In the dream, the prince saw the image of the god Khonsu transformed into a magnificent golden hawk. The hawk soared high into the air, then plummeted down, talons thrust forward toward him, rocketing just past his ear before flying swiftly to the western horizon.

Hattusil awoke drenched in sweat. Crimson images of Egyptian soldiers falling on hundreds of Hittite swords tumbled before his eyes. The Egyptian god had reason to be angry.

The moment dawn broke he rushed to the shrine. Barreling down the main corridor, he almost trampled his daughter who was just rising from her chamber. Hattusil pounded on the door to the priests’ quarters. Iwty calmly opened it. Thundering out his dream, the prince demanded an explanation. Iwty listened in silence, his head cocked to one side. When the prince’s voice at last shuddered to a stop, Iwty turned, gently closed the door, and looked up.

“Highness,” he said evenly, “you were wise to come to this place. To dream of the gods is a rare and serious vision. Your lot is a lucky one, as here at this shrine we harbor a renowned reader of dreams.” Iwty patted his arm. “Wait here.”

Hattusil frowned in irritation at the old priest’s composure, but swallowed his sense of urgency and stepped aside to wait while Iwty hobbled back down the hall.

Badra-Ru’ya stood when she heard the knock at her chamber door and made a small, startled noise when she noticed her father looming down the hall behind Iwty’s hunched shoulders. Iwty smiled.

“Greetings, child. I have brought a new puzzle for you today.” The aged priest inclined his head imperceptibly toward the prince with a twinkle in his eye before his expression became more solemn. “He has dreamt of Lord Khonsu, and it does not bode well. Can you judge your father without prejudice for his station?”

Badra-Ru’ya’s head jerked slightly to the side as though she were about to say no, but she swallowed, paused, and nodded. She spoke gingerly. “I don’t know if I could do so to his face, Pure One. I would be... intimidated.” She lowered her eyes, but Iwty smiled again.

“I have considered this. Come; cover yourself and follow me.”

Badra-Ru’ya draped a loose, hooded robe over her head and stepped out into the hall. She followed Iwty across the columned inner court to a small chamber that ordinarily served as an administrative office and study for the priests. A curtained screen at the far end of the room sectioned off the rows of shelves where correspondence from the Pharaoh and other servants of the god back in Egypt were kept. Iwty shuffled over to those shelves and beckoned Badra-Ru’ya to follow.

“Here, Girl. Sit on this stool behind the screen so the look of your father will not frighten you.”

The young princess timidly seated herself and arranged her hood about her face for further concealment. Without allowing herself time to hesitate, she nodded that she was ready.

Iwty smiled. “You have been blessed with understanding of the messages of the Netjeru that come to us in dreams. Now is your chance to show your gratitude to Khonsu who healed you. Serve him by making clear what he conveys to the sleeping Prince of the Kheta.”

At these words, Iwty closed the screen that shielded Badra-Ru’ya and turned his back, stepping out to fetch the prince, left pacing with impatience by the priest’s quarters. Badra-Ru’ya barely had time to breathe before the men returned. She peered through the curtain as the shadow of Iwty motioned her father in through the door and over to a larger gilded stool. Even through the screen, Hattusil’s bulk and moody expression made the space seem much smaller than it was. He huffed, about to ask why this seer priest was keeping him waiting, but when Badra-Ru’ya softly cleared her throat he stiffened. He gaped at the screen, then quickly shut his mouth and shot a suspicious look over his shoulder at Iwty.

Afraid of the sound of her own voice, Badra-Ru’ya turned to face the rows of papyrus behind her and summoned her courage. After a moment she spoke, and the muffled voice that reached her father’s ears hummed with distance, as though it spanned the gates between this world and the next.

In the minutes that followed, the story of Hattusil’s dream stumbled out of the prince’s mouth with intonations of fear that Badra-Ru’ya was not accustomed to hearing in him. The message was very clear. He had kept Khonsu too long away from his blessed children, the Egyptians. A god was not to be held captive by a mere heathen prince. Khonsu had restored his daughter from the clutches of death and possession. Hattusil, in return, had ordered his soldiers to slaughter the sons of Egypt. If the Hittites would escape the wrath of the Netjeru, Khonsu must be appeased.

“I shall send riches to Egypt!” the prince proclaimed. “I shall return the magic idol and shower his temple with gold and silver and precious stones. My craftsmen shall fill inlaid chests of cedar and ebony with precious cloths and spices from the East.”

“But will that be enough?” The frail voice behind the curtain made Hattusil freeze. Its quiet calm belied an inner power that rattled his nerves. Badra-Ru’ya dared to finish her thought. “You have made a prisoner of the god of Egypt. You, who have seen the power of this god, seen demons flee at his command, seen death retreat at his instruction, would endeavor to subdue him with simple trinkets?”

“What can I do?” shouted the prince, interrupting her. His voice tightened into a panicked whine. “I know not the ways of gods! I am not a magician, to commune with divinity!” He shook his head vehemently. “I must not allow him to punish me. I will not face again those hell-beasts that seized my daughter; what if he were to cast them upon me? If he has dominion over the devils that made Badra... That I would be like she, whose words I’ve never... I mustn’t...”

Behind the screen, Badra-Ru’ya trembled. What had she unleashed? Her father wielded great power, and desperate schemes lurked behind his raving anxieties. Something else about his confessions chilled her. Never had she heard anyone speak so of her illness. When her name passed his lips, her father’s voice had shaken with horror.

Suddenly Hattusil stopped speaking. A look of revelation flickered over his face.

“Badra.” He looked directly at the screen. Badra-Ru’ya shrank into her hood, certain he had recognized her. She could not answer him.

The prince rose from his seat, but instead of pulling back the curtain to confront his daughter, he began pacing the floor in front of it. “Yes, I understand now. It was in your voice all along.”

“Highness...” Iwty suddenly came forward from his place near the door.

Hattusil stopped pacing and turned toward the priest, having forgotten he was there. The prince grinned eerily. “It is she.”

The old priest stammered. “Highness, I...”

“It is she we must send in tribute to the god!” Hattusil shouted. Iwty snapped his mouth shut and stared at the curtain behind the prince. “Of course! He came here for her. What penance would be greater than to give up my own child?” Something in Hattusil’s tone of voice suggested that it would not be so great a sacrifice to send her away. Badra-Ru’ya covered her mouth when she gasped. Was that eagerness in his voice?

At the sound of her gasp, Hattusil wheeled around and ran to the screen. Badra-Ru’ya blanched. Her father knelt close to the curtain, his hand resting against the fabric near her face. “Thank you, Wise One, for showing me the way to my salvation.”