Disclaimer: I do not own Escaflowne.
The laughter was welcomed in the chamber. After all, when a room has been so long without cheer it becomes stark and closed to those who enter. But now the room was open and a place of beauty, like all the lavish spaces of the palace.
However, Sitiah's dressing room was a mass of colorful silk confusion. Gowns, sheaths, cloaks, and wraps of every fabric lay draped over the couches, benches, and stools like wilting flowers. Some held memories of banquets and audiences with court officials, while others were new and waiting to be infused with a queen's personal reflection. Chests of ebony, sandalwood, gold, silver, electrum, and other precious woods and metals were scattered upon the floor weighted with jewelry and trinkets. The containers themselves were worth small fortunes, and immensely more because of what they held. Smaller boxes of the same kind of wealth sat on the furniture that was left unveiled by the queen's clothing. The chamber was almost blinding with its vast shimmer of insurmountable riches.
"You really haven't changed then, you're still a brat, your majesty," Isadora grinned playfully as she folded another wrap over her arm. Sitiah shot her a smirk, and then raised her chin haughtily.
"Perhaps, but I'm a queen now, not a princess," She remarked holding up yet another shawl, this one of transparent ruby.
"Which makes you all the more dangerous!" The Prophetess reminded her in a lighthearted tone. Sitiah laughed richly, her voice resounding against the walls.
"Mmm," She hummed with a devious smile, "What would a woman be without that element?"
"Boring." Miles commented from his place in the opening between bedchamber, and dressing room. He leaned his back against a side frame of the entryway, his arms folded over his belly watching the two with a lazy smile.
"Such a smart young man, it's a wonder he's not bedding with some pretty servant girl," Sitiah purred, smiling secretively over her shoulder at the guard. She turned back to the task at hand and picked up another linen from the trunk she kneeled in front of. Picturing the rosy color springing to her handmaiden's cheeks broadened her wicked smile.
"Hmph," He snorted rolling his eyes with a shake of his head, "There's hardly time, majesty. What with keeping you and your Prophetess from running head long into a den of assassins." He knew she was teasing him, as well as returning the favor for Isadora's jokes.
Her eyes trained on his face again, her eyebrows winging upward she wondered, "Are you implying that Isadora and I are reckless, Miles?"
"I'd hardly go running head long into anything!" Isadora cried in disgust, frowning at him indignantly.
Miles laughed at the look and nodded, "Indeed, my lady, I'm saying exactly that!" His even white teeth flashed perfectly with youthful arrogance.
Sitiah gasped in fake shock, "By Set! You impertinent boy!" She looked away from him in exasperation. With queenly seriousness she said, "You'll be executed at the next sunrise."
"I'll have a scribe commit it to a scroll, my queen." Isadora smiled smugly at him.
"You're not serious, Sister!" Ptolemy's dark eyes were wide with horror.
Miles suddenly stood at attention in the presence of the *Horus-in-the-Nest. The boy's mannered, almost girlish voice had startled the three. Isadora was standing with her mouth open in surprise. Sitiah had risen to her feet and faced the prince and his small entourage, all hint of softness gone from her features. She narrowed her eyes studying him closely; she'd seen little of him since his birth.
He was an insufferable child to her. A boy of ten years with liquid brown eyes, a small nose, almost full lips a ruddy pink in color, and unpronounced jaw. He was short for his age, but had a sturdy frame. He was slim, what was left of his baby fat made him seem healthy enough. His skin almost gave him the appearance of a native of The Two Lands. But, he had too many Greek characteristics. His eyes reminded the queen of her father. But she refused to let that become a weakness; she could not grow attached to this half-brother. She quickly reminded herself that this boy could very well become a bitter enemy, a rival for the leadership of Egypt.
"Prince Ptolemy," Sitiah finally acknowledged him tonelessly, inclining her head only slightly.
"Greetings, my sister, Queen Sitiah, beloved of Isis," He bowed formally to her. The maids and guard at his side made obeisance to her, as protocol demanded. He looked up at her nervously, and started uncertainly, "I'm pleased to-"
The queen interrupted tersely, "You have accompanied the prince, leave." She watched impassively as Ptolemy swallowed his eyes flitting to his nursemaid and then lingered on his bodyguard. The old nurse glanced at him meaningfully after having bowed down again. The woman left, but the soldier at his side hesitated.
"Your majesty," He went down on his knees again giving the traditional bow, and then got to his feet, "Please, permit me to stay. I mean no offense, but for security-"
"Indeed you have given offense to your queen," Sitiah snapped, her eyes narrowing, she went on in an even tone, "But I shall allow you to stay. Question me again and my own guards will drag you out and have you punished on the training grounds." Isadora flinched suddenly.
Oh no! Van! It's a half hour after noon! She stiffened, and fretfully looked at the queen. She knew she could not leave the woman at such an important meeting. Luckily she had told Sitiah, and the queen had noticed her distress.
"Send for wine and fruit, Isadora." Sitiah ordered quietly. As Isadora bowed on the floor, the queen glanced down at her quickly. Understanding the silent message, the handmaiden rose and after nodding at Ptolemy, took her leave. The boy took note of how the Prophetess did not give him the proper respect, and frowned. Sitiah's lips twitched, threatening to spread into a gloating smile, but she restrained herself. The lack of respect her servants paid the young prince was of course on purpose. It was the queen's intention to prove her superiority, the place she held above him. She wanted the boy to know that whether he was king or not it was she that held the authority.
Isadora, outside the room, sent a woman for the food and wine the queen had requested. She sent another servant to fetch her scribe. When he arrived and had bowed to her she quickly dictated a message to the Fanelian Prince to inform him that she would be late to meet him and that she was sorry.
Sorry? Am I really sorry I'm not following his orders? She stopped speaking, brooding with a frown. But I did want to see him… I still want to ask him how it is he knows me… Not that I really care, it's probably some nonsense he spurts to all the women to get them into his bed! Royal men are all the same! Gods, he is scum!
"Shall that be all?" Nefer asked unassumingly, looking up from the palette on his knee. She started at his voice her eyes falling on his folded figure on the floor. The beauty of her eyes, like the green of palm leaves, astonished him so that he dropped his brush to the floor. He flushed and picked it up briskly, reprimanding himself sternly. Scribes were to be unobtrusive, quiet and proper in all respects.
"Yes," Isadora nodded, not noting the man's sudden clumsiness, "I'm sorry." She was herself feeling like a fool for letting her mind slip. But in those days it was unnervingly easy to let her thoughts wander to the Prince, speculating about his own mind. The scribe placed her titles at the bottom and looked up at her.
She smiled at him, "That is all, thank you, Nefer." He gathered his things and got to his feet.
He bowed, "It's always an honor, Lady Isadora." He returned the smile. She gave a dismissive nod, and he was off to find a courier. She stood for a moment, just enjoying the silence, then turned back to the room and entered quietly.
"Damn!" Dilandau screamed for about the fiftieth time that morning. The cut on his arm gushed with life fluid again and he clenched his teeth closing his eyes with a curious pleasure. Chesta cringed looking away as he rubbed the arm at his side with a nervous motion. He hated when his general took it upon himself to injure his own body. Dilandau's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the slit he'd made in his lower bicep.
Folken had made it through the battle, a most unfortunate blow to the young Albatou's ambitions. If only he had sent more assassins… Hiring mercenaries in the nearby nations would've been a simple task, and sending them to Alexandria with orders to enter the fray to kill the emperor and his brother, would've been smooth. But the young man had been convinced that the clash would be enough to finish off the Strategos without the added attention.
Damn! He reprimanded himself yet again. I could've taken him down so easily! Him and the god damn puppy! Where's my head? Of course I'd rather cut their throats out myself, but still, I could've done away with them without barely lifting a finger! Damn!
"Not deep enough." He muttered to himself taking the dagger in hand again. Chesta's eyes widened in panic.
"Lord Dilandau- at least Lord Strategos has not come home." The Dragonslayer offered eagerly, hoping to snatch his boss' attention from the task the man had set himself.
The blade hovering over the bloody opening Dilandau looked up sharply, "What?" The young man faltered under his scrutiny avoiding the deep wine-colored eyes.
"W-well- ugh- it's good that Strategos hasn't come back- ugh- isn't it? Cuz- uhhh- well that would be a mark against him. He- hasn't returned- so people might- think that he has improper reasons to stay-" He tried, rather uncertain of his reasons for bringing it up. Dilandau's eyes were narrowing dangerously, as a low growl rumbled in his throat.
His impatience was clear as he threatened, "Chesta, you're not making sense." He sat back in his chair, slumping a bit as he watched the young man with an unflinching gaze. The dagger clattered to the table at his right side as he waited in irritation.
The Dragonslayer swallowed and went on hopefully, "Strategos may not be dead as we had hoped, but he is not here either. Which means you have time to build stronger bonds with your supporters, and perhaps gain more allies. So- it's better that he remains in Alexandria, isn't it? When he's around he's more vigilant- the spies loyal to him are more plentiful. Perhaps it's also a sign that he is still having problems pleasing the citizens. Maybe there is still rebellion." The young man watched as Dilandau's pensive expression darkened. Oh great, I said something wrong again…
"You're half right, Chesta, but still," Dilandau got to his feet and paced toward the window, "Now that Pompey's been defeated it'll be hard to find men that so openly oppose Strategos' growing aspirations. Having him so far away from Fanelia, however, is a stroke of luck for us." He smiled his cunning smile looking out toward the government offices. His soldier sighed with relief from behind him, but he made no indication of having heard. The young captain's eyes snapped with malicious intent one last time before he turned back.
Folding his arms over his chest he glowered and leaned back, "Now that Sitiah's husband has been killed, what step must she take to keep hold of the leadership in Egypt?"
"I imagine she'll have to marry her younger brother, Ptolemy the fourteenth." Miguel replied easily from the leather armchair in front of his commander's desk.
Dilandau nodded absently, "Egyptian tradition. An ingenious way to keep the same bloodline in power. Yes. And Strategos will stay to oversee the crowning… Damn, that's not enough time. He'll be returning within two or three months then." He was fingering the cut on his arm, the blood coloring his fingertips red and seeping beneath his clawed nails.
"That might be, Lord Dilandau, but our informants believe that he will be away for a greater amount of time than one would assume. Indeed, I agree with their hypothesis," Miguel smiled smoothly, his dark eyes shining with hidden knowledge, "After all, Folken Strategos has a new reason to be involved in Egyptian politics." The captain's curiosity finally stirred, he looked directly at the Dragonslayer with smug anticipation.
"Go on." He pressed his fingers into the gap with an eager smile. The blood spurted to the surface so that it began to drip from his arm.
Miguel gave a reverent nod and continued, "Sitiah… seems to have quite a way with words, so I hear. One of our men called her a 'snake charmer' when it comes to persuasion. I guess even Strategos is no match for this queen. It makes sense. Why else would he have delayed so long? I have it on good authority that she will try to convince him to stay some time after Ptolemy's coronation." He watched as his superior's mouth twitched with obvious pleasure. Dilandau's pupils became tiny black beads in oceans of magenta glee. His head fell back as torrents of chilling laughter rang out in the hall.
Perfect! It's just the fuel I need! How exquisitely perfect for me!
"Finally!" He grinned, "Finally, Hell has taken over Heaven, and the world has been tipped upside down! You fool! Oh, Strategos, you wonderful idiot! Ha, ha! You've gone and fallen for a foreign whore! You've set yourself up for this one!" The wine of life from his veins soaked his hand now. Pumped with a wicked energy Dilandau glided from behind the desk toward Chesta. Taking the unnerved boy's face in his hands he told him, "This is exactly what I've been waiting for! Strategos has lost all sense because of a woman! And wait, just wait till the news spreads here! Fanelia will be speechless!" In a trance he took two slow steps away from Chesta, his hands falling from the man's face, leaving behind streaks of red on the white flesh. The two Dragonslayers exchanged glances; it was hardly rare for them to witness their leader in completely maniacal abandon. Neither was about to confess their personal doubts aloud. Instead they remained silent, looking on as Dilandau licked his fingertips, slowly relishing the salty tang. Oh yes. Though, he might not be a legendary prophet, this young man could see the trouble that would come of Folken's 'lapse of sanity'.
That 'snake charmer' will be his downfall, and my ticket to ruling Gaea.
*It's great that so many of you have some knowledge of the story! According to a lot of your reviews, your interest in this story is due to what you've learned! Very stellar! Thanks again for the reviews. It's amazing to get good feedback, and it does a lot to inspire a person. So thank you all so much!
*Horus-in-the-Nest is a term used for the crown princes of Egypt. When a man or woman (remember there is evidence of a few female pharaohs) became king, they became identified with Horus, son of Isis and Osiris, and god of the skies.
*Also, remember I mentioned earlier that pharaoh is actually not the Egyptian term for the king? Pharaoh in fact comes from the bible. Per-aa is the Egyptian name for the king, which means "great house" or "palace".
I've been thinking about updating my Seducing Setesh fiction, which also takes place in Egypt. I thought at first that it might coincide too much w/ this fiction, but the more I look at the ideas I had for the two, the more I think I might've been wrong. Anyway, I'd really appreciate it if those of you who do have an interest in Egyptology factors in this fiction, would take a look at Seducing Setesh and tell me what ya think. It is rated R, and there's a reason for that, so it's not on the main pages. But I'd be so grateful if some of you would check it out and review. It's going to seem like the Cleo story at first, but it honestly takes a different direction. And the characters of Sitiah and Sanura (originally named Sitiah before I started this fiction) are meant to contrast. I'm really hoping that writing for Seducing Setesh will be a positive thing, so please do me a favor and check it out. Thanks again!