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Arielah’s hand without waiting for her husband’s confirmation. “The news of the meeting can wait, my love, but our daughter’s wounds cannot. Come, precious one.” Arielah cast a backward glance at him while Jehosheba guided her to the back corner of their courtyard for privacy.
    Jehoshaphat gathered the water jar and stool, followed the women, and positioned the stool so that Arielah could sit between them. Jehosheba reached for the rag to tend the head wound, but Jehoshaphat stopped his wife’s hand and gently reached for the cloth. He met his wife’s gaze, united in their grief as only parents of suffering children can be.
    Caring little about the propriety of his actions, he removed his daughter’s mantle and tenderly unwound her blood-caked headpiece while Jehosheba tended Arielah’s side and leg. When he lit a clay lamp to see the cut on her head, a soft groan escaped his lips.
    “It’s not so bad, Abba,” she said, squeezing his hand. “It will heal quickly.” Love and tears formed an unbroken circle as two weeping parents ministered to their beloved girl. Finally, Arielah stood, ready to go inside for fresh clothes.
    “Arielah,” Jehoshaphat called. She stopped, waiting for him to speak, but his throat was clenched tight. Washing her wounds had magnified the very real dangers that awaited Arielah as Israel’s treaty bride. Did she fully understand, or was she blinded by her dreams of Solomon? “My lamb, as Israel’s treaty bride, you will experience great joy, and our nation will reach unparalleled unity.” He paused, emotion constricting his throat. “But joy and unity come at a price. You’ll face great danger in Jerusalem. This commitment could require enormous sacrifice.”
    Eyes glistening, she nodded. “As I said, Abba, I believe the hardships I’ve borne have prepared me—”
    Jehoshaphat stepped toward her, taking her hands in his. “But here I’ve been able to provide some protection for you. In Jerusalem you’ll be alone in the king’s household.”
    “Abba, I am never alone.” She reached up to brush a tear from his cheek. “When I was a child, you protected me from Kemmuel and Igal. I am not a child anymore, and now only Jehovah can protect me—whether in Shunem from my brothers or in Jerusalem as Israel’s treaty bride.”
    Jehoshaphat’s resolve shattered into a thousand teardrops. “Are you sure you want to do this? Do you want to give your life to Solomon—knowing the turmoil of our country and the fate of life in a king’s harem?”
    Arielah fell silent, her eyes searching. “I admit that I’m afraid of what awaits in Jerusalem. But I have loved Solomon all my life, and because of what I suffer at my brothers’ hands, I am learning to call on Jehovah as my only helper. It is a good lesson, Abba.” Arielah turned toward the house but was stopped abruptly by a figure from the shadows.
    Even Jehoshaphat’s breath caught as Kemmuel’s dark presence dimmed the light of hope in their midst.

    Fear strangled Arielah and threatened to rob her of air. She exhaled slowly, and her heart stilled as she recalled the words she’d spoken moments ago. Only Jehovah can protect me. She recalled that unveiled glimpse of vulnerability in Kemmuel’s eyes, a hatred rooted in his belief that she’d stolen their abba’s love. Kemmuel wasn’t a leviathan; he was her brother. And for the first time in many years, she met his dark, foreboding gaze. She saw hate and the pain beneath it.
    Igal rounded the corner with the king’s messenger and stopped short in awkward silence. His eyes darted from the bloody rags in his parents’ hands to Arielah, and then to Kemmuel. His gaze fell to his sandals and lingered there. Arielah wondered, as she so often had, if her impressionable second brother would do the right thing if Kemmuel weren’t there.
    “Arielah seems to have met with some ill fate this evening,” Kemmuel said with a sneer. “How fortunate that she has an ima and abba