Chapter 1 – The Curse of Disobedience

Thrace, 1673 BC

“You were destined for honor and greatness!” King Agriani’s roar defeated the royal soldier's proud shoulders as they shrunk back from his rage. “Yet you stain yourself?” The disgust flipped off of his tongue, much like the wind flipped the royal tent flap back and forth.

Thruna’s sharp gaze snapped toward the King, and she lifted her chin in disrespect. “I did not stain myself, Father,” she said—her tone cold. Her face remained expressionless, unamused by his antics. Her black-dyed wool tunic made the paleness of her skin paler.

“You were supposed to be a virgin bride for the King of Hatti. You were supposed to use the knowledge I gave you on war and strategy to gain his favor.” His fist pounded his bronze-framed throne in rapid succession. The gold inlaid within its frame reflected the flame of the soft oil lamps against the flaxen sun-bleached weave of the grand tent.

She yawned before she shook her long red hair with a wide shake of her head. The silky locks danced in the inner chamber's soft light, drawing a few soldiers' eyes. “Then I was to kill him—yes, I know. But you do not need me. You could already take his land by marching in with our fierce warriors. The Hatti are a weak tribe.”

Her father's face matched the color of her fiery waves. “They live in the mountains across the channel, and we must go there by boat. They will not be easily taken.” He threw the prophetess a glance, who stood in the back corner and observed the debacle.

“For a warrior king?” Thruna huffed and shrugged her shoulder. She turned her head to her lover, kneeling beside her before the throne. “Cae could have led our united tribes into conquering such lands. He has already led the raids on the wood-and-copper rich mountains in the West many times."

“It is the only reason he is still alive,” King Agriani spat from between his teeth.

Thruna dipped her chin and set a deathly glare upon her father. “I have chosen my mate, and it is not the King of Hatti.”

Her father leaned back in his throne as she continued speaking. “I am the daughter of the King. Shall I not fight for a choice in marriage as is the custom of our tribe?”

He snapped his fingers. The prophetess came and knelt before him, unrolling her cloth of dead things: an eagle for air, a small hare for earth, and a trout—marbled in its scales—for water.

“The divine's table,” the prophetess whispered.

Thruna shut her mouth and bowed her head—as did Cae—in reverence of the goddess' presence among them. The prophetess placed her forehead on her hands folded on the dirt floor. The wooden dais on which the King sat shook as he stood and widened his stance.

“Daughter, let us ask the Great Mother Goddess once more what your purpose shall be. I do not wish to anger her again by asking a second time.”

“You had only asked when I was born, not when I became a woman.”

The old woman with silver hair—tied and braided at her nape—began to hum. She lifted her head and hands laden with golden bracelets toward the sky. With the last verse of her chant, she threw four sacred rocks on the freshly killed beasts. Three stones missed the emblems in front of her, yet one landed on the eagle. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she shook with the divine answer bestowed upon her.

Thruna slid her hand to Cae’s, and he squeezed her gentle embrace. They tilted their heads to look upon each other as they awaited the outcome. Great Mother Goddess, I wish for Cae and no other.

The prophetess screamed, shrill in the air, jolting Thruna from her thoughts. The King placed his hands on his hips and shifted underneath his weight.

“What does she say, prophetess?” King Agriani asked.

“Flame is spoken. The sun speaks. The Great Mother Goddess says . . . this.” Her gaze lifted to the King and scanned the room until her eyes rested upon Thruna and Cae. “You have a choice—you with flame for hair. The Eagle will show you the choice you must choose.”

King Agriani chuckled and bopped his fist upon the plate of bronze molded with the image of the sacred eagle in its gold overlaid exterior. “She will marry—"

“No, servant of the Great Mother Goddess,” the prophetess interrupted the King. “Thruna, the daughter of King Agriani, she with flame for hair, will look to the skies one day, and an eagle will show her the path the Great Mother Goddess has set for her. Yet today, she has a choice.” She rolled up her cloth and pressed the divine’s table to her heart. “Today, she fights.”

She rolled backward on her feet and stood up. She bowed her head to King Agriani and left with a sharp turn.

“So be it,” King Agriani said and clapped twice. A royal soldier stepped forward and handed Thruna a blade. The oval bronze plate over his chest depicted his status. She took the blade and studied the weapon of her training—the weapon of a soldier.

“A tsika?” She turned it over in her hand, studying its curved bronze body and short wooden handle. “Not a bow and arrow?”