Free Reign by Ginger Garrett

palace, and by this she would know which building was her new home. She had never seen any palace except her own.
    A white-haired man grinned broadly at her. He had been drinking from an old brown bowl filled with frothy milk, the white mess dripping from his beard as he grinned without teeth. Cows and goats moved between the people, wandering into tents and being shooed back out. All the revulsions of her early years flooded back up. This was a nation of feral people. There were no homes, Jezebel realized. No one had boundaries or barriers. Yet there was no tension in the air, just laughter and children who burst into song for her attention.
    Just after they passed the trench being dug for the foundation of the wall, there were rows of shields and armor on display on either side of the street. Further down there were tents everywhere, and fire pits dug at random, some with animals roasting on spits, some filled with gray ash.
    As the litter crept forward, she saw what had to be homes, little squares made of stone and lumber, with two windows that faced the street, one on either side of an open doorway. These must belong to the elders. Samaria was a new city, Omri had told her that. A city still being built, a new center of power in this region. She had never realized all power was born dirty. The thought was a sudden comfort to her. Maybe that was why Asherah had never saved her. She was born for power, dirty.
    At the edge of these homes, the common people stopped following her. Boundaries did exist, she realized, even if invisible.
    Ahab extended his hand. She stepped down from the litter without accepting it and began moving through the remaining crowd, which consisted of older elders and their servants, those not able to make the trip north to fetch her. Searching again for Omri’s colors, she saw them at last and pressed her lips together to keep from crying. The palace was plain stone, undecorated, not a bit of color, but just one square stone on top of another. She straightened her posture in resolve. It didn’t matter as long as she could curl up on a bed, alone.
    The foundation had been laid at the highest point on the hill that was Samaria. The dirty city stretched beneath it and behind it; Jezebel assumed the view was what Omri had called unusable land. The foundation itself was just a plain stone platform about twenty feet high, and cut into the face of the platform were two empty tombs. They looked like missing teeth against the expanse of white stones all around. One was marked for Omri and another for Ahab. That was odd. Her people only planned for their lives, not for their deaths.
    The walls of the palace were as dreary as its foundation, just plain stone, with empty, dark windows, and an open rectangle for the entrance. Several sheep lounged beneath the palace, enjoying the cool shadows cast by the wall. One looked at her and bleated.
    “It is not Phoenicia, is it?” Ahab slid his arm around her waist as he stood behind her, whispering. He was big; perhaps this gesture intimidated women. It only infuriated Jezebel. Her head was filled with thoughts that screamed for expression, but she shut them up and refused to speak. Every interaction with him was a fresh nightmare.
    “This is not your homeland, Jezebel,” Ahab said again. “Right now, that seems like a terrible fact. But if you dwell on it longer, you will begin to see it as a promise.” He pulled away, giving her a small formal nod, and left to go present himself to Omri.
    She was led to her quarters by a man of slight build, about the same age as Ahab. He was the only one who seemed frightened of her, suspicious.
    “Who are you?” she whispered.
    He bowed his head. “Obadiah. Palace administrator. Ahab asked me to see to it you had the best room for tonight.”
    With that, he left her. She entered a quiet chamber prepared for her with a bed, a low table, and a bowl of wine should she become thirsty.
    Jezebel removed her sandals and lay down