The afternoon sun hung heavy over the courtyard. Thick and gold, slow as honey.
Shadows from the vines shifted with the wind. They swayed to the faint tune of a seven-string lyre. A slave was playing somewhere beyond the walls.
The notes came soft, clear as running water. They drifted through the warm air, sweet with grapes and olives.
This was ArnuwandaIII's favorite hour. He sat beneath the arbor, still and easy. His fingers tapped the armrest, following the rhythm. His eyes were half closed, lost in the sound. He savored the peace.
But even this good moment couldn't dispel the worry in his heart.
How long can this peace last? Suppiluliuma's eyes—those damned spies—still sweep across Anatolia. He has no intention of leaving us be…
The thought was like a persistent mosquito. Always buzzing in his ear.
A series of soft, yet firm, footsteps interrupted the lyre's song.
Arnuwanda opened his eyes. He saw his wife, Damkina, approaching gracefully. The steward followed at a respectful distance.
Damkina raised her hand slightly. The music stopped instantly. Her expression was grave. Her deep brown eyes held important news.
"My dear, urgent news," her voice was soft but serious. "News that could change everything."
The steward immediately bowed. He clasped his hands in front of him. His tone was cautious.
"For two years, the bandits in the Red Bean Forest have paralyzed the trade routes. But half a month ago, the thieves were wiped out. They say it was the young master of the Dardan territory. A Trojan youth named Aeneas… Quite the warrior!"
He paused. A note of involuntary admiration crept into his voice. "They say he used only seven men. Wiped out a band of nearly thirty. Well-armed bandits."
Arnuwanda's wine cup stilled. The dark wine sloshed in the clay vessel. It mirrored his suddenly furrowed brow.
His relaxed posture vanished. Became alert. Like a lion startled from sleep.
"Seven against thirty? This Aeneas… is formidable."
His tone held admiration for the youth's bravery. And concern for this new, unknown neighbor.
He slowly set his cup down. His fingers absently rubbed its rim. His gaze grew deep and thoughtful.
"I wonder if our young neighbor is merely skilled in battle… or if he enjoys it? And we must be cautious."
His voice lowered. "The way that bandit group perfectly ambushed the Amazon trade party recently… Suppiluliuma's hand must be in it."
He continued his analysis, his voice growing even quieter. "The Amazon traders are all mounted. Fast as the wind. Yet that bandit gang managed to surround them…"
Arnuwanda's face darkened. His right hand unconsciously gripped the armrest. His knuckles turned white.
"My dear brother… his claws are everywhere. He hasn't given up finding us. We… cannot take the risk."
His voice was bitter, guarded. Each word seemed squeezed out.
He thought with anguish, Was stealing my throne not enough? Now he must shatter our last bit of peace?
Just then, a clear voice came from the colonnade. Like sunlight breaking through clouds.
"Father, I believe this is the opportunity we've been waiting for."
Ninsarina approached with grace. Sunlight danced on her deep brown, nearly black hair. It was like an invisible crown. Her amber-gold eyes were particularly vivid in the light. Her face held an expression of cool analysis, completely untouched by her father's anxiety.
She continued, a playful smile touching her lips. "The Trojan Dardanian lands should be an opportunity, not a threat. I hear those bandits were pawns of the Trojan royal house. How amusing… the royal family sending thieves to disrupt their own vassal's territory? Heh…"
Her laughter was crisp, confident. Like a clear spring breaking the courtyard's tense atmosphere.
Ninsarina's amber-gold eyes were like two finely polished gems. She walked elegantly to her parents. Her posture was as composed as if she were at a tea party.
"This Aeneas dared to oppose the royal house. He's either a fool… or the ally we need. A capable… true friend."
Her analysis was sharp. Her tone was calm yet utterly persuasive. It reminded one of a chess player's cool calculation before making a move.
She went on, her voice clear as struck crystal.
"People assume the Dardanian lands and Troy are rock-solid. But they're not. That alliance has cracks. So they need trade. And so do we. In fact, we might need it more. Our entire economy runs on trade, and Dardania controls the only viable route. So yes—we need allies. But we also need access."
Ninsarina stated the reality coolly. Her fingers absently traced the Hittite embroidered motifs on her dress.
"Our domain isn't rich. We rely entirely on your old connections for trade rights. That's why we need the Dardanian lands as a friend… or a pawn—A trade caravan can assess his strength and stance."
Damkina looked at her daughter with approval. A mother's pride shone in her eyes. "Ninsarina is right. But it must be disguised as an ordinary trade caravan. I suggest she pose as the caravan scribe. Use the alias 'Lina'."
Damkina felt a wave of relief. Sharper than I thought, she mused. Time for her to spread her wings.
The young lady of Sardura was her parents' pride. She took her mother's hand, light and sure. Together they stepped beneath the grape arbor, their movements calm, almost mirrored.
In that age of bronze and men, such trust in a daughter was rare. Like finding a spring in the desert.
Then came the roar—sudden, wild, and near. The tender moment broke apart.
"No!" Arnuwanda shot to his feet. The movement was so violent his wine cup toppled. Deep red wine spread across the stone floor like a bloodstain.
"Ninsarina going herself is too dangerous! If her identity is discovered, Suppiluliuma's assassins will show no mercy!" His voice trembled with emotion.
Damkina regarded her husband calmly. She gently took his trembling hand. The hand that once held a scepter, now shaking with fear.
"Would you rather she hide forever, like us? Lurking in the shadows, too afraid to even speak her own name?"
Her words were soft, yet they struck with force. Each one landed squarely in Arnuwanda's heart.
Arnuwanda went quiet at her words. He sank into the chair, hands covering his face. His shoulders shook—slightly at first, then harder.
The weight inside him pulled in two directions. As a father, he only wanted to keep her safe. As a former king, he knew… she was right.
But… Ninsarina is my only daughter…
Silence fell over the courtyard. Only the distant birdsong and the rustle of wind through the olive trees remained.
After a long while, Arnuwanda let out a deep, weary sigh. He reached to his neck. He removed a green gemstone amulet pendant carved with the image of the storm god Teshub. The movement was slow, solemn. Like he was handing over his most precious treasure.
The image of Teshub on the amulet held a thunderbolt and a battle-axe. As one of the chief Hittite gods, it symbolized power and protection—
This perfectly matched Arnuwanda's wish for his daughter's safe return. Though he knew, in these troubled times, even divine favor might not be enough.
Arnuwanda took a deep breath. He presented the amulet to his daughter. His fingers trembled slightly.
"Carry your mother's blessing and mine." His voice was choked but firm. "Remember, safety first. If you sense any danger, any at all, you return immediately. I can lose everything… but not you. My daughter."
Ninsarina took the pendant. She felt the residual warmth from her father's skin on the rare gemstone.
She closed her hand tightly around it. "I will be careful, Father." Her promise was brief. Forceful. Like her usual way of doing things.
Turning to the steward, who waited respectfully, her tone became practical and clear. "Prepare a trade caravan for me. Load it with Hittite textiles, medicinal herbs, and grain. No ironware… not yet."
She paused briefly. Her sharp eyes scanned the steward's face. "Select the most loyal guards. I will personally vet everyone."
Over the next few days, the caravan preparation area in the estate's rear courtyard buzzed with life. Dyes from Hittite fabrics stained the air. Herbs added a sharp, bitter scent. Grain dust drifted in slow clouds.
Ninsarina displayed remarkable organizational skill. She not only carefully selected the goods but personally inspected every wagon and every item. Her movements were practiced, like a seasoned caravan master—this made several veteran traders secretly marvel.
But the strangest thing came next. She secretly prepared a clay tablet, carved with Hittite signs. Wrapped it in oilcloth, tucked it deep in her pack.
Her fingers lingered on the symbols. A thought struck her. If Aeneas is as clever as they say… he'll know what this means.
In fact, the Hittite hieroglyphs on the tablet recorded an ancient treaty concerning an alliance with Troy. A treaty likely long ignored by both monarchs. But… it hinted at a certain… possibility.
When night fell, Ninsarina stood alone on the balcony. She looked west. Her fingers touched the pendant at her chest. She felt the smooth gemstone and the intricate carving of Teshub.
"Aeneas… let's see if you are a hero or a pawn…" she murmured to herself.
"It's time to step out of the shadows. Whether what lies ahead is opportunity or danger. Better to seek allies than to live forever in fear."
Beyond the layered mountains, far to the west, the scattered lights of the Dardanian lands twinkled in the darkness.
Ninsarina took one last look west. Then she turned and left the balcony. Her figure in the moonlight seemed both resolute… and alone.