"Lamassu, what is all this?" Urshal exclaimed in surprise.
Lamassu smiled as she removed the satchel hanging around her neck. "Gifts from Chief Naburama. He made sure they reached you safely."
"Oh my! That's far too much. Why didn't you stop him?"
"How could I refuse a gift he insisted on giving?"
"You're right. I'm just glad he's well. Come in quickly—the weather is cold."
Lamassu brought the gifts inside: a variety of spices, fine fabrics, perfumes, and incense imported from India. She placed them on the ground and joined her grandmother in their modest living room.
She rubbed her hands near the hearth and sat cross-legged on the woven mat, removing the scarf from her neck and mouth. Urshal approached, carrying a plate of warm barley bread. "You must be hungry. Eat well and rest."
"No need, Grandma. I'll prepare the food myself." She waved her hand dismissively and returned to the kitchen. "How are the boys over there? I haven't seen them in a long time."
"Oh, Lamassu, they're young men now. Stop calling them boys. They're doing well."
Urshal returned and placed a bowl of freshly made lentil soup and a plate of soft dates in front of her. Lamassu sipped the soup gently, listening to the rustling of trees beyond the window. The meal wasn't lavish, but it was filled with her grandmother's warmth.
After finishing, she carried the dishes to the courtyard. She began thinking about what she needed to buy from the market the next morning, and the chores that had piled up during her absence. Urshal had been alone for six days—a long time for a woman who walked with a cane and whose legs no longer supported her well.
Lamassu was surprised to see the clay jars filled with rice, wheat, and spices. Bundles of medicinal and aromatic herbs hung from the walls, and baskets of vegetables were brimming. "Grandma?" she called out in astonishment.
She continued when she heard a reply from the living room. "Did Tiyama come to help you while I was away?"
Lamassu returned to Urshal, her face full of questions. "No, she didn't. Her daughter is ill, so she had to stay home to care for her."
"Then… who bought all the grains and vegetables for us?"
"Oh, a kind young man came the morning after you left. He helped me around the house and even went to the market. He offered to deliver medicinal herbs to nearby homes as well."
"A young man? Do you know him?"
"No, I haven't seen him here before. He said he's a traveler, here for trade, and will be leaving soon. He offered to help until his departure."
Lamassu felt a strange mix of curiosity and suspicion. "Did he tell you his name?"
"No."
"Can you describe him?"
"Medium height, dark skin, short black hair," she said, then added jokingly, "And very cheerful."
Lamassu drifted into thought, a quiet disappointment settling over her. Why did I think it might be Sin for a moment?
She sighed silently, then smiled at her grandmother to dispel the doubt. "I thought he was a stranger trying to charm my beautiful grandma."
Urshal gave her a sarcastic look, making Lamassu burst into laughter. "Alright, sorry—I didn't mean it!"
"I heard the prince of the North is coming to the palace."
"Who? You mean Prince Zakiru?"
"Yes, to propose to Shalitu, daughter of King Nabuwazur."
That morning—the day Prince Zakiru of the northern Arameans was to arrive in central Babylon—Lamassu went to the city. Babylon was alive with unusual activity. Its streets were adorned with colorful fabrics and garlands of wildflowers. Brass torches were lit along the road leading to the palace gate. Women decorated their hands with henna, while young girls scattered flower petals on the ground in preparation for the royal procession.
In the market, stalls wore festive attire. Vendors called out their goods—fragrant spices, floral fabrics, glossy dates, and handmade clay necklaces painted with gold. Musicians roamed the market, playing harmonious tunes on flutes and ouds, while smoke from clay ovens filled the air with irresistible aromas.
In the eastern corner of the market, a group of artisans prepared celebratory masks made of dyed straw and feathers. Elderly women gathered to share old tales of royal weddings, told under the sunlight filtering through the clay walls of their homes.
At the palace gate, a silk canopy was raised, richly embroidered. Dance troupes in traditional attire waited for the signal to begin their performance. Large drums beat with a rhythm that stirred excitement, announcing to all that the prince of the North—Zakiru—was near.
The welcoming rituals were meticulously arranged. A clay vessel filled with scented water infused with myrtle and rose branches was placed to sprinkle along the procession's path. In the high priest's hand was sage oil, ready to bless the guest upon entering the palace, as was customary for kings and princes.
Everyone whispered the name "Shalitu"—the princess whose beauty and elegance had inspired countless tales. They wondered if she would appear on the palace balcony to witness the prince's arrival.
Lamassu walked beside Tiyama, who carried her baby wrapped in a white cloth embroidered with fine blue threads. The city, adorned with decorations scattered along the roadsides, seemed to have donned a new robe woven from the colors of joy.
Tiyama, her hair carefully braided and adorned with golden threads, pointed excitedly toward the folk dance performances in the nearby square, where girls spun in floral dresses and copper bracelets that chimed with every movement. Lamassu's eyes wandered between the lavish tables and the music flowing from ouds and lyres. Her expression blended awe and delight, as if she were inhaling life in all its details.
On the roadside, the royal horse procession passed, adorned with purple fabrics and dyed feathers. The two women stepped aside, watching in amazement. When one of the riders waved in greeting, they exchanged a quick glance and a shy smile, then continued walking, their steps now lighter and more joyful.
The scent of pistachio and date sweets mingled with the incense burning at street corners, and the sound of drums pulsed like the heartbeat of a city in celebration. Tiyama leaned toward Lamassu and whispered, "This day will be told for years… Oh gods, it feels like we're living in a fairytale." Lamassu replied with a soft smile, "No, we're living it now."
Suddenly, the sounds rose, drums thundered, and flowers were tossed onto the passing carriages...
They stood behind the crowd, watching the decorated carriages roll by. In one, Prince Zakiru appeared at the window, greeting the onlookers. In another rode King Etana and his wife Tshamia, followed by horses and guards. Behind them came a carriage devoid of decoration, cloaked in a silent darkness. Inside sat a figure dressed in black, completely obscured—some even questioned whether it was a man or a woman.
Everything was vibrant and full of life—except for that carriage, whose purpose remained unknown. And the story of the mysterious figure within it...
The prince's attendants called out from behind and ahead of the procession, announcing a grand banquet to be held at the royal palace. Everyone was invited to celebrate the joyous occasion.
Cheers erupted, and ululations filled the air. Such banquets were rare—usually reserved for the elite or the royal court. An older man, in his sixties, muttered sarcastically, loud enough for Lamassu to hear: "The last banquet held by the palace was over twenty years ago. What's behind this sudden generosity?"
Lamassu pondered his words, thinking to herself: He's right. I don't recall anything like this ever happening in the city. What does Shalitu's engagement signify for the palace to host such a lavish feast?
Elsewhere, within the palace walls—far from the noise of celebration, where even the breeze dared not disturb the heavy curtains—shadows wove the threads of an undisclosed conspiracy.
Etana stood before a tall window, his eyes scanning the horizon with restless intensity. Behind him, a servant bowed and spoke in a hushed tone: "Everything is ready, sir. News of the banquet has spread throughout Babylon. Everyone is talking about it."
Etana smiled—a smile devoid of warmth, a blend of satisfaction and cunning. Without turning, he gestured: "Excellent… You may leave."
He turned slowly toward the table, where his wife Tshamia sat in full elegance, lifting her glass of juice with grace, her eyes gleaming with matching mischief.
She spoke in a soft tone, beneath which flickered a hidden flame: "I'm growing impatient for nightfall."
Etana approached, picked up his own glass, and raised an eyebrow with a sly smile: "Don't rush, my dear… Everything will unfold in time. But first, we must confirm if Ugrash spoke the truth."
Tshamia nodded, then rose lightly and walked to the wide balcony. She stood there, gazing down at Zakiru strolling through the garden with Shalitu.
She murmured to herself, "If what Ugrash said is true… tonight will be truly unforgettable."
Tiyama stood beside Lamassu, pleading sadly: "Are you serious? Why can't you come with us? Come on—you, me, and the girls will have so much fun."
"I'm sorry, Tiyama. I tried convincing Grandma, but she wouldn't agree. Believe me, I tried every trick." She added, trying to sound casual: "It's fine. You all go without me. I'll stay here tonight and leave for home tomorrow morning. Honestly, I don't think I can come."
Tiyama squeezed Lamassu's hand with a wink: "Then come with us without telling Urshal. We'll be back before dawn—she won't even notice you were gone."
Lamassu liked the idea and began to warm to it. She looked down at her modest clothes, but before she could speak, Tiyama jumped in: "Leave the dress to me. What do you say?"
Lamassu nodded with resolve...
She stood before the flickering clay lamp, her fingers tracing the folds of the dress Tiyama had lent her. It wasn't royal, nor did it boast the vibrant colors of courtly attire, but it carried a quiet elegance untouched by pretense.
Made of soft linen the color of peeled almonds, it draped gently over her slender frame, as if tailored to cradle her innocence. It wasn't a perfect fit—slightly long, its hem lifted shyly with each step, swaying like a whisper.
At the chest, dark blue embroidery resembled mountain flowers seen only by those who know the path. The sleeves were wide, ending in a fine lace trim—barely visible, yet adding a hidden touch of magic.
She tied her waist with a simple silk belt, the color of night before the moon awakens. Her hair was half-pinned by Tiyama, secured with a small ivory clip from her mother's keepsakes.
When Lamassu entered the banquet hall, she bore none of the grandeur of princesses—but she looked as if she had stepped out of an ancient, forgotten legend. Unlike anyone… unforgettable.
She tried to stay unnoticed, recalling Urshal's stern warning: "That palace is dangerous for people like us! You must never enter that place!"
Lamassu couldn't deny her nerves each time she remembered those words. But tonight, she chose to forget everything and simply enjoy the moment.
Time passed as she celebrated with Tiyama and their friends, exchanging stories and laughter. They ate, sipped juices, and stole glances at Princess Shalitu beside her fiancé, Prince Zakiru—whispering about her stunning dress and his striking presence.
Lamassu scanned the room carefully. King Nabuwazur—ruler of Babylon—sat with dignity at the head of the royal table. To his right, his stern-faced wife Einlila, and to his left, his son Shamashur, Shalitu's twin, visibly anxious. Across from them sat King Etana of the North and his wife Tshamia. On the other side of the table, the engaged couple sat side by side.
She was pulled from her thoughts by the servants carrying wine jars, distributing glass cups to all guests. A guard announced loudly: "Attention, everyone! This wine is a gift from King Etana of the North, for all present to celebrate this joyous occasion. Drink freely, and don't hesitate to ask for more."
Glass cups filled with red wine were placed before them. Lamassu whispered in awe: "I've never seen cups like these before. Oh gods, look, Tiyama—how beautiful they are."
Her eyes sparkled as she examined the cup from every angle. But suddenly, she felt dizzy and set the cup down.
"Lam, are you alright?" one of the girls asked, noticing Lamassu's sudden pallor. She smiled faintly, feigning calm: "I'm fine, don't worry. Just a little dizzy—I'll go get some fresh air."
Tiyama placed a concerned hand on her shoulder. "Are you sure? Should I come with you?"
"Please, Tiyama. There's nothing to worry about. I'll be back soon."
Lamassu stepped into the back garden, her head throbbing. Few people were outside compared to the noise inside. She walked to the farthest wooden bench and sat down.
A servant approached, holding a wine jar. "My lady, here you go," he said, offering her the same cup given to all, with a gentle smile.
Lamassu thanked him, took the cup, and sat rubbing her temples. What's happening to me?
Time passed slowly, as if the moments themselves were yawning from the stillness. The headache finally eased, and Lamassu began to regain clarity. She looked around, then noticed the wine cup still beside her—silent, as if patiently waiting.
She smiled faintly and whispered to herself as she reached for it: "I was so excited to try you… It's alright. I'll enjoy you now."
She lifted the cup gracefully and took a small sip. But as soon as the taste touched her tongue, she gasped in surprise, her eyes widening as if she had tasted something from another world. "Oh gods… it's delicious!"
She tilted her head slowly, speaking to the cup as if scolding it playfully: "I knew you wouldn't disappoint me."
But she didn't know that a pair of eyes had been watching her in silence since the moment she sat down—eyes that hadn't blinked, studying every movement, every breath.
Suddenly, the wine in the cup lost its color. No longer a deep crimson, it began to fade gradually into a clear, water-like hue. Lamassu frowned, lifted the cup before her eyes, turning it in her hands with confusion: "Where did the color go? Is this some northern magic trick?"
Not far away, one of the servants had noticed what happened. He ran in alarm, then with a strange joy, as if what he'd seen was a prophecy fulfilled. He rushed toward the inner hall, eager to inform the king—but his path was abruptly blocked.
Before him stood a tall figure cloaked in black, face hidden behind a veil, hands gloved in thick leather. His voice was calm, yet carried a threat no one could mistake: "Where do you think you're going?"
The servant froze, his limbs trembling. He tried to compose himself, but failed: "Sir… I only… I wanted to inform the king of what I saw…"
The man approached slowly, then lowered his veil with chilling calm. The servant's eyes widened in shock: "But… sir, you're…!"
The man removed his right glove with quiet precision, his voice dripping with ice: "I'm what?"
The servant couldn't answer. His tongue was paralyzed, his limbs numb. It took only a single touch… and he collapsed to the ground, lifeless, as if life had slipped away without a sound.
The man in black raised his eyes, sharp and shadowed with a hidden concern. He walked steadily toward Lamassu, who was still staring at the cup in wonder, unaware of what was unfolding around her.
In a swift motion, he snatched the cup from her hand—after confirming his glove was on—and drank it all in one breath, without blinking.
Lamassu froze, her eyes wide with shock, her heart nearly stopping. He wasn't just a stranger… it was him.
"S–Sin?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he stepped closer than ever before, his voice low, charged with anger and worry: "You need to leave… now."
"What?" she whispered, barely grasping what was happening.
He repeated it, his voice sharp as a blade: "I said leave, before I have to drag you out myself."
Then he turned away, leaving behind an empty cup—and Lamassu, stunned, confused, unable to comprehend what had just occurred. Her limbs trembled, her steps faltered, but one thing was clear:
That look in his eyes… it wasn't ordinary. It wasn't a casual warning.
She rushed out, trying to appear normal, avoiding the royal hall, not even stopping to tell Tiyama. She knew time was short, and what Sin said… could not be ignored.
To be continued...