Nirah stood silently at the High Priestess’ side. The palace gates towered above them, the blue glazed brick but a dim shimmer under the overcast sky. Together they stood just inside the closed main entrance, the eight-pointed star of Ishtar carved at the entry’s arched apex. Though the gentle caress of wind should have comforted Nirah, it did nothing to ease the dread coiled inside her.
With the eclipse a mere three days away, the palace had officially been placed into lockdown in an effort to protect the king. Or at least, to fool the gods into believing they were protecting the king. No tax officials, no unofficial porters, no slaves not owned by the household, and certainly no more delegates. Save some jugglers and acrobats the palace had on retainer, no one unfamiliar to Sippar’s roy
