“No! It’s mine!”

“There it is,” Erra said. “Do you even know what this thing is that’s rearing its ugly head? Of course, you don’t.”

I opened my mouth.

“Quiet. I’m thinking.”

This was the stupidest idea I’d ever had.

Erra sighed. “It’s called the Shar. It’s an ancient word that came to us from an old language. A word of Adam. It means the right to rule. The urge to obtain and hold land was bred into our family. Do you know why dynasties fall?”

“Because they eventually produce an incompetent heir.”

“Yes. The Shar is the insurance that the strongest of our line is always in power. Once you have a taste of it, either it will devour you or you will triumph over it.”

“Is my father . . .”

“Consumed by the Shar? He was for a time, but he learned to control it long ago. It is a force within him, it does drive some of his behavior, but there were times he walked away from the land he claimed and stayed away for years. Im is a prince of Shinar. He received proper instruction in the use of his gift as soon as he was able to understand words. But you have very little defense against it. For one, you’re too young. You claimed too soon and too much. Second, you have no training. A child should be allowed to claim a small piece of land to become accustomed to the pressure. And third, the Shar is at its peak when two members of our family hold adjacent land. It is its very purpose: to force us against each other until a winner emerges victorious. This is why I chose to make no claim. I had no desire to rule.”

“And my father . . .”

“Your father is cruel. He’s torturing you. Sooner or later the Shar will drive you to move against him. All he has to do is wait, and he has all the time in the world.”

“But why go to the trouble? If he wanted war, why not break the treaty? Nothing stops him.”

“He’s given you his word,” Erra said. “The word of Sharrum is binding. It’s the bedrock of his kingdom. The real question is why go through the charade of the agreement in the first place. It makes no sense . . .” She paused. Her eyes shone. “Why should I help you?”

“You are my aunt.”

“And?”

“Look around you,” I told her.

“What about it?”

“It’s the tomb of our family.”

My aunt turned slowly, taking in the bare walls.

“My father, your brother, brought your mother here, because he was afraid she would rise and challenge him. He locked her in this stone box so he could control her. Do you know where we are? We’re in the heart of Mishmar.”

Her face jerked. She’d recognized the name.