“I arrived late as I had to wait for my garments.”

“Did the Queen notice you?”

“She looked up when I started playing, just for a moment, then went back to reading her scroll.”

“And the rest of the day?”

“She never turned my way again.”

“Excellent. That means nothing about you caught her attention. It was wise of you to get your hair cut. You’re young for a musician, but otherwise, you don’t appear out of the ordinary. If she paid you no mind today, she’s unlikely to notice you again. Did you hear anything notable?”

“No. Six petitioners spoke before the King, all commoners, but I was only able to hear two of them over the music.”

“The commoners concern me little. They only petition the King once the chief matters of the day have been heard. Tomorrow you’ll start the day at the beginning and hear more.”

“What do I do if I hear something important? Come find you?”

“Oh no.” Ovadia held up a finger in caution. “Remember, we must never be seen together.”

“I thought I’m to be your eyes and ears?”

“You are. But if a connection between us is even suspected, you’ll no longer be invisible. Even coming here tonight was foolish.” He waved away my protest. “It was my mistake, not yours. I should have realized you’d want to come.”

“So what do I do if I hear anything important?”

Ovadia thought for a moment. “Come tell Batya. As long as I’m not home, I don’t think anyone will be watching the house. Batya can come find me without attracting attention.”

The next morning, I found the servants’ area of the kitchen deserted. A bit of cold bread and the remnants of a chickpea mash were all that remained.

I hung my linen garment on a hook and sat to eat. I chewed my bread as slowly as I could and watched the chefs working at the hearth. Once I finished eating, I would have no excuse to remain. Finally, Tuval came in. “Morning, Lev,” he said, grabbing a piece of bread and sitting beside me. “You just arrive?”

I nodded, not wanting to admit I was already on my third piece. “No one else eats at this hour?”

“Most palace servants rise before the sun. Only after all-night festivals am I ever at the morning meal when it’s crowded. A cold meal is a small price to pay for a warm bed.”

“But they’re still baking now,” I said, pointing to the cooks carrying stacks of bread in from the courtyard.

“Oh, yes. There’s hot bread, cakes fried in date honey, cheese, and many other things we’ll never taste. All that is for the King’s table. Though the cooks call it the Queen’s table now, as her priests take up most of the seats.”

A young man with a fair complexion and scribes’ robes entered. “Ah, little Otniel,” Tuval called out to him.

A faint blush appeared on Otniel’s pale cheeks. “Good morning, Tuval.” The scribe gave me a quiet nod as he sat at one of the empty stools. He helped himself to bread without bothering to change his linen tunic.

“Otniel, you’ll be glad to know you’re no longer the youngest member of the Court. Meet Lev, the most recent addition to the musicians.”

Otniel made eye contact again. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Lev, I used to carry this boy on my back when he was no larger than that piece of bread you’re eating. His father Merari is among the nobility of Tirza, but for some reason, he eats with us commoners.”

“Only on mornings when I serve the Court,” he said. “I can never extricate myself from the King’s table fast enough to be at my position on time.”

“Where is Tirza?” I asked.

“Be careful what you ask this one,” Tuval said. “You’re likely to get more information than you want. His family has been among the Royal Chroniclers since Yeravaum declared the Kingdom.”

“Not so,” Otniel said. “Yeravaum first made his capital in Shechem. My family only became the chroniclers once he moved the capital to Tirza, next to our inheritance. King Omri asked my father to accompany him when he moved his throne here to Shomron, but he refused.”

“Your father refused the King?” I asked.

Otniel nodded. “My father always says, ‘it’s a foolish man who abandons his land to follow a King, especially a King of Israel.’”

“What’s wrong with the Kings of Israel?”

Tuval drew his finger across his throat. “They have a nasty habit of losing their heads at the neck.”

“Actually, King Zimri died by fire,” Otniel said, “though admittedly he hardly counts, having ruled for only seven days.” Otniel turned to me. “Once he saw his revolt was going to fail, he burned the palace down on himself rather than fall into the hands of Omri, who laid siege to the city.”

“Omri?” I asked, pointing to the royal banner above the hearth.

“Yes, King Ahav’s father. He became King when he won the civil war.”

“So he moved the palace to Shomron because the old one was destroyed?”

Otniel shook his head. “It’s far easier to rebuild a palace than to build a new capital city. But as Tuval said, it is rare that a King of Israel dies in his sleep. Omri moved the capital from the tribal lands of Ephraim to that of his own tribe of Menashe, hoping his brethren could protect him.”

“It worked?”

“So far. King Omri went peacefully to the grave of his fathers, and his son Ahav still sits on his throne.”

Three trumpet blasts shook the palace. “What are those?” I asked Tuval.

“The signal Court is about to begin,” he said, shoving the rest of his bread in his mouth. He stripped off his woolen tunic. “Move quickly when you hear them. We must be ready to play when the King and Queen arrive.”

Otniel wiped his hands neatly and stood to leave. “You didn’t bring a second tunic?” I asked him as I pulled mine off.

Tuval snorted. “It will be a mighty cold day indeed before any son of Merari wears wool.”

A hint of color came to Otniel’s sallow cheeks. Though he had eaten hardily, not a crumb marred his garments. He stepped out of the kitchen as I hung my woolen tunic on a hook. “Can I leave it here during the day?”

“Yes, but don’t leave your linen ones here at night. They’re far too valuable.”

I threw my musicians’ tunic over my head and was about to tighten the sash when Tuval said, “There’s no time now. We’re not even allowed in the hallway when the King and Queen walk to the Throne Room.”

We hurried out of the kitchen and down the hall. My baggy garments puffed out behind me, and I held them with one hand so I wouldn’t trip over the skirts. Another scribe ran ahead of us, clutching a roll of parchment, his quill, and a jar of ink. The guard at the Throne Room door waved us in, then pulled the wooden doors closed behind us.

A line of petitioners stood along one wall, and four others of high birth stood before the empty thrones. Dov sat tuning his nevel, which was three times the size of my kinnor, with longer, thicker strings. “Morning,” he said. “We are only three today. I have Peretz and Uzzah playing for Zarisha this afternoon.”