Chapter One

"Yes, Your Majesty."

He left his entourage of palace guards and servants standing by the cemetery entrance and walked forward alone, toward his mother's tomb. It was the close of a warm, spring day, just after the evening sacrifice, and Manasseh knew he would have only a few more minutes of twilight. Once night fell he would need a torch to make his way among the tombs. The graveyard was deserted and peaceful; the mourning doves in the distant trees grieved with him.

At twenty-one, Manasseh had grown into a handsome man. His long, narrow face seemed sculpted from costly stone, his straight nose, square forehead, and jaw skillfully wrought by an artisan. He had inherited Hezekiah's broad shoulders but not his height or strong frame. Like his mother, Hephzibah, he was slender and light-boned, with her thick dark hair the color of olive branches and her brown eyes flecked with gold. His lean body was muscular beneath his linen robes; he still trained every day with his military tutor in order to stay strong and agile. For his size, Manasseh had become very difficult to beat in hand-to-hand combat.

He reached the tomb he had hewn for his mother out of the cliffside and stopped. Hephzibah had died two years ago tonight. In a way it seemed like only yesterday that they had shared their evening meal together, yet when he tried to remember her smile or the sound of her singing, it seemed as if she had been gone forever. He stretched out his hand to touch the enormous block of stone that sealed the tomb, wishing he could reach for his mot