Willingly or not, I had enticed the king to commit the act that haunted my sleep and filled me with disgust. Because I was a tob woman, I had to bear the blame and the shame for everything that happened. My emotions vacillated from one extreme to the other after that fateful night. For Amaris’s sake, and for Elisheba’s, I tried to pretend nothing had happened and I had not been changed. But in the midst of my daily activities I would close my eyes and see the patterned canopy over the king’s couch. I would wake feeling nauseous with memory, so my appetite waned. Often in the course of a day I would inhale a scent I had breathed on that rooftop—a honeysuckle vine, or a perfumed oil—and my stomach would churn. I cried easily. I wanted to sleep longer than usual, and little annoyances infuriated me to the point that I once picked up Elisheba’s favorite oil lamp and flung it against the wall, shattering it. Though Amaris gaped at my uncharacteristic display of temper, Elisheba did not rebuke me, but picked up the broken pottery and urged me to lie down.
