Chapter Six

That afternoon

Isis was glad to be home once again—everything at work that she had tried to put off the day before had come back to her today, and now she couldn't refuse the assignments. She had spent the day organizing three museum tours and checking up on several that were already underway. She was exhausted, not even thinking about Seto until she heard his voice as she passed the library on the way to her room.

"What, not interested today?"

Seto spoke the words almost without thinking. He was quite surprised—and a little offended, for some indiscernible reason—that Isis had walked right by the library without even glancing in. But he shrugged off the inexplicable feeling and smirked as Isis looked at him in puzzlement.

Because Isis was quite confused. Since when does he care if I'm interested…? she questioned in her mind, bewildered. Interested in what, anyway? In what he learned, or in him in general…? Flustered without really knowing why, she tried to force herself to think logically and not over-interpret Seto's question. He's probably just being sarcastic anyway, and now I look stupid, don't I…

An awkward silence passed. Watching Isis stand in the doorway, Seto felt his casual expression slip a notch. Had he offended her? Maybe she didn't really care, or didn't feel like talking to him today, or… Seto's smug look was completely gone now. Self-conscious, he took his gaze off of Isis and looked determinedly back at the scroll. "It's fine if you aren't interested," he muttered. "I… uh… just… never mind."

Seeing his embarrassment, Isis protested, "No, I'm interested! I was just busy worrying about things at work!" Cautiously, she entered the room, half-expecting Seto to have resolved not to tell her anything now.

He hadn't, though. Filled with a strange sense of relief that Isis was interested, he still wanted to talk to her. But she wouldn't get it out of him so easily… He smirked again, looking at Isis out of the corner of his eye. "Oh, so work is more important?"

Momentarily confused by the oxymoron of Seto's words to his expression, Isis then realized that his question was a challenge to a game. A debate. Fine, she would play. Teasingly, she announced, "Of course work is more important! I was organizing a museum exhibit—just like the one I invited you to." She knew Seto would catch the hidden meaning in the statement.

"Just like it, huh?" Seto faked a grimace, deciding to play along with Isis's joke. "Going to ruin some poor fool's life by telling him about his 'past'?"

"Her, actually." Isis spoke casually, keeping her face straight.

"Oh, I see. One of the Pharaoh's wives, perhaps?"

Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh, Isis instructed herself firmly as she said aloud, with a perfectly solemn face, "Well, in fact, she was your wife. I was planning to introduce you two soon."

Isis's deadpan expression threw Seto off. She couldn't really be serious… could she?! It was never possible to be sure with her.

Isis stared back at him as he searched her eyes for a sign of the joke. She watched his eyes widen in disbelief and horror as her serious look did not fade. But seeing his shocked expression, Isis couldn't stop her lips from curling into an unmistakable smirk.

Seto breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. "You weren't serious," he said accusingly.

Isis shook her head. "Of course not!" Seto glared at her, more than a little annoyed at being taken for such a fool.

Isis's eyes were fiercely triumphant as they met Seto's, but then she saw his irritation. She sighed, shook her head admonishingly, and said lightly, "Come now, Seto, must you be such a sore loser?"

Seto's ire did not diminish. "See if I try to tell you anything ever again," he snapped, once again fixing his gaze on Set's journal.

Knowing that she had been dismissed, Isis sighed. Though surprised—hadn't he wanted to speak with her?—and he had started the challenge, not she—she nonetheless stood graciously and began to leave.

Seto peered at Isis's retreating form with some regret. She would just leave like that? Didn't she want to talk to him? And why did he want to talk to her??

Just as she reached the door, he spoke up. "Aren't you even going to protest?"

She turned back to him, obviously surprised. "It's your choice," she replied quietly. "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."

"And what if I do want to tell you?" The question escaped his lips before he could stop it.

Puzzled, Isis looked into Seto's eyes, not sure if he was simply testing her, or if he really did desire to share what he found. His unflinching stare did indeed seem to challenge her to give the "right" answer, but that was only on the surface. Beneath that… beneath that was something more. Something that made Isis's heart skip a beat…

Seto refused to let himself become uncomfortable under Isis's gaze. He wondered what she saw as her eyes searched his, what it was that had made her catch her breath a few seconds ago. "Well?" he asked harshly, shattering the fragile stillness of the moment.

Isis closed her eyes and inclined her head slightly, smiling demurely. "If you want to tell me, I would be very pleased to listen."

"Then why are you leaving?" Would she be angry at the obvious question, or overlook it?

Isis simply shrugged and went to sit on the table. "Who said I was leaving?" She leaned forward, a challenge on her face.

Their eyes met again. Isis could see her own determination to appear in control of the situation reflected back in Seto's expression. They each wanted, in some way, to control the other. How strange, thought Isis. How selfish.

In Isis's eyes, Seto found… alikeness. Similarity between the two of them. It wasn't something he was expecting, so he was momentarily shaken. But he didn't look away. Their gazes were locked in a long moment that was half emotion, half staring contest.

At last, Isis broke the silence. "What did you want to share with me?" she asked softly.

Seto shook himself and finally looked away. He arbitrarily chose something he learned that day. "Kisara will only call Set 'High Priest.' "

"Really? …Well, she's very polite."

"She's used to being respectful. Her parents sold her as a slave when she was a child."

Isis's eyes widened in alarm. "That's horrible! Her own parents sold her?"

"Because she has pale skin and pale hair. It was hardly common at that time, you know."

"Yes, but…" Isis shuddered. "They sold their daughter…"

"Set first found out when the handmaid helping Kisara dress saw old whip scars on her back. Then he rode out to her village—on his 'beautiful black Arab horse,' which he wouldn't shut up about—to see if the villagers could tell him anything. As it turned out, Kisara had had several masters, and all but the most recent had died mysteriously when they mistreated her. Because of the Blue-Eyes, probably."

"She would summon it to protect herself, I suppose," Isis agreed.

"But…" Seto frowned. From what Set had written, Kisara knew nothing of Ka-monsters. And summoning one wasn't something you could do by accident—in most cases, Ka-monsters would only appear if their owner specifically called for them. But it was unlikely that Kisara would have the sense to do such a thing. She didn't seem very clever at protecting herself.

"Yes?"

"It just doesn't seem like her, I guess. To have that much sen… strength. That much aggression. It doesn't fit her character. It's not how I remem…" Seto stopped suddenly.

Isis's eyes widened. "How you remember…?" she breathed.

Seto hadn't meant to say that. He had been trying to ignore the fact that he could actually remember bits and pieces of his past life, especially after he read the journals. Obviously, he was failing. Seto scowled, even more upset to realize that he was trembling slightly.

Isis noticed Seto's frown—he was clearly bothered by having Set's memories. And why not, Isis thought. He feels he has no business remembering these things. They don't matter to him. But he has to deal with them anyway.

"Seto…" she began, but she didn't know what to say. There was probably nothing she could say that could be both fully comforting and fully sincere. After all, her pity was only because she cared that it bothered him—she would have gladly accepted memories of her own past life, a priestess in the Pharaoh's court, had they not eluded her. Slowly, uncertainly, she reached out a comforting hand, but before she could lay it on Seto's shoulder—

"Isis, it's suppertime." Malik. Pulling her hand back quickly, Isis turned to face her younger brother. He continued, "Would you like to join us tonight, Seto?"

Silently, Seto shook his head. He hadn't eaten with the Ishtars since the first night, and tonight especially he wanted to be alone to think.

Malik shrugged and walked away. Isis followed him. As she walked, she looked at the hand that she had reached out with. Was it just the flickering torchlight, or was her hand trembling? She lifted her other hand and compared the two. Yes, the one was trembling. I… I wanted to help him… to comfort him… …to touch him…

Seto sat with his arms crossed, frowning. Isis had been about to touch him—probably just put her hand on his arm or something else that was considered kind and caring. Usually Seto hated that kind of emotional nonsense.

So why was he disappointed when Isis lowered her hand?