The Princess of Prophecy

by Aria Cunningham

  No way that didn't shed blood, that was...

  She turned the corner to Amenmesse's apartments, in such a fury she scarcely noted the two guards stationed outside his door. She threw open the chamber and stormed inside.

  "I cannot watch it any longer, Brother. If Seti holds the Crook and Flail, he will be the ruin of us all."

  She stopped short of his desk. Amenmesse was not alone. His chamber was lit with a score of torches, filling the space with the bright of midday. Beside her brother, hunched over maps of the city, was Chancellor Bay.

  "What are you doing here?" This creature had failed her, and she had the urge to whip her dog.

  Bay grinned, his oily expression one that made her skin crawl. "Princess, I believe I have some information that will please you."

  She turned to Amenmesse, noticing now his eager stance. He gripped the hilt of his sword, the usual indicator that he was ready for action.

  "Go on."

  Bay sang his tale. The duplicity, the unholy crime committed against a Grecian host, theft and flight... it was the biggest display of cowardice Twosret had ever heard. And Seti was sheltering them.

  A hungry grin spread across her face. Seti and the temple. Two powerful birds diminished with one stick.

  "You will be rewarded for this, Bay," she purred. "Well rewarded, indeed."

  Chapter 35

  The Joining of Houses

  PARIS CRACKED OPEN his eyes an hour before dawn, just as the temple came to life. Priests emerged from their quarters and headed to the lake, cleaning themselves with a perfunctory thoroughness. Those early risers spared him a disgruntled look, but said no word as they completed their morning ritual.

  In the courtyard beyond, temple staff led livestock to butcher stations, and the fresh smoke from the cook fires filled the air. It took a moment for Paris to orient himself. The cold stone world of the night before was replaced with the bustling activity of a thriving community, and from the many odd glances in their direction, it was a community that had no place for strangers.

  He shook Helen gently. She slept in the crook of his arm, the top of her head nestled beneath his chin. He was loath to wake her, but they both needed to be alert when the high priest came to 'collect' them. With religious folk, Paris had learned the best practice was to present an impeccable appearance.

  She yawned and stretched her arms like a cat, settling back into his chest with a sigh. "Helen, it's time to wake." He shook her again, and her eyes fluttered open.

  "I thought I dreamt it," her heart filled her eyes as she gazed at him, "but it is done, and you are here. Perhaps this is the dream?" Her generous smile was enough to make him forget his concerns.

  "If this is a dream, then never wake me." Her ruby lips begged to be kissed. If not for the nearby splashing of the priests, he would have obliged. "We are not alone, My Love."

  Helen collected herself with a practiced ease, banishing her feelings behind a mask of aloofness. Accepting his hand up, she dusted off the dirt from her robes and scanned the perimeter, taking note of the pale hint of light on the horizon. "Where is Meryatum?"

  "He awaits you in the temple."

  Paris spun to the new arrival, coming face to face with Penanukis. The second prophet wore his sleepless night on his flesh with sallow cheeks and dark circles about his eyes. "He awaits you both."

  Perhaps it was the way he looked at Helen, as though she were a forbidden treat too sinful to taste, that made Paris step before her, shielding her from the man's view. "Lead on, then."

  Penanukis's mouth twisted with retort, but he refrained, keeping his thoughts to himself. Perhaps he hailed from a noble line, but he was no prince, and Paris towered over the thin man, reminding him of that fact. The priest spun on his heel, walking toward the temple with little of the grace the other pastophoroi effused.

  Paris followed after him, Helen at his side. Penanukis' behavior was surprising for a temple elite. They rarely showed their feelings beyond a smile, practicing simplicity, restraint and self-control in all things. Why he would look at Helen with such gross familiarity was unfathomable, and it put Paris on guard.

  The courtyard before the temple entrance was filled with stolists, the special sect of pastophoroi recognizable by the multicolored band at their waists. Some held trays of food, others bolts of fine linen. Even more stood by with nothing in hand at all. Paris thought he recognized a few from the chorus singers the night before. They waited patiently for the sun to rise and their morning salutations to begin.

  Penanukis stepped between them and the temple doors, beckoning for him and Helen to follow. They did so with haste. Paris had felt more welcome stepping into an enemy camp than he did in that moment. When Penanukis shut the doors behind them, he almost sighed with relief. That was, until he remembered where they were.

  "Meryatum?" Helen called out softly. The priest shushed her, pressing a finger to his lips. He sped past them, and further into the darkened chamber towards the hypostyle hall.

  Unlike the night before, torches burned in their sconces, giving definition to the cavernous rooms. With so many pillars and shadowy alcoves, Paris' skin itched, like a soldier in battle with his back exposed. After his treatment last night, he was not convinced Meryatum and his followers did not mean them harm.

  Helen, however, walked forward with utter confidence. Her plain pastophoroi robes might have been the finest gown in all of Egypt by the way she carried herself, and when she caught sight of Meryatum, she pulled him forward.

  "Be honest with him, Paris," she spoke softly to him, her lips barely moving. "He will treat us fairly, and he will know if you lie."

  His stomach churned at that thought. Trust a zealot? A lifetime of experience had taught him otherwise. But Helen seemed certain...

  The high priest had switched out his ceremonial robes for the archaic white design favored by his brethren. He stood in the center of the pillared hall on the direct axis leading back into the inner sanctum. In his left hand, he clutched his staff, leaning on it heavily as Helen approached him.

  "You are well, Princess?" He dipped his head to her.

  "I am, Your Eminence." Helen lowered herself into a graceful curtsey, showering him with one of her rare, heart-felt smiles. He seemed to brighten with the gesture. "I have seen what I needed to see, and it did not break me."

  "As have I." Meryatum stood tall, his cryptic words laced with a hint of pride, a man of quiet strength and aged wisdom. How like her father he was! He turned from her to her prince.

  Paris approached the priest with far more caution than Helen. He stepped by her side and lowered his gaze, refusing to look Meryatum in the eye. He could not produce the joy Helen effused for this cold man. Clenching his jaw, he chose his next words carefully. "I have seen many things I did not wish to see. Including watching the one I love cross death's door." It took all the restraint in his body not to curse the priest for that bitter moment, and he shook with the effort. "At first, I thought your gamble with her life frivolous, but I understand now why you insisted." He swallowed his anger and retook Helen's hand, the soft touch of her palm both as soothing as it was encouraging.

  "Helen has been chosen by the Gods. They wanted to show me that, so I might know my role in her future and how rare and precious this woman is." He lifted his head, locking eyes with Meryatum, willing the man to know his sincerity. "My eyes are open. I will do everything in my power to keep her safe. On pain of death and loss of all that comes after, this I vow." Had he a blade, he would have sworn in blood. Lacking that, Paris dropped to his knees and bowed his head.

  "Paris?" came Helen's choked reply.

  Had she expected something less? She had told him to tell the truth.

  A soft touch graced his shoulder. It was not Helen's hand, but Meryatum's. "She is chosen by the Gods, Trojan. As are you." He tapped Paris twice with his staff, the heavy centerpiece pressing into his flesh with the anointing. Paris raised his head, surprised to see the priest, one hairless brow arc
hed high, regarding him with a nod of approval. "Rise. We haven't much time." At that last, Meryatum glanced to the clerestory windows and the ever lightening sky beyond.

  "Time?" Helen stepped forward, her heart racing. The single word was the only complete thought she could express after Paris' heartfelt declaration.

  "You are departing Egypt tonight, on the evening tide." Meryatum's announcement came as a surprise to them both. Helen shared a questioning glance with Paris as he rose to his feet.

  "Tonight? But my captain—"

  "Is recovering well and has already been transferred to the ship. Your matron as well, Princess." The high priest sighed, his eyes looking inward. "Egypt must attend to Egypt, now. It is time that we parted paths and your journey continue." He waved someone over from the eaves. "Before you leave, I have one last blessing to impart. Purification was but one step along your path to ma'at. If the two of you wish to be wed, I am prepared to bind you."

  "What?" Paris nearly choked in disbelief, that offer the last thing he expected the High Priest of Re to utter. "But why?" He did not have to wait long to find his answer.

  The queen emerged from the shadows of the temple, her silhouette taking on form as she stepped within the circle of torch light. Her lithe body was draped in the finest linen, a single gold belt beneath her bosom. Across her chest sat a dazzling torque of fine gemstones: lapis-lazuli, malachite, and turquoise, set into a winged solar-disk. Her long neck curved gracefully to the blue crown atop her head, her hair tucked into the rounded cap with a golden uraeus protruding from her brow. Time had done little to diminish the queen's beauty, and his breath caught as it had when he last spied her on his arrival in Heliopolis.

  "Nefertari?"

  "A youthful boy no longer," she stepped before him, a slender hand uplifted to caress his face. "But a man fully grown. A good man." There was a sad reserve to her tone, much like the queen he remembered from the funeral rites of her husband.

  Then she kissed him. It was not a gentle peck on the cheek, but fully lipped, soft and lingering. When she pulled away, there were unshed tears in her eyes. "I wish you happiness, Alexandros, and the love of a woman who appreciates all you have to share."

  He was taken aback, stunned by her heartfelt words. "Thank you."

  She turned to Helen, and the women shared a look of quiet understanding. She bestowed a kiss on the princess as well, pressing her lips to Helen's forehead. "For my Spartan princess, I wish you wisdom." Nefertari unlatched her necklace and placed it on Helen.

  Helen gasped, her fingers trailing over the priceless gift. The metalwork was that of a master, and the detail in the stone was exquisite. The scarab carved from lapis looked ready to crawl away.

  "You have the makings of a Great Wife." Nefertari smiled at her. "But like the morning sun, you haven't blossomed into full power yet. You are like Khepri, our Rising God. And, as certain as the path Re's chariot blazes across the sky, your day to shine will come. You must be prepared." The queen produced the snake-headed bracelet from her pocket and slid it onto Helen's wrist. "Go and embrace all the gifts Isis has blessed you with."

  The bauble raised the hair on Helen's arm, as much for the coolness of the metal as the poison she knew lay inside. She had left it behind when the priests had come to collect her, partially because of the queasy feelings it stirred in her. She accepted it now with gratitude and made a silent vow of her own.

  I will protect him against those who mean him harm. By any means necessary. With Aphrodite's help, they will never see my weapon.

  The high priest cleared his throat, and the queen stepped back. "We have no formal ritual in Egypt for the joining of two houses. Once an agreement is struck between father and future husband, the marriage is cemented when the bride moves into her new home." He turned to Helen. "Since we lack the presence of your father, the consent of this union falls to you. As the Gods bear witness, I bid you both to speak true. Are you prepared to bind yourself to one another in the sacred covenant of matrimony?"

  Helen waited for Zeus to strike her down with a bolt from the sky. She had spoken her vows before. She was terrified that if she spoke them again, the Gods would know her for an imposter. She turned to Paris, her arms trembling, but one sight of her prince, his almond shaped eyes filled with adoration as he gazed at her, and she knew. The Gods did not bear witness on her last union. That travesty of a marriage was a mistake for both her and Menelaus. By leaving she set him free—she set them both free. Paris was her future. He had always been her future.

  "Yes," she spoke deeply, her body igniting with that declaration as she soaked in the sheer joy reflected in Paris' face.

  "Yes." His words tumbled out immediately after hers. "With all my heart, yes."

  The creak of metal pins turning in their joints echoed down the hall as the doors to the temple were pulled open. Music filled the air, the throaty chorus of the morning hymn from a hundred pastophoroi outside the temple. It cascaded from chapel to chapel, bouncing off the rock slabs of the ceiling, reverberating through a hundred pillars, and pulsing over them in an harmonic, roaring wave of sound.

  "Awake, oh Great God, in peace.

  Wake to life, Amun-Re!

  The gods rise early to honor your soul, oh august winged disk shining in the sky!

  You who break the seal in the heavens and spread gold dust over the earth.

  Your eyes spread flame, you light the darkness!

  Wake in beauty, oh radiant visage that knows no anger!

  Wake peacefully, and let us adore you."

  Dust motes danced in the air, glowing orange in the hazy light of the rising sun. The first rays crept over the floor of the entry hall, crawling steadily towards Meryatum and the inner chamber behind him. He raised his arms, staff brandished high, and waved them forward. Paris took Helen's hand, his own trembling slightly, and they knelt before the priest.

  "As Amun-Re begins his journey anew, so do the two of you embark on a new beginning. Speak now your promises to one another so all the Gods can hear."

  Paris' pulse soared, his mind racing to find the words to express what he felt. The most beautiful woman in the world knelt beside him, prepared to bind her life to his. The morning light washed over her, creating a halo around her golden head. Her beauty ran so much deeper than her skin. Helen was honorable, and honest, and good. He gazed into her lovely face, bursting with pride that he had found her. A vision this bright should not be hidden in a dark corner of the world.

  "Helen, Princess of Sparta," his voice rang strong with earnest conviction. "All that I own, all that I am, and all that I ever will be, is yours. I will shelter you, protect you, and defend you. Any who seek to do you harm will die on my blade. You remind me each day of the person I hope I can be. From this day until the end of time, to the Isle of the Blessed and beyond, my heart is yours."

  Helen held on to Paris' hand, his solid frame an anchor in the surging ocean of her heart. Her skin tingled, like it had on that fateful night when she had stood in the temple of Aphrodite. Before her was the man promised to her, and he was everything she dreamed he would be: honorable and brave, compassionate and wise. Above all, he loved her, truly loved her, and not just as some prized possession. Had they only met four weeks prior? She could not imagine her life without him.

  "Paris, Prince of Troy," her heart overflowed with love, and she gazed at her chosen with all of its power, "all that I own, all that I am, and all that I ever will be, is yours. I will defend your honor and good deeds with my dying breath. I will comfort you when you are weary, and care for you when you are sick. In the warmth of my arms, I will banish any memory of neglect and love you as a noble prince deserves." She shook with that promise, its message not lost on her beloved. "From this day until the end of time, I will follow you. To the Isle of the Blessed and beyond, my heart is yours."

  The chorus rang out again, this time without lyric, their voices blending in a cascading flow of notes that rose to the heavens. A shaft of light fell across
the center axis of the hall, striking the crystal centerpiece of Meryatum's staff. It exploded with color, a dazzling prism of light that trickled down on Helen and Paris.

  "Rise and open your arms to one another," the high priest commanded, his powerful voice cresting over all others. "Rise and witness your love before Mut. Embrace and be joined."

  Paris lifted Helen to her feet, kissing her fiercely. She wrapped her arms around his neck, melting into that embrace. Her heart felt so light that had he held her less firm, she was certain she'd float away.

  A loud clap from Meryatum signaled the other priests to enter, and the hall became awash in the swishing white robes of pastophoroi completing their cult duties. Helen ignored them all, pulling back from Paris slightly so she could soak in his radiant smile.

  "My husband," she sighed with heartfelt bliss.

  "My wife," he spoke with the same awed disbelief. A warmth filled her, the like of which she had never felt before. A warmth that settled into her bones and buoyed her heart.

  In that moment, everything was right in the world.

  Meryatum stepped outside the temple, squinting into the brilliant light of the mid-morning sun. Temple staff ran to and fro, diligently fulfilling their duties, not an idle body in sight. Hour priests descended from the astronomy deck, conversing in soft whispers. Their step was unhurried, indicating the Keepers of Time spied nothing unusual in their nightly observations.

  The lower clergy rustled about as well. The temple was a living, thriving community, requiring the support of over 10,000 souls to maintain the grounds. In his tenure as high priest, the functioning of the cult had flowed as steadily as the Nile. There was no task neglected, no ritual unobserved, no matter how small.

  And so, the foreign prince and princess emerging from the temple drew many curious glances, but that was all. The pastophoroi continued with their work on what appeared to be a glorious summer day.