Badra-Ru’ya could remember little from the time before her awakening by Khonsu. Some said that after the curing of her illness she was but a shadow of her former self. Without the tender memories of early childhood, she did not feel the attachment that most young people have for the place where they were raised, or for the people who nurtured them from birth. Badra-Ru’ya still loved her mother, father and sister, but she felt somehow separated from them. The strange events surrounding her healing only increased her isolation, marking her as different from the others.

A feast had been held the night of her recovery in honor of the foreign god whose miraculous intercession had saved her life. The power of this god awed Prince Hattusil, her father, so he erected a great shrine to house the image of Khonsu and plotted to keep him there as patron of the kingdom. He endowed the priests who had brought the god with fine cloth and precious silver, urging them to help expand the renown of Khonsu in the East by delaying their return to Egypt. The Hittite people flocked to the shrine, and the fame of the Egyptian god did grow, as did the fame of the princess. The citizens of Hatti whispered about the strange girl, now an adolescent, who could be seen wandering the chapels of the shrine at dusk and in the early morning hours. Some said she slept there, consort of the god who came to life at night.

The truth was that Badra-Ru’ya often did sleep in the shrine, finding that it brought her comfort. While she slept she dreamed, and in her quiet life her dreams became more compelling than her reality. Having been cloistered for much of her youth because of her illness, Badra-Ru’ya had no friends except for her sister, Sibal, whose behavior around her had become awkward ever since the arrival of the priests from Egypt.

During the hours spent at the shrine, Badra-Ru’ya sometimes asked questions of the priests about the god who had deigned to come to her aid. Most of the priests went about their duties with steady self-importance and took no notice of her. Some, however, would listen patiently to her questions and explain the mysteries of Khonsu, the moon god, and his role among the multitudes in the Egyptian pantheon. One priest in particular called Iwty took care to look in on her each morning. It was he who had pointed out to her that the six years of her infirmity resonated with the six hours the dead spend in Du’at before the hour of their judgment and rebirth.

It happened that during one of these visits from Iwty Badra-Ru’ya mentioned a dream she had been given and that it had been preoccupying her. The old priest had nodded gravely. After a moment’s silence, he advised her to consider each of her dreams with the same careful attention and report them to him each morning. After a few weeks, she was feeling sheepish about tiring the priest with her trivial visions, but he explained that dreams held great power in Egypt, and that she had shone a rare sensitivity to their meaning that few could boast of, even among the learned elite. At first, Badra-Ru’ya had been flushed with self-conscious embarrassment, but when Iwty started consulting her to help interpret the dreams of others, her discomfiture gave way to a sense of pride and duty.

Three years passed, and another nine months followed. Badra-Ru’ya’s knowledge of the Egyptian gods and language grew, and still the Hittite prince guarded the ark of Khonsu. During this time, a terrible battle with Egypt shook the walls of Kadesh, and the popularity of Khonsu diminished. The priests grew restless, and Badra-Ru’ya was left alone much of the time. With the withdrawal of the Egyptian troops, Hattusil, her father, became more fixated on gaining political power and demanded more of her mother, who was herself occupied with keeping track of her eldest daughter. Sibal, now a young woman, was determined to test the limits of flexing the power of her own beauty. The gulf between Badra-Ru’ya and her people widened.