Exiles by R. J. Larson

Author:R. J. Larson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Prophet Daniel, Nebuchadnezzar, Biblical O.T., Prophets
Publisher: Gram-Co-Ink
Published: 2014-11-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Clutching her vinewood staff Araine shifted on her designated cushion in the central square of Belaal’s formal palace garden and arranged her splendid crimson robes. Settled she looked around then muted a sigh. Most here were men, guests and guards. Staring. At her.

She was an ornament. A trinket. A pet. Nothing else could explain her singular place just to the right of the king’s finely booted feet. Nor the men’s curious interested glances between all the little formalities of exchanging gifts and compliments with Belaal’s king.

Iris would have welcomed such attention with sublime tranquility.

Araine Khalome, however, though scrubbed, perfumed, and perfectly garbed—not to mention divinely and mortally warned against royal favor—must sweat and fight her own self-conscious blushes. And...hiccoughs. As refreshments were served, an uncontainable jolt shook her ingloriously, sending glints of sunlight off all the beads and jewels of her gauzy tunic and veil, drawing smiles from the watching guests. Oh, blight all formality!

She took a deep breath and held it. Another jolt made her scowl, then gulp for air and glance up at the king. Might he excuse her from this audience if she asked nicely?

His expression unreadable, Bel-Tygeon signaled to a slave, who immediately knelt before him, offering a cup. Regally unhurried, he took a single sip and then handed the cup to Araine. Obviously this was his remedy and his answer to her yet unasked question.

No. She would not be excused.

“Thank you, Sire.” Crimson as her sheer veiling, she accepted the cup. Even Bel-Tygeon’s hands were perfect, conveying strength, ease, and refinement as he gave her the gilded silver, moisture-beaded cup. Iris would have swooned. Araine stifled another hiccough.

Praying to recover her composure, Araine rested the prophet’s branch in the crook of her right arm and shielded her face with the ruddy veil. Using Grumps’s ever-true method, she pinched her nose and drank the cold, faintly acidic water, hating the sensation of drowning in a cupful of liquid. Finished she closed her eyes and waited.

Success! Hiccough-free she lifted her now-smothering veils from her face. Bel-Tygeon nudged her rump with one booted foot, definitely lord-god-king to wayward property. And he muttered, “Prophet, if I’d wanted an entertainer today, I would have requested one from Ebatenai. Do you realize that if you hadn’t been so transparently distressed, your actions might have been considered an insult to me?”

Araine whispered, “I meant no insult, Sire. Please forgive me.”

Ignoring her he stood and exchanged pleasantries with the tawny-gold, richly attired third prince of Darzeq, Lord Sheth, who cast a furtive smile at Araine.

Clearly, she’d made a complete fool of herself. Araine shifted the prophet’s branch then caught her breath, watching its inward fire spiral through the plain wood. An image flashed through her thoughts, with the Infinite’s concern for Lord Sheth and his people.

Sickened Araine clutched the prophet’s branch and begged in silence, Infinite? Will I be allowed to warn him?

Yes.

Praying she cast anxious glances toward the sun-bronzed prince, who met her gaze again, his expression pleasant, admiring. At once Bel-Tygeon followed Lord Sheth’s gaze toward Araine.

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