Imhotep's mouth bled from where the Med-Jai had severed his tongue, but it was not his tongue he concerned himself with. Where was Anck-su-Namun? What was to become of him? His eyes traveled around in the cavernous room, seeing the silent monks wrapped in their own death linens. He drew strength from their silence, for they had suffered and sacrificed their lives for their priest's love. Already, the first monks were being placed into the sarcophagi, the sacred runes and protective spells upon their shells scratched out. Imhotep shut his eyes to the pain. Iymeru, Imhad, Kamet, Udo, Amosis-ankh. They would all die unblessed, because of him, his love for a woman he could not touch. Their journey to the Underworld will be uncertain. He imagined Seti staring down his beard at the former high priest.

"You shall be cast into the deepest parts of the world for your treachery. Your cartouche will be striken down for all eternity, you will no longer exist." Seti's deep eyes, full of hatred and twisted mirth, seemed to flash. "She was mine – never yours to have. Mine to bed, mine to touch, mine to have."

Imhotep shook his head as best he could, willing Seti's shadow far away. What had he done to deserve this? He threw his life away as a high priest of the Pharaoh's court. The Hom-Dai was his fate, to be neither living nor dead. Already, he hears the high-pitched scrabbling and screeching of the scarab beetles. The linens he was wrapped in smelled comfortingly of the lotus leaves. Anck-su-Namun. His eyes lowered, admitting defeat in the world of the living as he was lowered into his own sarcophagus. The chittering the scarab beetles grew louder as a wave of them hit the stone sarcophagus and his own flesh. He wanted to share his anguish with someone, but his missing tongue would not allow it.

All for love, all for love.

Anck-su-Namun's cooling body was sprawled upon the marble steps of the once-Pharaoh's chambers, her mortal, selfish blood intermingling with that of the Pharaohs's own godly blood. The golden body paint seemed to make her body glow in the low light, her body smelling of lotus blooms. The Med-Jai gently carry their Pharaoh's body to its resting place across the Nile, leaving Anck-su-Namun still seeping blood, golden and so beautiful upon the steps.

Ankhwa, still considered to be too young of a Med-Jai, stares at the concubine's body, fascinated with her curves, puzzling over the torn expression on her face. She killed the Pharaoh, she would suffer even in the afterlife. She would not be blessed, buried without the blessings of a safe passage in the Underworld, in the desert, unmarked and lost for eternity. But why kill her savior, protector, and Pharaoh? Ankhwa lowered his scimitar. What drove her to such ends? Ankhwa shook his head. Whatever her reason, she is destined to an uncertain afterlife, as was her lover. Any greater Med-Jai would have spat upon her body, but Ankhwa did not understand why the Med-Jai were sent to protect such a vile Pharaoh, but it was his duty, he has dedicated his life to defend the ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt. There was no room for love, only a harmless concubine. He sighed, wishing it had ended differently. He glanced down at the two pools of blood, one bright red, the other dark crimson.

The young Med-Jai straightened up again, sheathing his scimitar. As he turned, the dark marks upon his forehead and cheeks were wet with tears. His eyes hardened.

This could never be allowed to happen again.