Nuin picked carefully which parts of my backstory he wished to share with Set. He left out such important pieces as “You are Lex’s father,” and “You will be possessed by an evil spirit for the next four thousand years.”
I watched Aset as Nuin spoke, wondering if she was aware of those things . . . if she knew that Nuin’s death was imminent. I made a mental note to ask him later, when we were alone and my fragmented thoughts had settled, along with about a million other questions.
How long must I remain here?
How will I get back?
Why isn’t Nuin telling Heru all of this?
What if I bond with Heru, here and now?
What about bonding withdrawals for me . . . and for Marcus?
Does Nuin have to die? Can’t we stop it, since we know about it?
How do I get rid of this power—Nuin’s sheut?
How do I restore ma’at?
Nuin excused himself as soon as he finished his spotty explanation, claiming he had to check on some “arrangements,” and Set left shortly after. I’d fallen into such a withdrawn, depressed stupor that Aset didn’t last much longer. Wishing to avoid pretty much everyone, I retreated into the curtained-off bedchamber.
My bead-net dress felt too restrictive, only emphasizing the helplessness of my situation. In an act of reckless frustration, I pulled it up over my head and threw it across the room, not caring if threads snapped or beads shattered. Shaking, I crouched in a corner of the room, curled my knees up, and hugged them against my chest. My shoulders shuddered as I cried. I felt so lost . . . so alone.
There was a swish a fabric, then, “I—I am sorry.” It was Heru.
My heart sang at hearing his voice, then clenched as I realized this wasn’t my Heru.
“I checked the At . . . Nuin was supposed to be back here, and . . .”
I turned my tear-streaked face to him. He wouldn’t have been able to see me in the At, not with my out-of-time ba. Just further proof that I didn’t belong here.
“I should go,” he said.
“No.” The word came out without thought as I rose on trembling legs, steadying myself against the wall. “Please, do not leave.”
Heru scanned me from head to toe, then returned his gaze to my face. The kohl that had been so carefully drawn about my eyes was no doubt smeared down my cheeks. For the briefest moment, his eyes again flicked downward, and I became aware that the only thing I had on—the silken linen shift—wasn’t exactly substantial. It was more a slip than a dress.
Covering as much of my torso with my arms as possible, I glanced at the opposite corner of the room, where the discarded remnants of my bead-net dress were scattered in disarray. I wished I hadn’t acted so compulsively. Such rash behavior was uncommon for me, or at least, it had been before I’d met Marcus. Sometimes I wondered if I’d been sleepwalking before, if I hadn’t been truly awake until I met him. Of course, the fault could just as easily lie with manifesting . . .
Heru followed my line of sight, and as he, too, stared at the ruined dress, there was a long moment of silence. “Not having a good day?”
I started laughing, shocking both of us. It wasn’t long before Heru joined me, and all I could do was laugh more and drink in the sight of him. I yearned to sink into his embrace, to feel his powerful arms wrapped around me, to press my ear against his chest and listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
He took several steps closer. “What troubles you, Hat-hur?”
Comforted by his presence and discomfited by his use of the wrong name, I dropped my arms. “Many things.” A sudden curiosity filled me. “How old are you?”
Heru’s sure grin slipped, but he caught it before it disappeared completely. “I will tell you my age if you tell me what has upset you.”
I bit my lip, weighing my options. I picked my words carefully. “I am homesick.”
Heru’s golden irises sparkled with mischief. “I am very old.”
Unable to hold back a small smile, I stepped away from the wall, toward him. “You do not seem very old.” Especially not compared to the Heru I knew so well.
“I am older than I look.”
I tilted my head to the side. “As is the way of our kind.”
“What do you miss the most?”
The question surprised me. “What?”
“From your home—what do you miss the most?”
You. “I guess . . . a friend.” I stopped a few feet away from him and studied his familiar features. “A good friend.”
“Good friends are hard to find, but I think I may know where you can find one here.” His smile, the warmth in his eyes, did much more to melt me than the evening heat.
“Hat-hur?” Denai stepped into the bedchamber. “Golden One, are you—” Her eyes fixed on the tangle of gold thread and turquoise and quartz beads that had once been my dress, and she rounded on Heru. “You! You scoundrel! Hat-hur is not some loose woman, not like Ankhesenpepi, and I will not let you make her into an adulteress!” She lurched toward him. “You—”
“Denai!” I grabbed her arms, holding her away from Heru before she could strike him. I couldn’t believe this was the same meek woman I’d spent so much time with earlier. Not meek, I realized, respectful. “I did it; I ruined the dress,” I told her in a rush. “I was upset. Heru was not here when it happened, I swear.”
Despite my words, the priestess continued to glare at him, her hands curled into tight fists. “Ankhesenpepi has been looking for you,” she told him. “Perhaps you should focus your attentions where they are wanted.”
Wide-eyed, I stared at Heru. The thought of him being with Ankhesenpepi both nauseated me and made my blood boil. But he’s not my Heru, I reminded myself. Not yet . . .
He’s not my Heru . . .
He’s not my Heru . . .
He’s. Not. My. Heru.
Rubbing his temple, Heru bowed his head to each of us in turn, then retreated through the curtain.
Denai turned to me, her livid eyes scanning my face. “You cannot go out to the feast like this, Golden One. Your makeup . . . and your dress.”
A wan laugh escaped from me. “Maybe I can just stay in here?” After all, my appetite was now nonexistent.
“No. This feast is in your honor. Such a thing would be unforgivable.”
“Alright . . .” I sighed and held out my arms. “So what do I do?”
Denai pressed her full lips together and studied my face and body with such scrutiny that I felt naked. “Just leave it to me,” she said. “I can fix this.”
***
As it turned out, Denai was right; she could fix it, or rather, she could fix me. She swapped her linen dress for my shift and quickly refashioned a turquoise, quartz, and gold belt from parts of my ruined bead-net dress. I used a washbowl that had been set on a tiny table against one wall to rinse off my smeared eyeliner, then sat patiently on the floor in the middle of the room while Denai reapplied it with kohl from a jar she found in a small, wooden chest under the table. Kneeling in front of me, Denai wore a look of contented concentration.
“There,” she said, sitting back on her heels. “That is much better.” She rose and held out her hands to pull me up to my feet. “Promise me you won’t destroy this dress as well, Hat-hur . . . at least, not until you acquire a few more garments?”
I laughed softly. “I promise.” After a moment of hesitation, I said, “Denai . . . you know that I am not really the goddess Hat-hur, correct?”
She squeezed my hands. “You are a very powerful Netjer-At. Besides”—she shrugged—“Nuin would only take a Netjer-At who was very special as his wife. This I know.”
“But you do not have to take care of me . . . to serve me,” I persisted.
“You appeared out of thin air in the temple to the goddess Hat-hur, of whom I am currently the head priestess. Perhaps you are the one who is mistaken, and you truly are her. Often we do not know ourselves fully, and must rely on others’ eyes to see who we really are.”
I frowned. “Maybe,” I said, knowing that, despite the wisdom in her words, I was no goddess.
“Come.” She released my hands and headed toward the curtain leading out to the sitting room. “The feast has begun, and you are expected.”
“Wonderful . . .”
Denai glanced back at me as she walked away, her eyebrows raised. She’d definitely heard the sarcasm in my tone, and though she said nothing, I could practically hear her scolding me.
I held up my hands defensively and followed her into the hallway. “I will behave.”
And I did. I acted the part of the joyous and excited new wife perfectly, standing by Nuin’s side when he wasn’t disappearing into other areas of the villa with this human or that Nejeret. I tried to eat, but I still didn’t have much of an appetite, though that didn’t stop Denai and the other priestesses from bringing me food and trying to coax me.
The food, arranged on several rectangular tables that had been set up in the courtyard, was definitely interesting—a vast array of spiced meat, vegetable, and lentil stews, fresh fruits, and breads—as was the drink. There was an extremely yeasty beer that would definitely take some getting used to, and some light, jammy red wine that I rather enjoyed. I had just refilled my carved alabaster cup and settled on a bench built into one of the many recesses in the covered walkways surrounding the courtyard for a moment of peaceful solitude when she found me.
Ankhesenpepi sat beside me, far closer than I was comfortable with. I scooted away a few inches, but she followed. Her talon-like fingers latched onto my forearm, and she invaded my space even further. Leaning away, I tugged against her hold, but her grip was surprisingly strong. She squeezed my arm, digging her nails into my skin.
“Ow . . .” I said. “What—”
“You are nothing,” she hissed. “The female Netjer-Ats have been mine for thousands of years, and they will be mine for thousands more. They will not follow you. They will not even listen to you, I will make sure of it. You will be powerless.”
“I do not desire power,” I said through gritted teeth.
Her eyes narrowed. “You cannot have him, either.”
“Nuin?” I eyed her. “I am his wife. It is done.” Which was true. Throughout most of Egypt’s ancient history, there was no such thing as a marriage ceremony. A man and woman simply moved in together and declared themselves husband and wife, and that was that.
“I do not speak of my father,” she said. “I know that you and Heru were alone in the bedchamber. I see the way he looks at you. You cannot have him. He belongs to me!”
Anger surged, and my eyes narrowed.
He’s not my Heru, I reminded myself. He’s not my Heru . . . he’s not my Heru . . . he’s not my Heru . . .
Fighting back the primal Nejerette need to initiate a second claiming on him was difficult, verging on impossible. I gritted my teeth. “Heru is a grown-up. He can make his own decisions.”
“Stay away from him—and I will know if you do not, even if you are cloaking yourself in the At—or I will tell my father that I walked in on you and Heru lying together as man and wife.” She dug her nails even deeper into my skin, and I felt the warm trickle of blood trail down to my wrist. “Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes.” I jerked my arm out of her grasp, not caring that her nails gouged my skin. It would heal—but if I stayed near her for even a moment longer, it was highly possible I would do something that would cause irreparable damage to the timeline. Like strangle her.
Holding my head high, I stood and walked around the courtyard, sticking to the shadows behind the columns, and retreated into Nuin’s rooms. The space was dark, lit only by the slivers of moonlight shining through the high windows, but I was able to see that a small box had been set on the bed. As I moved closer, I realized it was a cage fashioned from dried reeds tied together with some sort of twine. And inside, there was a tiny, fluffy sleeping kitten.
“Oh . . .” I knelt beside the bed and searched the little cage for some way to open it. A knot had been tied on the top edge, latching the reed door shut.
As I untied the knot, the kitten awoke, affixing its luminous silver-blue eyes on me. It yawned, emitted a high-pitched squeak, and immediately started purring.
“Well hello there, little guy.” There was a tremor in my voice. “How’d you get in here?”
The tiny creature squeaked again when I picked it up and hugged it to my chest. As it snuggled against me, a warm and content little ball of fluff, a bit of the loneliness encasing my heart chipped away.
9
Hold & Withhold
“Ouch!” I yelped, fairly certain that a porcupine was rolling around on my chest. I opened my eyes to find it still dark in the room and the fur ball that had formerly been a sweet little sleepy kitten now enthusiastically tenderizing the flesh just under my collarbone. I smiled and scratched the kitten’s neck. “Not squishy enough for you, hmmm?”
He gazed at me with slitted eyes and purr-squeaked.
A thin leather cord was tied around his neck, and something about the size of a quarter was hanging from the front like a modern pet tag. I raised my head to get a closer look. There wasn’t enough light to discern a color, but I could make out the shape of the object; it was an eye, a Wedjat, specifically, the most common symbol of the mythological version of Heru. “What are you doing with an Eye of Horus amulet, little guy?”
“I believe it was meant to identify the giver of the gift, dear Alexandra.”
I started at the sound of Nuin’s voice. He was standing in the curtained wall, the blue linen pushed to the side as he watched me.
“Sorry, Nuin . . . I didn’t mean to fall asleep on your bed.” And honestly, I didn’t know how I’d fallen asleep. The thin pads set on whatever made up the bedframe didn’t exactly create a cushy mattress by modern standards . . . or by any standards, for that matter. My joints felt stiff and creaky, and a dull ache was throbbing in the base of my skull.
I sat up, shifting the kitten down to my lap. It curled into a ball roughly the size of a softball, let out a heavy sigh, and promptly dozed off. “I just—I didn’t know where else to go.”
Nuin held out his hands, palms up. “My bed is your bed, wife.”
“Right . . . you know this is never going to be that kind of marriage, right?”
Nuin chuckled and entered the room. He sat beside me on the bed and raised his arm, wrapping it around my shoulders and pulling me close. “I have plenty of other wives for that.”
“Is it going to raise any eyebrows if I have my own room?”
After pressing a gentle kiss against my hair, Nuin shook his head. “Such a thing is normal among Nejerets, especially when there are more than two people involved in a union. Otherwise the arrangement can become a bit awkward.”
A weak laugh bubbled in my chest. “I bet.”
He gave my shoulders a squeeze. “We will be leaving in a day or two, and I’ll arrange for you and your priestesses—should they choose to accompany you—to have your own tent, but until then, I would like you to stay with me in these rooms.” When I glanced up at him, he smiled. “For appearances. The closer onlookers believe our union to be, the safer you’ll be.”
Smiling weakly, I nodded. “Whatever you say, oh great and powerful husband.”
“Sarcasm is very unladylike, wife.”
I snorted.
“As is snorting.”
“Look at you, making jokes.” I nudged his side with my elbow. “And here I thought your ability to do that faded ten or twenty thousand years ago . . .” I yawned, making my final few words unintelligible.
Nuin laughed softly.
“Nuin?”
“Hmmm?”
“Why did Heru give me a kitten?”
Nuin took a deep breath and shifted to lie back on the bed. He pulled me down with him, keeping me close against his side. I rested my head on his shoulder and cradled the kitten against my tummy. I may never have had a truly sexual relationship
with Nuin, but I’d always found comfort in his arms. After all, he had been my hidden guardian and best friend for most of my life—my ancient, secret, godlike best friend.
“He came to me this evening, asking what sorts of things bring you happiness,” Nuin said. “When I asked him why he wondered such a thing, he told me of the conversation you two had about missing your home. So, I told him of your love of cats. I believe that’s what motivated him to give you the creature.”
“I don’t know how to be around him,” I said sleepily.
“I know, child.”
“Will it get easier?”
“That I do not know.”
“I think I’ll call him Rus,” I said with another yawn. “Short for Horus.”
“My grandson? He would be very confused if you did.”
“No.” My eyes drooped shut. “The kitten.”
***
I was standing in the bedroom of Marcus’s and my suite in the Council’s Cairo palace. The room had been all but torn apart—the king-sized mattress lay askew against one wall, all the way across the room from the now-crooked bed frame and bronze headboard. Chunks of gold-veined black granite that had once been part of a coffee table littered the polished marble floor, mixed with shards of glass and ceramic in a bevy of colors. And in the center of it all was Marcus.
He was sitting on the floor, leaning back against an overturned armchair, one knee drawn up. His arm rested on his knee, his hand hanging limply. Blood dripped from his fingertips onto the once-pristine ivory marble floor. His white button-down shirt hung open, carmine stains streaking and spotting it here and there, and he was missing one of his loafers.
There was no doubt in my mind that I was in the At, witnessing the result of Marcus’s reaction to what he’d done to me when he’d been under Apep’s control. For someone who was so practiced at being in control, the experience must have been maddening. He would have been aware the whole time, watching—feeling—himself drown me. He likely blamed himself, and I didn’t think self-forgiveness would come easily for him, not for this.
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