Clayton Emery - Star of Cursrah

Captain Anhur detailed six guards to watch the house until the palace chancellor could search it.

"A lucky rescue, your highness," concluded the captain. "Only three soldiers and two innocents were killed, and you were only grazed. We'll return you home now."

It was not a request. Surrounded by guards, Amenstar went meekly.

"… you could have been killed, darling, or held for ransom. That, you must understand, would upset your father's plans terribly. With you prisoner, those hatori criminals could make outrageous demands, such as the release of their cronies from prison. These kidnappers don't work alone, but they conspire with our enemies. Even some noble houses in this city plot against us. Their demands are more plebian, centering on money, of course. They scheme for lower tariffs, or trading favors against rivals, or that we install some vagabond to a high office… Are you listening?"

"Yes, Mother."

Amenstar resisted the urge to roll her eyes and sigh deeply. Her mother was cranky enough, awakened early: that is, just at sunset. Star slouched and stared through the tall windows at her courtyard. A fountain danced above a glittering pool laced with fading shadows. A servant fed tidbits to bug-eyed carp. On a perch near the window, two scarlet and blue macaws nuzzled. An ocelot rolled in its sleep, brass chain chinking. One of her saluqis, a slate-blue greyhound, yawned so widely that Star had to clamp her own jaw shut. Four maids, identical in simple linen shifts, square-cut black hair, and eyes lined with kohl in tribute to their mistress, waited along the wall like painted effigies- punished along with their mistress. Four personal maids comprised the day shift, and eight more attended Star by night, when the royal compound became active.

Bored, Amenstar let her eyes roam over her quarters. Everything in sight was hers. One entire wing of the family compound, nine opulent rooms surrounding a courtyard with a pool, gardens, and fruit trees. Her father, the bakkal, or priest-king of Cursrah, had four wives, of which Star's mother was sama, the first, or senior queen. Star had two elder brothers and twelve younger, and nine younger sisters, with more siblings on the way. Luckily, as eldest princess she enjoyed great privileges, as well as grating pains, such as her mother's incessant harping. The daughter tuned in momentarily to see if the tirade covered anything new.

"… is the duty of royalty to set a good example for the kingdom. How can we expect commoners to behave and exalt us as descendants of the most high genies, when you insist on crawling through gutters with low-born rascals-"

"My friends are noble born," Star interrupted, "and I think royalty should venture out occasionally and see how common people regard us. How can you and Father claim to rule this kingdom if you don't know the people? Do the citizens love us, hate us, or not care at all? Do you know? All of Cursrah's noble class lives by night while the commoners toil by day. How can you say that you understand them?"

Star's mother resembled her daughter but for greater girth and thicker makeup to disguise wrinkles, and like her daughter she rolled her eyes in exasperation. Having just arisen from a day of sleep, even the first sama wore the universal, simple tubelike shift. Her plump figure floated in a cloud of gauze filmy as spider webs.

"Amenstar, dear, royalty relies on advisors to gather knowledge and give counsel-which always conflicts. We don't tell the cooks how to salt the broth. Great Calim himself, all praise his name, assigned us each a specific role. The royal family tends to the highest chores: steering diplomacy between the city-states, interpreting the wishes of the gods, overseeing a balanced trade, monitoring our neighbors' internal politics-"

"You're lax in that," Star blurted. "Our soldiers fear Father, and you underestimate the threat from Oxonsis.

Their scouts reconnoiter our borders and harry our outermost garrisons, I've heard. The wisdom of the marketplace is that we should bloody Oxonsis's nose before they annex our eastern plains." Star lifted her pointed nose, proud to score political points, but in fact she understood neither "reconnoiter" nor "annex."

"Don't babble, Amenstar. Your parrots speak too, but no one seeks their advice." The sama closed her eyes and added, "Don't diverge from the subject, please. You must not slip out of the compound again. It's simply too dangerous in these troubled times-"

"Times are always troubled," Star sighed.

An acolyte shuffled up with a message from the bakkal, who had also recently begun his "day." With a shaved head and brown robes bundled to her chin, speaking in a habitual whisper, the acolyte resembled a hairy-legged spider. Star looked away in disgust. These adherents of death seemed three-quarters dead themselves. As night settled, vizars crawled from their dens like bats or jackals or vampires.

Glancing at the slate palette, the sama agreed to come, after blowing one last frosty blast at her wayward daughter. "Amenstar," she said, "your abysmal naivete regarding our border crisis reveals dangerous gaps in your education. Your father and I have laid plans to rectify your ignorance. Remain here. I'll send tutors to clarify your perception of the world-and your place and duties in it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mother," Star said quietly. Agreeing put the quickest end to the harangue.

"I wonder if that's true," the sama sighed. "Oftimes I wish Tunkeb were the eldest samira. She strives for obedience." Turning a tubby circle, the sama swept out, trailed by eight maids and four standard-bearers.

"Tunkeb is a kisser of warty, hairy bottoms," Star muttered.

Behind, an empty-headed maid giggled, but when Star turned, they all stared stone-faced. The princess wondered which honey-tongued traitor had squealed about Star ditching her guards and fleeing the royal compound. Servants were notorious for carrying whispers, plotting lies, and betraying anyone in order to inch up the social ladder. Star trusted none of the fawning fools and sensed their smug glee at her being grounded.

Clapping her hands, Amenstar barked, "All of you, begone! I wish to nap." The maids chirped in surprise. Usually, two maids watched the samira sleep.

One objected, "B-but, your highness, th-the most high sama sends tutors-"

Another clap made them jump. Star pronounced, "I determine what I learn and when, you fox-faced doxy. Now get out!"

Still the maids hesitated, twittering like birds. Furious, Star reached for the nearest object, a china vase that some artisan had labored a year to glaze. Unmindful if she hit anyone, the royal daughter lobbed it hard. Maids ducked, and the vase shattered on the wall. At the noise, two guards bearing lyre-spears ran to the doorway.

Star shrilled, "Leave me! I command it! Leave me, or I'll loose the cat on you."

The maids shrieked, disliking the ocelot, who licked its teeth. Chittering, the servants scampered out the double doors, and Star slammed them in the faces of the guards.

Huffing, the princess regarded her luxurious prison. Even nine huge rooms seemed cramped after the freedom of the city streets. She asked herself, "Well? Shall I languish here like the Trapped Terrors or follow my own advice and learn more about the commoners I’ll someday rule?"

For months now, as she approached sixteen, the princess's life grew more and more constricted. Lessons were piled on until Star smothered, and more demands were made each day. The upshot of every instruction and the moral of every story was the same: serve the kingdom, don your destiny, assume your responsibilities- until Amenstar felt crushed under invisible burdens. Loose on the streets, she had none.

"Mother's lessons will wait," the princess concluded. "Ill learn more outside the walls than within."