The moon had already risen to its peak by the time the king's mourners had boarded the ship back to Thebes. As they set off, Atem followed the pale orb with his eyes, feeling its rays beaming down harshly on his face. He wondered where his father's consciousness might be roaming — if he was currently walking along the sky with Nut, looking down on his own funerary procession — or if he was already wading into A'aru, the field of reeds. Perhaps he had even found Tefnak and Meriti among the water and rushes, ready to take them into his waiting arms. The thought alone was enough to bring tears to Atem's eyes, and he turned his face away from Khonsu's revealing gaze so as not to show the gods his jealousy.
When he did, he caught sight of Satiah walking near the bow of the ship. He could already see the eager anticipation in her form, even just in the simple way she rested her hands on the railing. He wondered when it was he'd become so in tune with her — so aware of all her subtle habits and mannerisms. In the early days of their marriage, there hadn't been much of a spark to speak of between them. Her coldness and his reservations led them both to be reluctant with their affections, but every struggle and obstacle they conquered only seemed to bring them closer together. By day, Satiah inspired him with her spirit and sharp wit — and by night, she calmed him with her quiet words and warm embrace.
As he watched his wife, another form broke into his line of sight — Iset had emerged from the shadows, and her eyes, too, were locked on Satiah as she came to stand beside him.
"Pay no attention to Aknadin's objections," Iset said, her voice barely carrying over the rushing waves below. "It was the right decision to restore her ka. You have granted her deepest desire — which is something so few of us are able to do."
Atem couldn't help but smile at having his judgment validated by arguably the most intuitive member of the royal court. "Will you be able to see her future again when her spirit returns?" he asked.
Iset turned to him at this, offering a serene smile. "Only what her heart wishes to reveal."
Atem looked back to his wife, watching the halo of sparkling moonlight following her as she paced down the side of the ship. Satiah was not often forthcoming about her own desires, but she had worn this wish on her sleeve since the day he met her. He wondered what more he could give her that would ever measure up to this.
Atem felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to look at Iset's serious face. "For what it's worth, my king, I have glimpsed her future through your eyes," she said. "The light has shown me joy — for both of you. But this future is not cast in stone. You must be brave enough to forge it yourself, or it will crumble in your fingers like sand."
Atem's heart leapt. He wanted to press her — to find out more about the future she spoke of. But something in her eyes held him back — as if, just by asking her to speak it aloud, her vision might be forever cast out of his reach.
Iset must have known this too, for she quickly bowed her head and floated away, back into the shadows. When he turned toward the moon again, he met Satiah's eyes, and he found them already glinting with a flicker of bliss.
Satiah stared into the moonsplashed lowland, where the seven Wedju Shrines stood like silent sentries, guarding hundreds upon hundreds of borrowed spirits. She hadn't been back inside one of them since her second day in Thebes, when Atem had called on his mother's ka. Thinking back now, Satiah felt an unexpected knife of guilt at how she'd turned away from the benevolent spirit, who had done nothing but smile and offer up a small token of compassion. The wounds of Metka's death had been so fresh then — and her anger still so raw. Now, she felt almost excited to walk inside the towering hall — to finally be reunited with her spirit after two long months apart.
A moment later, she heard hushed voices approaching, and she turned to see her husband emerging from the palace with a small attendance in tow — her father, Shimon and Seto, whose Millennium Item would be needed to release their imprisoned ka.
Satiah tried to temper the smile that broke unbidden to her face as they approached, but when she saw a similar grin plastered on her father's features, there was no hope of concealing her excitement. They stood beaming at each other for a moment before Atem lifted his arm to her. "Shall we?"
Satiah threaded her hand beneath his arm and turned, still grinning, to descend the steep stairwell nearby. When they leveled off into the lowland, Satiah kept her eyes straight ahead and walked with purpose down the main avenue, feeling almost like she was dragging Atem and the others behind her. Soon, they passed through the first row of pyramids, and Satiah couldn't help but lift her eyes up the towering obelisk over the Shrine designated for the Pharaoh. It truly was immense and beautiful, even if hauntingly so.
Satiah's smile fell slightly as they entered it, her attention drawn instantly to the back of the chamber, where two stone tablets had been erected — one carved with the visage of her father's ka, and the other bearing the image of her Shieldmaiden. Her heart began to beat wildly against her ribcage, like a bird eager to be free. She jolted when Atem released her arm, and she only just realized she'd stopped walking completely, her eyes wide with reverence as she stared across the torchlit Shrine.
With a curt nod, Atem backed away from her, replaced a moment later by the presence of her father. The sight of his smile warmed her fluttering heart again.
"Step forward."
Seto's sharp voice cut across the Shrine, causing Satiah to stand up straight. She squared off against her ka's tablet, then took several long paces toward it, her father doing the same with his. They stopped about halfway across the floor of the Shrine, and out of her periphery, Satiah saw Seto moving to stand on one side of the tablet, with Atem and Shimon coming up on the other.
Seto's Rod glinted as he raised it toward the two tablets. The Item's spherical head began glowing darkly, like a coal being stoked by a sharp breeze. A moment later, two beams of jagged light streaked from the Rod's tip, racing out to strike the stone tablets.
Satiah winced back as the chamber was suddenly swallowed with bright light, but she didn't need her eyes to see what was happening before her. In her heart, she felt it — the warm and familiar glow, the arcane whispers in a language only she could understand. When the light finally dissipated, she looked up to find herself face to face with her spiritual reflection — dark, fierce eyes shaded by the pelt of a lion, cascading down rigid arms bearing battle-worn spear and armor — as well as the impenetrable shield, which had saved her more times than she could count. The spirit smiled proudly as she looked upon her former master, as if she knew exactly why she had been summoned this night.
Beside the Shieldmaiden, her father's ka also stood, but Satiah felt a flicker of worry to see it had completely sealed itself inside its gilded sarcophagus. She looked to her father, finding anxiety painted on his face as well. But a moment later, the cover of the sarcophagus cracked open, swinging outward to reveal the spirit within. Mummified arms unfurled themselves, reaching out to Metjen as if expecting an embrace.
Relief washed over Satiah when she saw her father's face break with a very pleased grin, but their eyes were redirected again by the sound of Seto's voice.
"The ka have accepted their former vessels," he announced. "Prepare yourselves to be re-inhabited."
But he left no time for any preparation. With a sweep of his Rod, Seto sent both ka rushing across the Shrine, and Satiah felt as if her chest had been crushed beneath a wall of stones when her spirit collided with her body. A shock of cold rippled along her flesh, replaced a split second afterward with a burning sensation, as if she'd been struck with a deadly fever. Gritting her teeth, Satiah doubled over and hugged her middle, battling each searing wave of vigor and might and terror and ecstasy. Finally, after an agonizing moment, the sensations narrowed to a pinpoint in her heart, causing her to hiss a sharp cry and crash down to all fours.
"Satiah!"
Gasping for breath, she turned up to see Atem pivoting in her direction. His eyes bore worry, but she waved him off and sat up, quickly looking to her father. He, too, was crouched to one knee, his shoulders pulsing raggedly, as if he'd run a mile in noonday heat. But after a moment, he turned and met her eyes, and she knew that all was as it had been, before all the death and destruction, before the marriage and the uprising — before their spirits had been infected with wrathfulness. Choking a sob, Satiah threw her arms around her father's neck, pressing her cheek into his heaving chest. He held tight to her, and for a moment Satiah felt like she was a child again, her father's embrace filled with all the same pride he'd shown after her ka had manifested for the very first time.
Once again, Seto interrupted the happy moment. "You may now choose whether or not to destroy the tablet which holds your ka," he explained.
Metjen released Satiah and turned to face the priest. "What will happen if we do?"
"You will become the sole possessor of your spirit, and no spellcaster will ever be able to call upon it again," Seto said. "But if you do, you will not be able to send your ka to slumber in stone to recover from injuries sustained in battle. Should you be defeated in a duel, your spirit will be forced to repair itself within the vessel of your body—"
Metjen huffed and forced himself back to his feet. "You need not lecture me on the duties of tending to my spirit," he said contemptuously. "I do not fear the pain of defeat. I will destroy my tablet, so that no man can ever claim my soul for his own."
Seto nodded. "As you wish."
Satiah staggered to her feet and watched as her father held his arm out firmly toward his tablet. At this, the Shrine was filled with the sound of cracking stone, which echoed into a thunderous crash against the close walls and sloped ceiling. Dark fractures spidered out along the surface of the slab, and each chunk came crumbling down, one after another, until there was nothing but a pile of smoking rubble on the floor of the shrine.
Metjen dropped his arm, looking satisfied. He then turned to Satiah, and all other eyes in the chamber fell to her as well. When a moment ago she'd been comforted by the return of her spirit, Satiah now felt incredibly conflicted. She found her eyes drifting to her husband. To his credit, he managed to keep his features free of virtually any emotion — a skill he'd honed quickly since rising to the throne. But still, somewhere between the misty depths of his eyes and the tight line of his lips, Satiah felt the slightest flicker of doubt — a doubt that caused her arm to tremble as she lifted it toward her tablet, her fingers still curled into a loose fist. She stared hard at the strange, featureless etching on the surface of the stone, feeling moments passing like hours as her spirit thrashed fervidly in the pit of her stomach.
Finally, with a hiss of defeat, she dropped her arm, turning her reddened face toward the floor. "I will keep my tablet," she said quietly. When she lifted her head again, she looked not to her father or her tablet, but her husband, whose eyes had gone wide in disbelief. "As Queen of Egypt, it is my duty to use my spirit to protect my people. To that end, my ka will continue to answer the call of those who are most in need."
Atem's chest swelled with a deep breath, and his long, smooth exhale purged the doubt that had crept into his features. But Satiah still felt her own worries prickling along her flesh, which sharpened into nails of shame as she turned toward her father. The joy and pride and delight he'd shown her just moments before were now gone, replaced with cold judgment. He lifted his head up, and the firelight carved betrayal clearly into his features. Without so much as a word, he turned and set off into the night, his shadow clawing its way up the endless wall of stone slabs behind.
Deep into the night, Atem was awoken from a very pleasant dream by the sound and feel of his wife moving beneath the covers beside him. Inhaling deeply, he looked over to see Satiah turning toward him in her sleep, her heavy head nestling into her feather pillow. He smiled instinctively at the sight, which could only be described as captivating — her breaths whispering in and out from between parted lips, her fingers twitching around the sheets tucked up under her chin. A thin river of her hair was splashed across her face, and Atem, unthinking, lifted a hand to brush it away and allow himself a better view of her peaceful features. At this, her lashes fluttered open, her eyes purging of their dreamy glow as they focused on him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't mean to wake you."
In that gracious way of hers, she smiled, and Atem felt a warm glow kindling in his core. His half-asleep mind was suddenly overpowered by impulse, leading him to lean his head forward and catch her lips in a soft, but firm kiss. She faltered a moment, but soon gave in to the affections, her shoulders opening to him.
The impulse seized him further, telling him to deepen this tender moment. Grasping her hand lightly at the palm, he pressed it down into the bed and rose above her, parting his lips to tempt her into him. Distracted by his own desires, he failed to notice the subtle signs of her hesitance — the twinge of her nails on the back of his hand, the slight twist of her head away from him. It wasn't until she reached her free hand up and pushed gently at his chest that Atem finally pulled back, opening his eyes to stare, startled, down at her. Her chest fluttered with ragged breaths, her gaze angled low as if afraid to meet his.
"I'm sorry," he said, releasing her hand and falling back to give her space.
Satiah looked up at him, and he was surprised to see a hint of guilt in her eyes. "No," she hissed. "No, it's not you…"
She exhaled sharply, then rose up onto her elbows, tilting her body back against the headboard. Atem relaxed into a similar position, but in doing so, he lost her eyes again. She stared across the room, out the window and into the perfect circle of the moon. The cold light brought all the shadows of her doubt to the surface, and Atem suddenly remembered how the same brush strokes had painted her earlier in the Wedju Shrine.
Slowly, he lifted his hand and caressed her arm, causing her to bite her lip and lower her head.
"Talk to me," he said.
It was several long moments, but eventually she turned to face him again, the mechanism of thought clearly ticking behind her eyes. "It's just…" She trailed off, her hand rising to rest over his where it lay nestled in the crook of her arm. "Have you ever stopped to think about whether you even want to bring a child into this world?"
Atem fought the astonishment he felt creeping into his features, tempering it with a breath so deep it strained at his lungs. The silence gave him an opportunity to consider her words, which conjured up conflicting feelings of duty and desire yet again. Even before he'd risen to the throne, Atem had assumed his future would one day demand he become a father. But such thoughts had always been lazing in the back of his mind — a whimsical eventuality that would come about when the time was right. Now, with the line of succession whittled away in less than two months' time, he was beginning to feel the pressure from every angle. Though he tried his best to ignore it, Atem often heard whispers at court about a contingency plan should he meet an untimely end — like his father and brother.
"There's no rush," he forced himself to say aloud.
Satiah glanced back at him once again. "Perhaps," she said, and Atem knew just from the tone of her voice that she was privy to the gossip as well. "I just…worry," she went on. "With all this talk of darkness and vengeance… I worry about the kind of world my children would inherit. Is it a world I can be proud of, where they would feel safe? Where they have the freedom to choose their own paths?"
Atem sat up straighter and put his arm around Satiah's shoulders. "We will make it so," he said firmly, turning down to look into her uncertain eyes. "I promise you. We will not stop until we create a future worthy of the generations to come."
Satiah flashed a tortured smile, resting her head on his shoulder and sighing a deep breath across his bare skin. Atem slipped a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face back up. "There's no rush," he repeated, and then he kissed her again — long and slow and sweet.
When she pulled away, her smile was true. "Thank you."
AN: 'Nother quick fluffy chap for ya, but I've got another busy few days ahead of me so wanted to get it out before my time gets sucked up again :) Appreciate those who continue to stick with me on this journey, and I hope you're enjoying it! 3