One corner of that perfect, innocent mouth quirked up. “Yes,” he said. “Yes. But come,” he stood and held a hand out to her. She took it. “I have more to show you.”
He led her to the archway with the two flanking statues, and the maidens moved in behind them. “Anubis and Isis,” he said. “The god of death and the goddess of life. The human Egyptians never truly understood the relationship between the gods.” He glanced at Emma, a good-humored gleam in his eye. “You humans are always getting carried away with deity. So many names, different faces, a god for this and a god for that. Complicated stories, fabricated to give the people something to hold onto and tell their children and use to explain to their politicians why there needs to be a festival every other week.”
Emma sensed Telly behind her before he spoke. “You seem to think you know a lot about the gods, Kahotep.”
The prince turned, meeting Telly’s eyes calmly. “My mother and father were devout, and they came from families who did much to preserve the old mysteries.” If he noticed that he’d slipped up by referring to his father in the past tense, he gave no indication — or maybe he just assumed they would all have found out by now that Khai wasn’t his real father. Kahotep continued.
“They taught me not to get caught up in the fancies of priests and trends in worship. They taught me to speak to the gods directly and learn from their teachings, if I could.”
Telly’s eyes flashed and he crossed his arms over his chest, but Emma recognized the look on his face — he was having some serious thoughts, and trying to disguise them by looking as though he thought Kahotep was an idiot.
“And do the gods speak back to you?” Telly’s blond hair lifted away from his face, and then settled back over his eyes — and Emma knew better than to think it was just the wind.
Kahotep gazed at Telly. “Does it matter?”
He turned away, reaching out to brush his fingers across the human face of the goddess before leading the way through the darkened archway, so he didn’t see the expression of satisfied surprise on Telly’s face.
26
“Did I mention I’m claustrophobic?”
Emma’s voice echoed off the dry passageway walls. Her shuffling footsteps were the loudest — everybody else could see in the dark and see where they were going, which was why none of them had any problem with enclosed spaces.
Fern tried to flood her with waves of comfort and warm, fuzzy, safe feelings — and it didn’t work.
They’d been walking a few minutes when Kahotep said, “Wait,” and Emma heard rustling sounds before he called out a warning for everyone to close their eyes. A match was struck; when Emma opened her eyes, Kahotep was illuminated before her by a small, pungent torch he’d rummaged from somewhere.
“Better?”
Emma nodded and they continued. After a while, she asked Kahotep for the torch. The walls were covered with intricate hieroglyphics and stunning paintings of gods and goddesses, their colors still vibrant.
“Can I hear running water?” Emma raised an eyebrow at Kahotep when he looked over his shoulder.
“It’s the springs. Their course rises to meet the earth not far from here, and that is where my ancestors built the center of this temple. We are not descending into the earth,” he added, pitching his voice louder for the others to hear, “If that was of any concern to you. The entire temple is above ground.”
Emma sensed more than heard Telly murmuring behind her, and Fern’s mind brushed against hers, spiky with worry.
What if it’s a trap?
Emma glanced back, caught the gleam of Fern’s black eye. Then I trust you all to get me out of it. She turned her attention back to the painted walls. Besides, what could he stand to gain? Do you really think he’s working for Khai’s best interests? I don’t.
Fern mentally prodded her. You don’t know him. We know plenty about him, but we can’t predict him.
“Emma,” Kahotep called out of the darkness ahead. “Bring the torch here, I think you’ll like this. It is — how do you say — nifty?”
Emma suppressed laughter and lifted the torch higher, peering down the passageway. Kahotep was waiting for her, one hand on the wall.
“What do you mean, nifty?” She asked as the torch illuminated Kahotep’s bronzed, coffee-colored skin, turning his eyes to deep black pools. He held his hand out to her.
“Let me show you.”
She put her hand in his, and Fern’s cry came too late; Kahotep dragged her forward, shoving the stone wall with his other hand, and they disappeared through the gap as it opened and then swung shut behind them.
Emma didn’t think, she just moved, her mind shrieking out to Fern, but there was no reply. She barely took in the sight of the identical stone passageway with its decorated walls as she dropped the torch, the mark on her right hand sizzling to life, and used the momentum of Kahotep’s shoving them through the gap to drag him toward her. She hit him in the solar plexus, mark flaring with white-hot fire — you need to hit your mark on the first attack or you’re dead, no second chance in hand-to-hand with a shapechanger — and he roared, the sound more animal than human, and more surprised than anything else. He staggered back into the wall, releasing her hand.
“Emma,” he wheezed, voice degenerating into a growl, “Don’t —”
She punched him in the face. He howled and scrambled away, and she screamed — despite the mark, punching somebody with all the force she could muster really fucking hurt, and it sent a shockwave of pain and freezing, prickling power up her arm. Emma gasped as the mark opened an echo of the call — Telly’s power mingling with hers and stretching out to collide with Kahotep’s.
The jackal prince whirled to face her, crouching by the torch, flames lighting his eyes like amber lamps — except that it wasn’t the flames, and the color of his skin was bleeding to gold, and his face was lengthening and his bones were shaking.
Emma yanked the cuff of her shorts up and wrapped her fist around the tent-peg dagger, frantically pulling it free as her whole body was drenched in cold magic like ice-water. She dropped into a defensive crouch as white light filled the passageway like lightning, and when it died, a giant golden jackal stood between her and the way out.
Jackals just didn’t come that big. It blinked huge, green-amber eyes and laid its ears flat. Emma suddenly couldn’t breathe; her heart was pounding too fast, body roaring with so much adrenalin her lungs just refused to work.
She sucked in air and started to hyperventilate. “If you kill me, it will be war between you and the jaguars.” Her voice wavered uncontrollably, but hey, who needed dignity when you were begging for your life?
Fern! FERN! Emma choked on the urge to scream his name aloud. Her mind reached and reached and reached, but there was nothing — just a yawning void.
Jackal-Kahotep whined. His head came down between his shoulder blades, ears like two knives, laid straight back. A line of bristling fur stood up along his spine. Those sharp, stark eyes never left her face, yet she still had the impression he was watching the makeshift dagger — watching her right hand, with its hot, coal-bright center — watching and seeing every thing, every quiver of muscle and movement.
“Kahotep, what are you doing?” Emma had learned not to treat a shapechanger in animal form as though it couldn’t understand you. It was an animal, but it could damn well understand you. “They’re going to try to get through, Kahotep, and I don’t know what they’ll do to you. What were you thinking?” He just stared back at her, deep buff-colored chest heaving, eyes riveted to hers. “Damn it, Kahotep, what do you want?”
When he just stood there, Emma actually started to think — to struggle past adrenalin and blinding fear. He didn’t look ready to attack her — he looked scared. His tail was down, head down, ears back instead of facing forward — all defensive postures. He was probably too much of a naturally dominant predator to roll over and show her his belly — but for a prince, and a prince who was damn formidable in jackal-form, the w
ay he held himself now was as close to submissive as he could get.
And what had happened the last time she hit a royal shapechanger with the full force of the mark?
It had been Seshua, and she’d nearly called his beast forth — using the mark had opened a pathway, a line to his power, and it was hers to do with what she willed, which was probably why Kahotep was terrified — because she was. But could she really have called the beast out of his skin? She never could have done so to Seshua — but Seshua was ancient, and Kahotep was not.
She lowered the tent-peg to the ground, slowly, and let it go. Kahotep made a low sound in his throat, and Emma suppressed a flare of fear. Then she took a deep breath and tried to will the mark on her hand to go quiet.
It almost worked. It was still hot, and her fingers tingled, and a line of cold pins-and-needles ran from her pinky to her elbow — but it wasn’t the solid wash of power that came when the mark was fully awakened. The connection to Kahotep’s beast was still there, thrumming in the air between them, like something breathable, but it was settling.
Emma went down on her knees and focused on giving control back to Kahotep — slowly.
His ears came forward. His eyebrows twitched. He sat down on his haunches, the fur along his spine smoothing down — and then he changed, body contorting for an instant before the light of metamorphic magic shot out of his pores and drowned the jackal in its brilliance.
Kahotep hung his human head, half-fall of hair pooling on the ground. He held himself up by his hands, legs tangled beneath him. His body gleamed with sweat, like a perfect sculpture carved of caramel-colored stone, all gold and bronze-brown highlights in the flickering flame of the torch that sat beside him, and Emma was reminded that he’d been wearing clothes when he changed — and those clothes had disintegrated.
He lifted his chin. “What did you do?” His eyes were wet and round, shock etched into the smooth planes of his face.
“I defended myself.” Emma stood, brushing sand from her knees and snatching the tent-peg up. “Why the hell did you bring me here? The others are going to eat you alive when they find us.” She kept her face calm, even though her mind still howled for Fern, and her heart grew unbearably tight in her chest.
Kahotep didn’t look in the least bit worried. He ran a hand through his hair, fingertips brushing over the smoothness of the clean-shaven half of his scalp. His dark eyes stared up at her accusingly.
“We need to talk, alone. The walking god and your jaguars are very protective of you. They would never let us discuss the pledge, and they would never trust me with your safety.”
“Well, how do you expect they’re going to feel about trusting you with my safety now? You’ve kidnapped me! We have to go back out there.” Fern would be out there. Kahotep had done something, some kind of magic that shielded them from the others — it was the only explanation. There had been no ambush waiting for them all in the passageway; he was alive, they were all alive, she had to believe that. She would know if he was dead. Because she’d be dead, too.
Kahotep stood, like all shapechangers, uncaring of his nudity. The worst part was, Emma was getting used to it. “I have not kidnapped you. I wish to speak with you, show you the temple. If Telly and your guards follow the path we were taking, they will eventually find the chamber I intend to take you to — this is just a shortcut. When they find you unharmed, they will know you are safe with me.”
Emma’s breath left her in a rush. “A shortcut? If it’s just a shortcut, then why are you so sure they won’t bust in here in a minute or two?”
Kahotep blinked. The pause was enough to give her the answer. “So,” she snapped. “It’s a magic shortcut. You’re right, that is nifty.”
The prince had the grace to look sheepish, but only for a moment. “It’s what you have to look forward to when you enter Khai’s sanctuary tonight. The palace is full of such bolt-holes, both magical and mundane. It’s not safe, and there, the walls have ears. This is the only place where we can speak freely.”
Damn him, but that made too much sense. “So this is a lesson?”
Kahotep shrugged. “Of sorts. I do not mean to play games with you, but I could think of no other way. I do not trust any place in my kingdom, save for this temple.”
He looked sad and apologetic, and Emma tried to calm herself. He was probably right. Of course, it was a shitty way to earn someone’s trust — especially when it was unnecessary.
“I know about Nathifa.” The words hit the silence like bricks.
Kahotep’s reply, when it came, was little more than a whisper. “What?”
“I mean I really know, not just guessing. She…paid me a visit.”
Kahotep’s whimper of distress was totally unexpected. He closed his eyes, chin trembling. “She tried to kill you, didn’t she?”
Emma’s silence was admission enough. The prince turned away, hands over his face — and presented Emma with a rather confronting view of his sculpted behind. She closed her eyes and tried not to laugh hysterically.
“She helped us, Kahotep. She loves you.”
He half-turned toward her, giving her his striking profile with its clean-shaven half-scalp. “She is gone. I cannot find her, and no-one has seen her since last night. We were supposed to meet.”
“She left so that Khai couldn’t hurt her, use her against you. Khai knows.”
He faced her. “Impossible.”
Emma shook her head. “I know you’ve probably done a bang-up job of hiding it so far, but I swear, he knows, or he suspects. Nathifa knew neither of you could risk that. It’s in your eyes, Kahotep,” she said gently. “When you look at her. When you offered the pledge, I could see you, dying on the inside. Only an idiot would be blind to that.”
Kahotep snarled, but it ended in a sob. “And what of the pledge? This affects your decision, doesn’t it.” His hands formed fists at his sides.
Emma went very still, conscious of the cold steel weight of the tent-peg in her left hand. Kahotep’s control was not so good right now; she so could have picked a better time to bring up the pledge.
“What about you and Nathifa? Don’t you love her?”
The prince’s body went rigid. His face never changed, but the air was suddenly thick with threat. Emma’s stomach turned over. The temperature in the narrow passageway climbed a hefty notch, and the scent of something hot and exotic hit her, like steam and the oily resin-smell of incense burning on hot coals. Heat washed over Emma’s body, hugging her skin, making her pant for air.
Kahotep might seem like a metaphysical lightweight, but he was still a prince among his people. He, too, had power.
“I love her,” he said, musical voice gone deep and smoky. “I love her more than she could ever know. But I am prince, and the only legitimate heir to the throne of Egypt. My love could obliterate the entire jackal kingdom, if I let it stand in the way of what must be done.” His deep voice broke, and he covered his face with his hands again, and whatever leash he’d had on his power snapped.
It smacked into her, a wall of furnace-hot electricity. Her legs turned to jelly and her breath caught in her throat; her vision swam as the blood rushed away from her brain, trying to cool it down, and she had time to be mortified that she was fainting — again! — before she swooned helplessly and black stars swallowed her up.
But she didn’t hit the ground. She blinked, mind reeling at the sensation of closing her eyes and losing seconds, minutes, interminable moments, and then the scent of incense crept up her nose, into her mouth. Kahotep’s face came into focus.
“Emma, thank the gods.” Relief drained the color from his face, turning his complexion to coffee with double cream, eyes stark holes with their black kohl lining. “Forgive me. I am not a pup, to lose control in such a manner. Please —”
“All right, okay, it’s fine.” Emma pushed at his arms, and he set her feet on the ground, but didn’t let her go. “Seriously. I’m good.” She scowled at him until he moved away.
&nb
sp; This was twice she’d fainted in less than twenty-four hours — thank God the men weren’t around, or they’d start thinking she was some delicate Victorian flower. Buy her a fainting couch or something. Start carrying smelling salts.
“You need clothes, and we need to start walking. I want to be at this place you say the others will be as soon as possible.” She hugged herself and looked around the passageway. The torch was dying, making it harder to see. She spotted the remains of Kahotep’s robes and padded over to them. Lifting them, she realized it was a lost cause — the whole pleated skirt, belt, and sash had been reduced to moth-eaten scraps.
“Fine, you go naked. But we’re going.” She grabbed the dying torch and started down the passageway. If Kahotep didn’t want her to get lost, he’d just have to catch up.
He moved up beside her soundlessly. She managed not to jump. The passageway was only just wide enough to accommodate them walking abreast, and Kahotep’s bare arm brushed hers, but she supposed it was better than having him behind her.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said after a while.
“Which question was that? I forget, what with you freaking out on me and all.”
He missed a step, caught himself, and schooled the mortification off his face. “Nathifa and I. What does it change for you? And why?”
She shot him an incredulous look. “It changes everything. You believe that for me to accept the pledge, you’d lose your free will. You’d belong to me. I don’t know if I believe that, I’ve got no clue what the pledge will do if I accept it, but I know you believe it. I can’t accept when for you, it means giving up so much. No,” she cut him off when he would have interrupted her. “I know how you feel, but I don’t come from the same world as you. In my world, it’s not worth it. Not when I don’t even know if the connection to me would truly heal the blood of your people.”
The passageway curved sharply, and Emma felt they must be walking parallel now to the route the others would have taken, if indeed the original passageway had continued straight ahead. So stupid, that they were so close, but she couldn’t reach them — couldn’t reach Fern. It was like an insect in her brain, gnawing away at her, knowing she couldn’t touch his mind.
The Jackal Prince (Caller of the Blood - Book 2) Page 25