Lord of the Desert

by Nina Bruhns

  “If your mother is in the clutches of Haru-Re,” Seth said, “I’m afraid nothing good has befallen her. I’m very sorry.”

  Gillian pressed her lips together and didn’t comment. Knowing her, she’d believe her mother’s ruination only when she saw evidence with her own eyes.

  “As for your wedding,” Seth went on, “I am glad you are thrilled. I have decided you may have until the transformation ceremony to prepare yourself. We shall be joined on the day after.”

  Two days!

  Gillian blanched, her lips parting in dismay. Rhys’s blood rushed into his hands as he balled them into tight fists to keep from reaching for a weapon.

  He was outmatched in this battle and he knew it. He’d win the war with Seth over Gillian, not with strength, but with cunning. How could he hope to have a feasible plan in place in two days’ time?

  “If I’m no longer needed, I have work to do,” he managed to grind out.

  To his surprise, Seth carefully refolded Gillian’s letter, inserted it back in the envelope and handed it to Shahin. “When next you’re aboveground, see it’s delivered,” he ordered, then looked at Rhys.

  Still furious, his friend had nevertheless regained control of his emotions. His back straight and tall, he was once more the unflappable figure of supreme authority. “Khepesh will always need you, Lord Kilpatrick,” he said. “I’ve been more than patient with your grave misbehavior, but I have reached my limit. Do not make me do something we would all bitterly regret. Miss Haliday shall be my consort, and if I have to take her right here and now in front of you to convince you of my seriousness, by the gods, I will!” To illustrate his point, he took a stride toward Gillian and grabbed her by the hair.

  She cried out, her face ashen.

  Rhys choked down a roar of protest. “That won’t be necessary. We are both your obedient servants.”

  “Good. Now, say goodbye.” Seth set his jaw in rigid determination. “For all contact between you is to cease immediately.” He didn’t need to add or suffer the consequences. The threat was there in his burning gaze. He turned to Gillian. “And you, Miss Haliday. I expect your full and willing participation in the ceremony in two days, and for our joining the day after that. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice cracking.

  “Good. Now leave me,” Seth growled, “all of you!” and stalked from the room.

  Late that night, Gillian was still shaking from the audience with Seth-Aziz. She wrapped her arms around her middle as she closed her chamber door under the watchful eyes of Nephtys.

  “We don’t allow weapons in the temple,” the priestess warned, “but there’s a guard posted at the portal. Do not even think about trying to escape again.”

  “Don’t worry. I don’t have a death wish,” she muttered, and shut the door in the woman’s face.

  Rude? Maybe. But she was pretty pissed off about being treated like a pawn in a game that didn’t concern her. Hello? She was the one who had to be married to a freaking vampire for the rest of eternity!

  It wasn’t even having sex with him that bothered her so much—okay, fine, yeah, it did, a lot—but just as bad was being completely invisible, her wishes and opinions dismissed as totally irrelevant.

  Which she realized was the plight women had suffered throughout much of history, and to which many women around the world were still being subjected.

  She didn’t like it.

  She did not like it one damn bit.

  But what could she do? The choice was either submit or Rhys would die. Possibly herself, too.

  To Gillian, life was a precious gift. She’d never been able to forgive her father for giving up and walking into the desert to end it all. He’d claimed he loved her mother too much to go on without her… but if he were alive now, he would be with her again soon, if Gillian succeeded in rescuing her.

  Where there was life, there was always hope.

  She truly believed that.

  Which was why, even if she had to live through many unhappy years to come, she would never, ever, give up hope of being with Rhys again.

  Somehow she had to tell him that. Beg him not to do anything stupid, in anger or desperation, and end up dead. She couldn’t face the prospect of a forever without him.

  Of course, wandering the halls of Khepesh for all to see in order to reach him and tell him that would get them both killed even faster.

  And then she remembered. The secret passageways she’d discovered on the floor plan from the library! There were two that started here in the temple compound—one in Seth’s private dressing room, and one in the inner sanctum behind the central altar. But where did they end up? She closed her eyes and tried to picture the floor plan. She was pretty sure one of them ended in the residential wing where Rhys had his rooms.

  Did she dare?

  Her heart thumped painfully in her chest. She had to risk it. She was terrified Rhys might try to stop the ceremony otherwise. Sacrifice his life for her. She had to tell him not to do it.

  She waited until well after the torches had been lowered, the priestesses had retired to their chambers and the haram had grown quiet. Then she crept out and along the darkened hallways into the temple proper. It, too, lay still and silent, the diamond stars in the lapis lazuli ceiling winking at her as she felt with her fingertips along the wall of the inner sanctum for the hidden mechanism that would spring open the cleverly concealed doorway to the secret passage. Even knowing approximately where it should be—directly behind the giant obsidian sarcophagus—it took her several minutes to find it with the tip of an offering knife.

  “Yes!” she murmured under her breath as a section of the wall whispered open to reveal a claustrophobically short, narrow space behind it. People must have been a lot smaller in Ptolemaic times.

  Praying fervently there were no snakes or spiders living within its tight confines, Gillian lifted her borrowed torch and ducked into the passage. And prayed even harder that she wouldn’t find an armed guard at the other end.

  Chapter 19

  If ever, my dear one, I should not be here,

  where would you offer your heart?

  —Song Cycle 1, Papyrus Harris 500

  A soft knock on the door to his palace suite roused Rhys from the occupation he’d been engaged in for the past several hours: staring into space. Plotting. Planning. Seething.

  “Go away!” he barked. He was in no mood for company, friend or foe.

  A few seconds later there was another knock, even softer.

  “By Sekhmet’s breath! Leave me the hell alone!” he bellowed. “Whatever you’re offering, I’ve no desire for it.”

  This time the pest hesitated nearly a full minute before knocking again. He could barely hear it, but there it came, mouse-quiet but jackal-determined.

  Mithra’s balls! Could a man not be left in peace to stew? He lunged up and flung open the door, about to shout down the unwelcome nuisance, but the oaths froze in his throat.

  “Jesus!” he hissed, grasped Gillian’s arm and hauled her inside, slamming her up against the wall next to the door. “Have you lost your mind completely?” Then he grabbed her and dragged her into his arms, wrapping her in a fierce embrace. He was shaking. Actually shaking. “How in blazes did you get here without being stopped?”

  She burst out with something about forgotten maps and secret passages, but his mind wouldn’t focus on her explanation, only on the welcome feel of her in his arms.

  “Oh, Rhys, I had to see you,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. “Just one last time before—”

  “Don’t!” he cut her off. He didn’t want to hear it. Not from her lips. “It’s not going to happen. I won’t let it.”

  She drew back and looked up, her eyes bright with tears. “But you must! If you try to stop the ceremony, you’ll be executed. It was a pure miracle Seth didn’t kill you this afternoon, after goading him like that.”

  “He should have,” Rhys ground out. “It would h
ave been a mercy.”

  “No!” she cried. “I won’t make it through this without you, Rhys. Even if we can’t be together right now, I need to know you’re close by, alive and well, dreaming of the day we can be. As will I.”

  He let a few moments of silence pass. “I’ll always be waiting for that day, my love, but…what if I’m not close by?”

  Her anxiety turned to dismay. “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t stay here and watch another man possess you, Gillian. I don’t have it in me. I should leave Khepesh. For both our sakes.”

  She looked stricken. “But you can’t! Wouldn’t that mean giving up your immortality?”

  “Not necessarily.” He brushed his hand along the side of her cheek. “This isn’t the only place immortals dwell.”

  Her eyes widened. “Rhys! You can’t mean to go to Petru!”

  “Seth has made it clear my position here is finished. Haru-Re wants me as a lieutenant. I’m inclined to accept his offer.”

  “But that’s—”

  “Treason?” He shook his head. “Technically, perhaps. But I could protect Khepesh. Mediate our differences. Try to counsel peace instead of the war Haru-Re seems so determined to wage.”

  She swallowed. “I suppose.”

  “And your mother. If she’s there I can find her, protect her for you,” he reminded her. “I would do my best to reunite you somehow.”

  Her expression broke into a chaos of hope and reluctance. “That would be…God, such a relief to know you were taking care of her. But, oh, Rhys, what would I do without you here, taking care of me, if only from a distance?”

  She looked so forlorn he hugged her close. “You’d live a hell of a lot longer, if this visit is any indication of our ability to stay away from each other.” He tipped up her chin. “Though I’ll admit I am very, very glad you find it so hard to resist me.”

  A tear seeped onto her lower eyelashes. “When would you leave?”

  He kissed away the tear, then kissed her forehead. “Right away. Tonight. It’s best I am far away before that damned ceremony starts. If he touches you, tries to force himself on you, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  She gave a barely discernible nod. “So this is it, then? The last time I’ll ever see you?” More tears trickled down her cheeks.

  “It won’t be forever, love. I’ll find a way for us to be together. I swear I’ll come back for you, even if I have to battle my way through Hell to do it.”

  “I believe you,” she whispered, then kissed him softly. “I love you, Rhys. I love you so much.”

  She’d never said the words before. It was so bittersweet to hear them now, when he might never hear them again. “I love you, too, Gillian, my love. Keep me always in your heart. And when you really need me, whisper my name. I’ll be there to keep you safe.”

  They made love.

  Sweet, aching, wistful love.

  No tricks. No magic. Just two people whose hearts were breaking. A tender goodbye Gillian would remember as long as she lived, whether it was five days or five thousand years.

  And when they lay spent in each other’s arms, their last kiss lingering like nectar on their lips, reality reared up its unwelcome head and they started to fear they’d be discovered. She’d stayed too long already.

  Rhys insisted on going with her through the passage to make sure she got back to her rooms at the temple without incident. The whole time her heart felt like it was shattering in a trillion pieces, leaving a dusting of sorrow along the way. And then they were there, emerging cautiously behind the row of altars, all laden with fruits to the god. There were buntings of flowers bearing dozens of flickering candles, too, as the priestesses had begun preparing the room for the ceremony.

  “Don’t think about it,” Rhys told her. “I hate Seth with a passion right now, but…he’s always treated his sacrifices with consideration.”

  She knew he was only trying to make her feel better, but she refused to be comforted. “I don’t doubt that. But… Oh, God, Rhys! Let’s run away!” She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the exit portal. “Now. Let’s just go! What happens to us, happens.”

  “No,” he said, standing his ground and cupping her face between his palms. He peered at her earnestly. “It would be suicide. You must go through with the ceremony.”

  “But—”

  “Just think of me, and I’ll be there with you.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and gave her one last, agonized kiss.

  And then he was gone.

  The section of wall blocking the passage slid back into place with a quiet finality.

  And once again, she was all alone.

  Chapter 20

  Let me drink in the shape of my love,

  tall in the shuddering night!

  —Great Heart’s Ease,

  Papyrus Chester Beaty I

  The night of the ceremony had arrived, and Gillian was not too proud to admit she was terrified out of her wits.

  She was about to have her blood sucked by a vampire in front of hundreds of witnesses. True, only she and Seth would be in the inner sanctum when it happened. But the sacred obsidian altar where it would take place lay directly in line with the portal to the Courtyard of the Sacred Pool, which in turn was wide-open to the huge hypostyle festival hall, and both courtyards would be filled to capacity with every one of the immortals of Khepesh.

  This was it. No way out.

  She groaned. Talk about insane! A few short days ago she would never have believed that any of this existed, let alone that she would be up to her eyeballs in otherworldly political intrigue!

  Nephtys glanced at her, frowned, then poured a goblet of wine and handed it to her. “Drink this. It will calm your nerves.”

  “Can’t you put some kind of spell on me?” she pleaded. “Make me unconscious so I can wake up afterward and not remember a thing?”

  The priestess’s brow rose. “Oh, you’ll want to remember. Being bitten by a vampire is…an amazing experience. Better than any sex you’ve ever had.”

  A dull pain pressed against Gillian’s chest. “Not if I don’t love him.”

  “Trust me—” Nephtys turned abruptly to peer at herself in the mirror, adjusting the high silver collar clasped around her neck “—love has nothing to do with it.”

  Gillian tipped her goblet and drank down the wine. Every last drop. Her head spun a little as the alcohol hit her bloodstream. She held out the silver cup for more. Maybe vampire fangs were like certain other male appendages, and if she drank enough wine her blood-alcohol would get Seth too drunk to perform.

  She giggled at the thought. Gemma would have a field day with that one.

  Thinking about Gemma, Gillian wondered wistfully how her sisters were doing. They must have received her note by now, if Sheikh Shahin had delivered it as Seth had ordered. Had they been surprised to hear from her? Were they worried about her?

  How would they react if they knew the truth about where she was and what she was about to go through? What if they had been here now?

  Despite herself, she smiled. Gemma would no doubt be taking notes like mad, fascinated by everything and everyone. Josslyn would probably be raising holy hell, giving Seth what for about abusing innocent women, storming into the sanctuary in the nick of time to save her from being drained. Probably ending up as the sacrifice herself because it would be the only way Seth could get her to shut up.

  She laughed softly. God, she missed them so much!

  She realized Nephtys was staring at her with puzzled amusement.

  “My sisters,” she explained wryly. “I was just thinking about them.”

  “Ah. I understand,” the other woman said, gesturing for her to come over to the mirror so she could check her outfit one final time. “I’m that way with Seth. Our youthful antics can pop into my head at the most inappropriate times.”

  Antics? Seth?

  “It’ll be nice to have a sister,” Nephtys went on, gazing kindly at
her reflection. “To make new memories with.”

  Gillian realized with a start that she meant her. “Um, yeah,” she quickly agreed. Then turned away to put down her goblet. Somehow she couldn’t imagine them in a powwow on the floor, painting their toenails and laughing together over a bad date.

  Nephtys smoothed her fingers along the elaborately embroidered stole Gillian wore over her tight, black strapless gown, touching the pattern of tiny stars that spangled the shoulders of the wrap. “I know this is difficult for you,” she said. “But you are a lucky woman. The envy of every other in Khepesh. Open yourself to the pleasures of your sacrifice, Gillian. You might find you enjoy it more than you think.”

  “I’ll try,” she said, though she knew she wouldn’t. She had no defense against the power and magic the vampire demigod had over her body, but she would not betray Rhys in her mind.

  She gazed at her own reflection in the mirror, and was glad she barely recognized herself. Her eyes were heavily made-up, dark and sultry with kohl and black liner in the style of the ancients. Her lips were painted bloodred, her complexion pale as snow against them. Her hair had been piled in a froth of curls on her head…presumably to keep it off her neck.

  Oh, God.

  She reached for the goblet again, then pulled back her hand. Lord. One more sip of wine and she’d probably keel over.

  Not necessarily a bad thing.

  But just delaying the inevitable.

  Because no matter how much she rebelled against the idea, this was really happening. To her.

  Tonight.

  Oh, God.

  Where was Rhys when she needed him?

  As at the welcome feast, Gillian was accompanied by Nephtys and the two shemats as she was walked with slow, measured steps to the middle of the hypostyle festival hall. There she was greeted by the immortals of Khepesh with raucous cheers and showers of scarlet flower petals shaped like droplets of blood. The men were bare-chested, wearing only black Bedouin trousers, with chilling black masks painted around their eyes. The women all wore sleeveless, pleated gowns of silver that turned nearly transparent when the torchlight hit them just right, and elaborate jewelry of the finest gems. Like hers, their eyes were also made-up with black liner and kohl, each woman more beautiful than Cleopatra herself.