by Diana Ballew
Moving to the table, he took up the wine and drained the cup.
“Kheper?”
Silently, he refilled the cup and turned to her, but she shook her head when he held it out for her. He drained the cup himself and all but dropped it to the floor in his haste to touch her again.
Taking her hands, he positioned them around his neck and pressed his body to hers. The tips of her breasts tickled his chest, and he felt her stiffen slightly as his erection slid up her belly. The heat of her smooth skin seemed to make the tip burn all the more.
He gave her a gentle push, then followed her down onto the bedding. Her thighs made a place for him, and he sank into the haven they provided. He kissed her, pouring all of his feelings into her as if it were a promise of forever. And she welcomed him, opening to him.
He could feel her wetness against his abdomen, slick and damp and fragrant. He breathed deeply, savoring her desire. Over the years, most of the women who’d coupled with him had done so out of duty, knowing that he would not and could not take them to wife. But Teti had come willingly. Not out of duty. She wanted him as no other had. That made him feel powerful and strong, and he could not hold back the need to join with her.
Lifting himself by his forearms, he slid into her with a long smooth plunge, all the while keeping his mouth sealed to hers so he could swallow any cry of protest.
Her eyes were scrunched closed, and she held her breath.
“Wait,” he murmured as he released her lips. “In a few moments it will be better, I promise you.”
He throbbed inside her, his body desperate for the completion that loomed so close. But he was no untried boy; he could calm himself if he chose.
Ever so gently, he angled more deeply, testing her response.
“Oh!” she cried, lifting her legs to wrap tightly about him. “Kheper, what have you done to me?”
Then he felt it; her body arched, and her slippery passage gripped him rhythmically as she tried to drag him closer. Her nails scored his buttocks almost savagely and for an eternal instant he hung upon the precipice as she clung to him before his whole body shuddered, and he burst forth, shooting his seed into her with a ferocity that stunned him. Heat flowed over his skin … then a chill that raised a rash of goose bumps across his back … and every muscle, every sinew, throbbed and quivered. The climax seemed endless and when it finally ebbed, it left him limp as a newborn.
When his heartbeat slowed he made a vow to himself: whatever it took, he would keep her with him.
Chapter 18
The dark-skinned guards flanking Khay were two of the largest men Tetisheri had ever seen. It broke her heart to see her brother bound so. Fading yellow bruises peppered his chest and back, and his feet were covered in lacerations.
When he turned to face her as she passed, she gasped. His left eye was half-closed and blackened. It took every ounce of will for her not to leap forward and push the nearest guard away from him. Instead she tightened her grip on Kheper’s hand and tried to still the shiver that coursed down her spine. Coming from Abydos, a city sacred to Osiris, she had been taught to give obeisance to him, but today her fervent prayers were directed solely at another god. Apart from Pharaoh, the god-king yet to enter the chamber, it appeared her brother’s only hope lay with Thoth.
“I told you to go home,” Khay croaked through cracked lips.
“I can’t leave you,” she whispered. One of the guards glanced her way with a murderous expression, then gave Khay a sharp tug. Her indrawn breath made the guard’s mouth lift in a malicious smile. Again a shiver flowed over her. She looked up at Kheper but she knew he could do nothing.
The delegation from Nubia entered the chamber in a solemn procession. All she heard as they took their places was the swish and scrape of their sandals on the stones of the floor. The ambassador appeared to be a severe man who frowned fiercely as he studied her brother. The prince, a slimmer, much younger version of Nu-Tete, looked almost excited as his wide eyes flicked about the room, taking everything in. Tetisheri wondered whether this was his first formal occasion as prince regent.
Next to enter were the priests. Several wore the ceremonial masks of the various gods. The ibis-headed god, Thoth, stood behind Pharaoh’s chair, symbolizing the support the god would give to Pharaoh as he listened to the evidence. Ma’at, the goddess of justice and order, stood alongside.
All movement and sound ceased and for several moments Tetisheri felt the growing tension as the assembly awaited Pharaoh. Iset stood to one side, surrounded by priests of Amun. As far as Tetisheri could tell, Iset was studiously avoiding acknowledging her. And not once did her former mistress lift her gaze toward Khay. Guilt, perhaps?
From behind the gilt screen, Vizier Rekhmire stepped onto the dais to reverently recite the five names of Pharaoh Tuthmosis: “Lasting in the manifestation of Re; Thoth is born, beautiful of forms; Mighty Bull, arising in Thebes; Enduring in Kingship like Re in Heaven; Powerful of strength, holy of diadems.”
As Pharaoh emerged in his full regalia, Tetisheri quivered and fell to her knees, as did every other person in the massive chamber. The man-god’s bearing and majesty, so regal and forbidding, took her breath away.
Menkhepere barely heard as his vizier recited his many names and the traditional welcome. As his eyes discreetly scanned the assembly he felt a sudden stab to his heart. An apparition had appeared, and he almost swayed with light-headedness. Reaching out a hand, he gripped the carved lion that adorned the arm of his royal chair. Rekhmire droned on, explaining the proceedings, but Menkhepere heard not a single word. His head buzzed. Blinking, he expected the apparition who clutched his third son’s hand with apparent desperation to disappear, but she did not.
He feared to look away lest she fade from his sight, but she remained real and solid. He could feel his pulse beginning to thrum violently in his veins. His Alia had returned! She didn’t look at him — instead she seemed to focus upon Rekhmire’s words with fervent concentration. But why was she with Kheper? Another stab, not unlike jealousy, pierced his gut. Surely his eyes deceived him? Perhaps he had finally succumbed to the madness that had threatened him since the day he learned Alia had disappeared.
The solemnity of the occasion did not allow him to interrupt his vizier, though he dearly wished to. He dearly wished to rid the room of every person save his sweet love. But doing so would only confirm his insanity, so he had to sit back and content himself with just watching her while he waited for the opportunity to call her to him.
“… bring forward the accused.” Rekhmire finished, and then turned to him. “Lord, Mighty Pharaoh of Upper and Lower Egypt, this man, known as Khay of Abydos, is charged with the murder of Nu-Tete, Prince Regent of the land of Nubia,” he said, then turned to the guards and nodded.
The guards pushed the prisoner forward, and again Menkhepere felt his heart leap within his breast. Though bruised and scarred, the young man before him was identical to himself at such an age. As he watched the prisoner stumble forward, the girl reached out, and with tears in her eyes, tried to support him.
No longer able to control his impulse, Menkhepere surged from his chair.
“Alia?” he whispered, staring straight at the girl. Yet even as he said her name, he knew that it could not possibly be his lost love. The gods were powerful, but he didn’t think even Amun had such power as to resurrect the dead. The girl before him was like a mirror image, but the logic in his mind told him she was far too young to be his Alia. He shook his head then looked to Rekhmire, who seemed as confounded as he felt himself.
Rekhmire took the lead and strode across the carpeted dais until he stood before Khay and the girl.
“What is your name, girl?”
“My sister bears no responsibility here. She has committed no crime,” Khay said boldly, struggling against the guards’ hold on him.
“Your name, girl!” Rekhmire repeated.
She looked up and as terror filled her eyes, she edged closer to Kheper.
“Do not fear, young woman,” he reassured. Close up, she appeared even more like his Alia — her eyes were that same luminous green that had, many years ago, consumed him with their innocence. He felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest at the memory. “Please, answer my vizier’s question.”
He could see her hesitate before she took half a step forward. Kheper followed and said, “This is Tetisheri, Majesty, the girl I spoke to you about before the last new moon.”
Menkhepere’s eyes flashed to his son’s. “This is the girl you wish to take as great wife?”
“Yes, Mighty Pharaoh.”
Rekhmire leaned toward him and muttered, “Lord, is it possible you fathered children about whom you did not know?”
Of course! It was the only reasonable explanation for the fact that the girl resembled his Alia so closely. And why the young man held such a likeness for not only himself but several of his other sons.
“Your mother … what is her name?” he asked quickly.
“We call her Sara, Majesty,” the girl said in a quiet voice.
He drew his brows together. Sara? No — that cannot be correct. He glanced across at Rekhmire, who gave an almost imperceptible shrug.
She must have changed her name. It is the only answer.
“And your brother, Khay, is it? Were you born together? When were you born?” Even before she responded he knew it had to be true. They were twins. The young man and woman before him were his … he did not doubt it for a moment. He had fathered twins before, by his great wife, and one of his concubines had also borne a pair, though they perished soon after birth. The priests always said it was a sign of his potency as the living god.
The girl’s expression held uncertainty, but his son placed a reassuring hand at her back and with a slight nod, she answered. “Khay is the elder by a few moments. Our adoptive mother, Tiy, said that seventeen floods have come since our birth.”
Adoptive mother? Alia had gone to the afterlife?
Menkhepere quelled his inner panic and took another step toward the girl. “What do you mean by 'adoptive mother'? Where is Sara?”
A shudder coursed through him as her face took on a sadness he feared to see.
“Tiy and Sef cared for us all since our birth. After they died in a fire in our bakery, Khay and I came to Thebes to earn our living.”
“And what of Sara?” he asked, knowing that even if she had passed, he would exhume her body and have the priests embalm her as befitted her station as a princess. He would place her where the royal wives were interred and provide all the comforts she would need in the afterlife until he joined her.
Khay answered. “Sara remains at Abydos … the brewer offered to care for her in return for possession of the bakery.”
A fire caught in the center of Menkhepere’s chest as the implications sank in. She was alive! His Alia was alive! All these years he had feared he’d have to wait until he reached the afterlife to find her. In his heart of hearts, he knew this Sara must be his lost love. And these two were the embodiment of Alia's and his short time together.
Taking Rekhmire aside, he murmured. “Make ready. We go to Abydos on the morrow.”
“But Majesty, what of the trial? The Nubians—”
With a chopping motion, he glared at his vizier for a long, silent minute before glancing across at the waiting Nubian delegation. He read confusion in each of their faces. No matter. This was more important.
“The trial must wait. Tell the Nubians whatever you wish to appease them. The girl and the accused will take us to their former home. I must know if Alia lives.”
“Are you certain of this course, Majesty? We could make ready during the trial and leave immediately after. It will be difficult to ensure your safety against ambush if we leave without careful planning. And the Nubians will have received restitution, thus the southern goldmines will be secured.”
Menkhepere wanted to growl with frustration. Rekhmire, ever the voice of reason, still did not understand how important finding Alia was to him. He never did. If he had, she would have been found, whether she went by her own name or by Sara.
Abydos! So close. The soldiers had searched the town any number of times. He had even gone there himself more than once in the intervening years to celebrate the building and dedication of an extension to the temple of Osiris. Had she been there? In the crowd, watching him? If she had, why didn’t she come to him? He didn’t comprehend it.
He would not find the answers to his questions if he waited until Rekhmire thought it propitious to travel.
“In this I will not be swayed, Rekhmire. We go to Abydos as soon as Re rises. Have the barges readied.”
Marching back across the dais, he again sat on the gilt throne and crossed the crook and flail before his chest.
“This I decree: The trial of Khay of Abydos is delayed.”
Khay’s head shot up, and Menkhepere had to work hard not to smile at the surprised look on the young man’s face. The girl, and his son Kheper, also edged forward, exchanging bewildered glances. To his left, he heard Iset give a muffled shriek.
The Nubian ambassador burst forward, babbling in his native tongue and shaking his ceremonial shield.
Rekhmire immediately stepped between the ambassador and the throne, assuming his most threatening stance. In careful Kushite words, he assured them that they should enjoy the hospitality of Egypt until such a time as Pharaoh deemed the trial would continue. He did not explain further, but motioned for the guards to lead the delegation back to the sumptuous suite they’d been assigned.
With no recourse, they followed. And with the exception of the young prince, each of their faces showed displeasure.
Next, Rekhmire ordered that the nobles who had come to witness the spectacle of the trial should return to their business. There would be no entertainment on this day.
When at last only Tetisheri, Khay, a few high-ranking priests, and the members of the royal family remained, Pharaoh spoke.
“We go to Abydos.” He stood and strode across the dais to face his newfound offspring. “I believe your birth mother was a princess of the Retennu people who disappeared many years ago.”
Tetisheri paled. She looked from Khay to Menkhepere and back again. Her eyes widened as if a puzzle had suddenly unraveled in her mind. Anger filled her eyes and her daggered gaze fixed upon him with a searing hatred.
“It was you!” With clenched fists she stepped boldly forward until she almost brushed his body. “I don’t care if you are Pharaoh … I always wanted to know who could be so cruel … to beat her so … torture her and rape her and abandon her to die at Sobek’s feet! It was your fault she cannot speak and her mind is empty! It was you!”
The vizier all but leapt at the girl, but Menkhepere stayed him with a swift motion of his hand. She cannot speak? Her mind empty? Oh, Alia, what horror did my love bring you?
“Let her speak, Rekhmire.”
“But Majesty, the girl would assault your royal person.”
He smiled sadly at his vizier, then gazed down at Tetisheri, so like Alia it almost pained him to see her face. All the lost years. All the loneliness.
“While I did not do as she accuses, the girl has every right to be angry, Rekhmire. The fault is still mine. It appears what we always suspected is true.
“Come,” he said, indicating both Tetisheri and Khay should follow him behind the gilded screen. “There is much we must discuss before we seek your mother.”
“Release him from his bonds,” Rekhmire said to the guards before he cast Khay a warning glance. “He will not flee.”
The soldiers did so, and despite his injuries, Khay stood taller once released. Menkhepere saw a puzzled look pass between brother and sister.
Kheper pushed forward to stand before his father. “I should know what you speak of, Majesty.”
After considering a moment, Menkhepere nodded. �
��Perhaps it would be best.”
Handing his crook and flail to a nearby priest, he led the way to the ante-chamber behind the audience hall. Seating himself on a chair that sat slightly above the others, he arranged his kilt and waited until a servant removed the twin crowns before indicating that everyone should be seated. Another servant brought wine, though all but Kheper waved it away.
“We believe, if your mother Sara is indeed my lost Alia, that she was kidnapped and tortured by rebels from her homeland who hoped to cripple Egypt by destroying everyone I held dear.” The startled gasps sounded loud within the small chamber. “They also killed my great wife, Neferure, and others of the royal household.”
He turned directly to Tetisheri and gave her the slightest of smiles. “I understand your anger … it is nothing to the anger that I feel — have felt, all these years. I did nothing to harm your mother physically, indeed I loved her beyond reason, but my love for her did make her a target for the rebels. This has always been my greatest regret. I command the greatest kingdom in the world, but I could not protect the two women I cherished most.
“If Alia and Sara are one, then you are a princess and Khay a prince of Egypt.”
“Does that mean I would be free to take Tetisheri as my great wife, Majesty?” Kheper asked his father, though his gaze did not divert from the object of his query.
Steepling his finger, Pharaoh nodded. “As your half-sister, Tetisheri would indeed be worthy of such an honor. However, we must be certain that Sara and Alia are the same woman.
“Prepare, each of you, for the journey to Abydos. We will take the royal barge north when the sun rises. The trial shall await our return. During the journey, I will speak with Khay and hear his story of the death of Nu-Tete.”
Turning to his vizier, he added, “Have Iset readied also. I would have her version of events now she is no longer in the midst of her hysterics.”
Standing, Pharaoh glanced at each in turn. If this girl and her brother were not his offspring, he would trade his eyes for dates. “Go and gather your belongings. We shall travel as swiftly as the gods allow.”