No matter how far he roamed from the capital, it seemed Atem's kingly duties were destined to follow. Before the sun even rose on his second day in Memphis, he'd been roused and summoned to the Temple of Sekhmet to preside over an impromptu court session. Apparently, Aknadin's rather intermittent presence over the past two months had led to a backlog of unfinished tasks and problems that needed solving.

Atem and his Guardians spent most of the morning negotiating with an envoy from a neighboring nome, whose nomark was asking for funding to build a new irrigation system ahead of the upcoming peret season. Simple as the solution seemed, Atem found himself a bit lost when it came to the dull and tedious topic of accounting, especially without Shimon's keen eye to guide him. It was nearing noon by the time an agreement was struck, and Atem breathed a sigh of relief as the nomark and his envoy finally left the court hall.

Fearing even the slightest idleness would give rise to another problem, Atem quickly rose up and made for the exit as well, stopping to address his Guardians on the way. "Would any of you happen to know where I could find the queen?" he asked them.

Mahad lowered his head. "I believe she was last seen in the temple pavilion, your highness."

Atem gave an abashed smile — he was completely unfamiliar with the layout of Memphis' largest temple complex, but Satiah likely knew it like the back of her hand. "Right," he said, "and where exactly is that?"

"I believe it's off the northwest wing of the grounds, my king," Aknadin explained. "Would you like me to take you there?"

Atem waved him off. "Thank you, but that won't be necessary," he said. "Please — see that we aren't disturbed until the afternoon."

All three Guardians bowed their understanding, after which Atem set off in search of his wife. He knew from the position of the sun that he was heading in vaguely the right direction, but after walking for what felt like five straight minutes, he seemed no closer to finding anything which resembled a pavilion. Finally, when he was sure he'd passed the same statue for a third time, Atem stopped and looked around for a worker or servant who might be able to help him. He spied a woman bent over weeding a nearby garden bed, and with a clear of his throat, he moved in her direction.

"Excuse me," he started, "would you be so kind as to show me to—"

The woman straightened and turned, and Atem's heart nearly stopped at the sight: Ibi was standing before him, her sandy eyes flown wide. She gasped and dropped her gardening tools, her hands snapping up to cover her mouth.

"Atem," she hissed.

Immediately, Atem cast his eyes around the narrow open-air pathway in which they stood. Thankfully, there were no priests or guards within earshot, though another group of servants was working on a garden bed further down the path. Ibi must have sensed their prying eyes, as she quickly stooped into a low bow, which seemed banal enough a motion for the servants to return to their duties.

"My Pharaoh," Ibi said loudly, her head still angled low. "How can I be of service to you?"

Atem cleared his throat again. "Could I trouble you to show me to the temple pavilion?" he asked.

Ibi straightened, her cheeks looking unusually pallid. "Of course, my king." She motioned with her hand, then led the way through a nearby gate. Atem kept close to her, his heart thumping loudly in his ears as they turned a corner into a covered corridor. A few steps in, Atem looked over his shoulder, then, satisfied they were alone, he addressed Ibi in a whisper.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were in Amarna."

Ibi slowed her pace at this, shooting him an unamused glance. "I was," she said flatly. "Until the master of my house there tried to…take what he hadn't paid for."

Atem felt a lash of guilt in his stomach. "That's awful," he said.

Ibi flickered her eyes briefly in his direction, then slowed her pace a bit. "All for the best, I suppose," she said. "I've been working as a handmaiden to the wife of a local priest for the past month. It's been quite nice, really. Although the pay's not great." She forced a small smile, which Atem returned. "Anyway, once the Conclave heard you were coming to town, they put out a call for extra help at the temple. So, here I am."

Atem hummed a laugh. "What are the chances?"

"Indeed."

A thousand questions were poised on Atem's tongue, but he held them back, seeing in her stiff posture that she was searching for words of her own.

"I was very sorry to hear about your brother and his family," she finally said. "He was always kind to me."

Atem acknowledged her sympathy with a low sound.

"Your father as well," Ibi went on. "He… He was a good king."

Suddenly, Atem reached out and touched her shoulder, causing her to stop and turn to him with a startled look in her eye. "I'm sorry," he said in a low voice. "For … everything that's happened."

Ibi tilted her head, her face beset with almost the exact same look of pity she'd given him on the day she left.

"Why should you be?" she said, reaching out to touch the collar of his cloak. "Look at you now. God among men. Ruler of all Egypt. With an adoring queen by your side."

Ibi looked over her shoulder, and Atem followed her gaze through a nearby egress. There, he glimpsed his wife sitting at a wide table beneath a canopy of multicolored linens, the Codex in one hand, the Tome at her other. Her face twisted up with concentration, and Atem felt himself smiling reflexively.

"She's much more beautiful than you described," Ibi whispered with a smirk.

Atem let slip an unexpected laugh as he recalled the last time he'd spoken with Ibi about his then-future wife. "Stronger too," he said.

At this, Ibi turned back to him, though it took her a long time to meet his gaze. "Do you love her?"

Atem felt a lump forming in his throat as he looked into her doe eyes. It had only been two months since they'd last breathed the same air, and yet it somehow felt like a thousand years had passed. He remembered warmly all the things he'd felt with her then — passion and thrill and the utter effervescence of youthful infatuation. But the memories were dim now — washed and faded in the relentless tide of reality.

"I think so," Atem said at last. He let his gaze drift over to Satiah, watching the rainbow of filtered light play across her features. "Or at least, I'm learning to."

When Atem looked back to Ibi, he was pleasantly surprised to see her smiling. "She will give you many healthy sons."

Atem concealed his trepidation with a huffed laugh. "Perhaps," he said. For some reason, being near Ibi again made him want to confess all his fears and uncertainties about fatherhood. After so much time spent staring down the daunting task before him, Atem had come to realize that there was a very real possibility he might die without an heir. The thought troubled him deeply — not for the sake of any antiquated system of succession, but rather because leaving his wife childless would mean throwing her to the wolves of ambition. Atem knew in his heart Satiah was more than capable of leading the nation, but there were still many in the kingdom who would balk at the idea of a female Pharaoh, and her family's troubled history with the crown would likely only make matters worse for her.

These thoughts soon had his eyes drifting over to the pavilion again, and this time, Satiah was looking back. She seemed bemused for a moment, then offered an encouraging smile. Clearing his throat, Atem glanced at Ibi. "It was wonderful to see you again," he said, trying not to let himself be caught in the sandstorm of her eyes. "I wish you all the best."

Knowing the queen's gaze was on her, Ibi bent into a steep bow. "And to you — my king."

She turned to leave, and it took everything in him not to watch her walking all the way down the veranda. Instead, Atem faced his wife again and swept out onto the shady pavilion, matching her curious smile with his own.

"Who was that?" she pried, leaning back in her chair a bit.

Atem took a deep breath to steady the flutter in his heart. "My guide," he said carefully. It was only half a lie, but it still felt wrong to speak it. "Tell me, did you choose the most remote place in the temple by chance, or were you deliberately trying to fluster me?"

Satiah's smile turned to a wry smirk. "The latter, of course," she replied.

Atem moved to stand over where she sat, lifting a finger to tuck her hair behind her ear. "You succeeded," he said, lowering a kiss to her lips.

Satiah was quick to pull back, and she pivoted to reach across the table instead. "Well then let me ease your troubled mind," she said, taking up a scrap of papyrus and holding it out to him. "Our first completed spell."

Atem felt a tumble in his gut as he accepted the page, his eyes tracing wildly over the glyphs she'd painted out. It took him a moment to translate her ragged shorthand into coherent phrases, and when he did, he could barely hear his thoughts over the thrumming of his heart:

'Brave Horus, god of sky and strife — in your Hand, you wield the blade of righteous victory. Reveal your weapon to us, so that we may use it to strike down the enemies of your people.'

He cast her an anxious look. "And you're sure this is correct?"

She nodded firmly. "The preface says to speak the words over Menkaura's sarcophagus at midnight after the new moon."

"That's the day after tomorrow," he said urgently.

Satiah nodded again.

Atem looked back at the glyphs, reading slower and more deliberately now. "Did it say what to expect?"

"No," Satiah replied, shaking her head. "This is all we have to go on."

Atem carefully placed the papyrus back on the table, then cast his eyes over to the edge of the pavilion. One of the draped linens flew back, revealing a brief glimpse of the Giza plateau. At this angle, Menkaura's pyramid was the only one not visible.

"We should speak with the Guardians," he said, straightening.

Suddenly, Satiah wrapped a hand around his wrist. He looked down, seeing an unusual disquiet in her eyes. "There's something I want to ask you before we do," she said.

Shifting to hold her hand, Atem lowered himself into the chair beside her. "What is it?"

Her brow drew tight as she found his eyes. "I know you've been adamant to take up these duties on your own," she said, "and I thank you for letting me help at all, but…" She paused and squeezed his hand. "I beg you, Atem. Please don't do this alone. Let me be the one to go down into the pyramid with you."

With a heavy sigh, Atem leaned back in his chair and let his gaze drift away. Knowing Satiah as he did, he felt as though he should have seen this coming. But the sudden reappearance of Ibi had left his mind clouded with cautious and tender notions… Notions of love.

When he looked back at his wife, he was surprised to see her eyes had turned round and shining. "I promise I'll be of use," she pleaded, in a voice that was not quite her own. "Now that I have my spirit—"

"Sati…" The diminutive felt true on his tongue, even though it seemed to take both of them by surprise when he spoke it. Clearing his throat, Atem gripped her hand again. "There is no one I would rather have by my side as we face the gods," he said, causing relief to flicker on her face. "But… This is not your burden to bear."

At this, she pulled her hand away. "That nonsense again—?" She stopped herself quickly, her jaw clenching tight. "Atem… If I cannot help shoulder your burdens, then what am I to make of my own purpose? What am I to make of our marriage? Of … of us?"

Atem felt guiltful needles prickling along his skin, causing him to rise up from his chair and brush by Satiah on his way to the edge of the pavilion. He felt her gaze following him, as fiery as the sun that strained through the loose weave of the linens overhead. A moment later, her chair scraped back, and she drew toward him with careful, measured steps. But she stopped and waited patiently, smoldering in silence while Atem traced his eyes along the stark lines of Khufu's pyramids.

"Is this truly what you want?" he asked, half-turning to her.

"Yes."

He turned the rest of the way, and even with the distance she'd left between them, he could feel her eager radiance. "Then I cannot deny it," he said. "We shall make this journey together."

Her lips tugged upward with triumph. "Thank you," she breathed. "You won't regret it."

Atem exhaled long and slow, then held his hand out to her. She took it and stepped up beside him, smiling brighter still as she set her gaze on their prize.

As dusk settled down on the eve of their first descent into the pyramids, Satiah found herself searching for her father. For a newcomer to the sprawling villa complex, this would have been no easy task — but after two decades roaming the rows and alleys, Satiah had learned all of his favorite haunts. He was not in the archive or the study, however, and she knew he would not be welcome in the training grounds any longer, so she returned to the courtyard and turned her eyes to the sky. There, she spotted a puff of white smoke rising over the watchtower in the center of the complex.

Satiah swept over to the base of the tower and looked up with her hands on her hips, catching another billow of smoke traveling on the breeze overhead. With a sigh, she mounted the spiraling stairs and wound her way upward. At the top, beneath the shallow roof of the structure, two guards lay sprawled with their backs to one another — out cold. Rolling her eyes, Satiah moved to one of the roof's supports, where a short ladder led the way further up.

She cleared her throat loudly. Another puff of smoke drifted over the side of the roof, followed soon after by her father's grinning face.

"Oh — hello Sati," he said, drawing on his pipe again. "Nice of you to join me."

Satiah bit on her lip to keep from smiling, then took hold of the ladder and crawled up to the roof. There, her father settled back on a mound of linens and pillows against the far edge, still puffing away on his pipe.

"What on earth are you doing?" Satiah chided.

"What does it look like?" her father replied. Then, holding out the pipe, he said, "Care for a drag?"

"Absolutely not!" she hissed, still fighting a smile. "Put that silly thing out and go fix whatever you did to those guards."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, it's just a basic sleeping spell," he lilted. "They'll wake up in an hour feeling as good as they ever have."

Satiah scoffed, but her father ignored her.

"Come now," he said. "I've been saving these lotus petals for almost a decade. You wouldn't want them to go to waste now, would you?"

He grinned and patted the empty space beside him. Heaving a deep sigh, Satiah resigned herself to her fate and reclined against the pillows, still feigning disappointment. But her father didn't buy it for a moment. He slung his arm around her shoulder and held the pipe in her direction. Reluctantly, Satiah accepted it and took a shallow drag, exhaling the fragrant smoke onto the gentle breeze.

"Now there's something you don't see every day," her father said. "The queen of Egypt, partaking in such shameless indulgences. What would your royal husband think if he could see you now?"

Satiah shot him a look and handed the pipe back. "Hush."

"Yes, m'queen," he quipped, puffing again. He chuckled, casting his eyes out over the western ridge beyond. Satiah, too, let her gaze trace along the jagged range, set aglow with a crown of gold as Ra relinquished his duties to Nut for the evening. Here and there, the darkening horizon was broken with sharp protrusions — the step pyramid of Djoser to the north, the bent pyramid of Sneferu to the south.

Somewhere between the two, Jahar and his followers lay huddled in the city of Natria, a settlement whose entire purpose was to mine natron, a special salt used in the embalming process. The natron miners were hardy folk, and after many generations of prosperity under her father's nomarchy, they would likely be easily swayed to Jahar's cause. Satiah wondered if perhaps they were the reason Aknadin hadn't launched a full-scale onslaught to root out the traitors — the natron miners could very easily strike back by refusing to work, and to disrupt the flow of natron in the region was to doom all of Ineb-Hedj to a plague of rotting bodies for the foreseeable future.

"Have you thought about how you'll approach the situation with Jahar?" Satiah asked. She kept her voice low, even though she knew the guards below would hear nothing in their deep trance.

"I have," her father said, handing the pipe back. "But I swore to keep you out of it. And a promise is a promise, I'm afraid."

Satiah cocked a brow, then took a drag. "How nice of you to start keeping promises," she said, exhaling. She was surprised to find him looking a bit ashamed when she handed him the pipe again. He took it, removing his arm from around her shoulder.

"I admit, I wasn't always the best father to you," he said. "I was tough on you. On both of you."

Satiah nodded lightly. "But you made us strong."

He forced a smile, reaching out to brush her cheek with his thumb. "Of that, there is no doubt," he said.

Satiah closed her fingers around his hand and lowered her head a bit. "Father, there's something I have to tell you," she said, cradling his hand in her lap. When she looked back up, her father already had a knowing glint in his eye.

"You're going with him, aren't you?"

Satiah was too stunned to reply — she released his hand and let her eyes flick back and forth across the wizened lines of his face, trying to find some way to soften this revelation.

But her father simply exhaled a long wisp of smoke and let his gaze drift back to the sky. The last tinge of red had since turned a deep indigo. "As I suspected," he said. Then, with a huff, he added, "The Guardians won't like that one bit."

Surprised again, Satiah found her lips turning up with a smile. "No, I suppose they won't," she agreed.

Her father sniffed loudly, then turned the pipe over to empty the ash on the ground. Smothering the last of the embers with his thumb, he returned the pipe to the pocket of his robe and dropped a hand heavy to Satiah's knee. He looked hard at her then, his dark eyes squinted with a reserved smile. "No matter what happens, my dear," he said, "know that I am proud of you."

Satiah snaked her hands around his arm and pulled herself in against his shoulder. "And I, you, Father."

Together, they watched the stars reveal themselves along the canopy of the sky, framing the last sliver of the moon with glimmering light.

AN: Nothing like gettin' high with your dad, amirite? XD This scene was a little self-indulgent, but I love using Satiah's relationship with her father to lighten a heavy mood. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it too! Looking forward to seeing you again in the next chapter :)