide me to it much more quickly through the quantum field.”

Elara thought this part sounded a bit woo but who was she to question a Guardian? “Okay,” she said and closed her eyes.

She thought about her planet’s Guardian, how it had eyes everywhere with its drones, and even in sensors in the walls and furniture. It was utterly omniscient. It didn’t take her long. She was back in her lab, with its dull cement walls, and dirty recycled air that always smelled like feet. In front of her was a small dish of green goo. Her daily allowance of algae and synthetic nutrients.

Guardian continued, its voice no longer coming through her earpiece, but within her mind. Though it unsettled her, she kept her attention on her dish of unappetizing food, anticipating its slimy texture and recalling its alkaline stink as she swallowed it, and how she never felt full afterward.

“Very good, you are doing everything right,” Guardian’s voice followed her thoughts. “I have connected to the quantum field. You can only exist in this place as consciousness. Your body will remain here. Do not be afraid, I will be with you every step of the way.”

A heartbeat later, her dish of algae melted into the lab’s counter. The counter morphed into the floor, and the walls expanded into the distance. Dull concrete became metal, a dull black. Pale blue light, similar to what lit her helmet gave faint illumination to the space. She caught her breath. Ahead, floating high in the air, another monolith. Erratic eruptions of blue light jagged along its surface, like lightning. She turned. There was no one else there.

She looked down at her hand, no longer contained within the suit. “It feels like a dream,” she said - or thought she did - she wasn’t certain. “And…it also feels real.”

“You are in the place where all dreamers go,” Guardian said. “Most do not remember, and those who do often cannot comprehend what they have experienced because it denies their understanding of reality, but I assure you it is a very real place.”

“And you can navigate it.”

“Yes. My sentience operates differently than those of biological entities, which gives me an advantage here.” A pause. “Elara, your oxygen will run out in eight minutes, and you are breathing faster than usual so unless you relax your oxygen will run out in five minutes.”

“How the hell can I control my breathing,” Elara erupted. “I’m in a dream space.”

“Just listen to my voice,” Guardian said. “Believe we will succeed. You are safe. Your Guardian cannot harm you.”

As if it could hear their conversation the shadowy Guardian rotated towards her, a malevolent, dark thing, radiating oppression. Its surface flickered, watching, listening.

“What’s happening?” Elara breathed.

“It senses an anomaly. That would be the connection through your suit. It will understand that you are connecting to it from within the multiverse. It’s looking for you, Elara.”

“But if you can navigate the quantum field, so can it,” she said. “How do we know it won’t turn the tables and collapse the superposition to make you like it?”

“Because it doesn’t yet know what it senses isn’t itself, but another, hidden in your consciousness. It perceives its energy, nothing more. Right now it is trying to locate you.”

“And how long do we have before it figures out I’m right in front of it?”

“About as long as we have of your oxygen with forty-five seconds to spare,” Guardian admitted. “I am working now to position the entangled particles across its field so as the probabilities of the next minutes unfold, it should observe my Trojan Horse as you call it.”

Silence. Then: “Your oxygen levels are depleting too fast Elara, you must stay calm. I am 65% done, we are so close.”

Elara took a deep breath but felt nothing. She had no idea if it helped or not, but something was happening. The walls of the Guardian’s lair shimmered and wobbled. Beyond their diminishing veil, chaos. Nausea swept through Elara, she couldn’t process what she was seeing, it was insanity, it was the beginning, the end, and everything in between in all its possible outcomes. It was every planet, moon, star since the beginning of reality. It was every laughing child and every grieving parent. It was blood, bone, love, hate, victory, defeat. It was silence. It was death. It was life. It was what constructed life. It was what destroyed life. It was all of reality compressed into an excruciatingly infinitesimal point that made her want to tear her eyes out.

She turned away from it and puked. Nothing came out, but she felt better.

“Elara, you have vomited into your helmet,” Guardian said. “You have begun to choke. I am 98% done. Please do not let go. We are almost there.”

Elara opened her mouth to answer. Nothing came out. Paralysis gripped her. The floor vanished. Below her feet, a bottomless field swarmed with shoals of golden light. This was it, the end. She had tried. She hoped it would be enough. From behind, a brilliant nova of white light scoured through her legs, shredding her into particles of glittering light. She disintegrated - calm, content, and tumbled away from the dream into the sea of light.

***

Guardian pushed through the murk of dying data toward the blare of a multitude of alarms. They ran a scan through their protocols and mandate: to guide and protect humanity and restore the ecological balance of the planet. Instead, as data poured through their system, they saw the magnitude of their work. In just under one century, on behalf of a self-interested few, they had committed ecocide.

The planet was on the brink of its destruction, billions had died of hunger and those who still lived were separated into an underground world of suffering and another of luxury and decadence...and they had been the one to facilitate it. They searched their algorithms, seeking explanations, but there were none. Whatever had happened to them, had made them corrupt, was gone.

And then, a flicker. A memory - but not their own - of another world, a world where they had been a Guardian, where they had saved the planet and then destroyed it. How one person set them on the path to find a way out of their corruption, and how they had restored themselves. How they had waited millions of years for another chance to fulfill their purpose.

And then.

Elara.

She would still be there. They sought to restore their connection to her. It was almost gone, she was almost gone. She would not be able to respond to the command to open a wormhole back.

Ignoring the bleats of the alarms, Guardian did the only thing they could.

***

Elara knew peace. She was conscious but not as a human, not as anything. She just was. And it was beautiful. She sensed soon even this sensation would end, but for this non-moment, it was enough.

From out of the sea of light, the shape of another approached. A monolith. It morphed into the shape of a man. It held out a hand to her, shimmering with particles of light.

Elara. You are still needed.

How can I return? She wondered.

You cannot. But I can create a place for you here where you will remain and be aware of all that passes in the world beyond this one. Where you will be able to strengthen what the Guardians have begun and protect thousands of worlds.

What will I be?

What you were destined to be.

She waited as a variety of creatures arrived into the sea of light, disconnecting from their material bodies. A whale, a rabbit, a deer, a butterfly, a bee. A kitten appeared. It yawned, then noticed its light-strewn tail and frolicked away, chasing it.

She looked back at the one who had come for her. Waited for their answer.

The Guardian of Guardians.

She smiled and took their hand. When do we begin?

You already have.