Even back in his own bed in the royal palace at Thebes, Atem had trouble sleeping. His mind raced with thoughts of pale snakes, wheeling stars, and weeping women. When it was quiet, as it was now, his ears would ring with a sound like Satiah's fearful scream upon seeing the broken body of her brother.
Satiah… The daughter of his father's enemy. A once-skilled warrior who'd been stripped of her ka. Now the sole heir to the nomarchy of Ineb-Hedj. And the woman who would soon be his wife. It seemed odd to even say such a thing, when just four days prior, they had been pitted against one another in a fierce and heated battle. More than her sorrow, Atem recalled the look of loathing she had set on him when his father had decreed her forced betrothal. Atem knew next to nothing about the woman, and yet soon he would be expected to share a life with her. Already, the royal servants and priests were planning for the wedding festivities, though Satiah and her father would not arrive for another week or more. Thankfully, the Pharaoh had given them a fortnight to embalm and entomb Metka, and to grieve their fallen kin properly.
Atem stared at the ceiling of his bedchamber, his thoughts drifting to the king. In his heart of hearts, he was angry with his father for setting him on such an uncertain path so abruptly — but Atem had never questioned his father's judgement before. Like Atem, the king was a clever strategist, always thinking ten steps ahead, and he trusted that his father's plan would be the most beneficial for all parties. Still, knowing the wisdom behind it did little to ease Atem's distaste for being used as a pawn in it.
After rolling from side to side for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, Atem finally threw back his covers and stood with a huff. He pulled on a robe, then crept quietly out into the hall beyond.
Torchlight danced upon the cool, shaped stones as he walked deeper into the royal living quarters. He passed his brother's room, from which he could hear Tef's heavy snores and Nebetah & Meriti's whispered sighs. He smiled to himself at the sounds before continuing on, until the hall came to an end at two heavy wooden doors. Looking down, he saw light flickering from the crack between the floor and the door, telling him his father may still be awake. With a deep breath, he pulled on one of the doors' heavy wooden rings, cracking it open far enough for him to peer in.
His father was indeed awake, sitting at a table in the middle of the room reading papyri by candlelight. At the sound of the door opening, the king looked up; his startled expression melted into something more relieved when he set his eyes on Atem.
"Can't sleep?" his father said.
Atem, standing half in and half out of the room, gave a meek shake of his head.
"Come in, my son."
After an uncertain pause, Atem obeyed, closing the door behind him and coming to sit in the seat across from his father. The king scribbled a few notes on the parchment in front of him before setting his brush down and looking up.
"Tell me — what keeps you up this night?" his father asked.
Atem was quiet for a moment, his eyes and thoughts distracted by the way the breeze from the window made the candlelight flicker. "I guess," he started quietly, then louder, "I guess I just don't really understand why."
His father looked expectantly at him, and Atem knew it was because he had phrased his concerns so poorly. But what else could he say? Why should he be expected to forsake the rest of his youth over a blood feud? Why did his father see fit to punish Satiah so harshly for her father's crimes? And why — why didn't he get a say in all this?
But in the end, these thoughts never came to his lips. "Why her?" he pressed. "Why me?"
A smile flickered across his father's face at this, and he took a deep breath. "Did you know that your mother and I had never even met before our wedding night?" he said. Atem raised his eyebrows in surprise. "It's true. You see, at the time Upper and Lower Egypt weren't as united they are today. Lower Egypt, with its access to the lush Nile delta, was better positioned for farming and raising livestock, but they were also less protected from the threat of invaders. Lucky for them, Upper Egypt was known to produce some of the strongest spellcasters in the land. So, my father wisely brokered an agreement with a high-ranking lord of Lower Egypt, asking for his daughter's hand in marriage in exchange for furthering trade and cooperation between the two regions."
Atem pondered his father's words. He knew his mother had come from Lower Egypt, but never the circumstances surrounding her union to the royal family.
"My father was so determined for the marriage to take place that he didn't even tell me of the arrangement until a week beforehand." The king chuckled, and Atem laughed along. "But despite all that, your mother and I built a strong marriage. I grew to love her dearly, and she helped me overcome my many shortcomings, for the sake of you and your brother." He paused and lowered his head to catch Atem's gaze before it drifted away again. "Believe me — I understand that it may feel unfair now. But this is a sacrifice demanded by our royal blood."
Atem's brow furrowed. "Wasn't Tefnak allowed to marry for love?"
His father grinned knowingly. "Come now, Atem," he said. "Do you really think I would have invited the same priest and his daughter to the capital three weeks in a row, unless I had other plans for them?"
Atem's eyes went wide. "You mean—?"
His father laughed and nodded. "I'd been planning for Tefnak to marry Nebetah for months," he said. "But I know your brother — he wouldn't have gone along with it if he suspected it was my idea." His smile fell a bit, and he leaned back. "Unfortunately, such contrived serendipity wasn't an option for you and Satiah. And for that, I sincerely apologize, my son. You deserve better than what I had."
Atem lowered his head, staring at the flickering candle again. "What if she hates me?" he said, his voice surprisingly sharp.
His father's face grew serious, and he nodded lightly. "She may be resentful, for a time," he admitted. "But you must help her see beyond past injustices, and look to the future of her lineage. One day, her children by you will be lords of Ineb-Hedj, and she must take heart in this."
But Atem didn't see how anyone could glean comfort from such a promise. What solace would come from just the hope of future joy, when the present was filled with such sorrow and bitterness? Atem couldn't ever see Satiah coming to forgive him for what his family had done to hers, and he wouldn't blame her if she didn't.
Still, he resolved to give his father's advice a chance. If there was to be any hope for a future with Satiah, Atem would at least have to try. "Will I get to speak with her before we are married?" Atem asked, prompting another chuckle from his father.
"How different you are from your brother," the king said. "Tefnak only wanted to know about the night after the wedding!" Atem flushed at the thought, his father laughing harder now. "Yes, it will be some time before the preparations for the wedding feast are complete. If your betrothed and her father are agreeable to it, you may spend some time alone with her."
Little by little, Atem felt his anxiousness abate, though he still knew the next week would feel like a century. "Thank you, father," he said, standing to leave. The king smiled and nodded, dismissing him and turning back to his work. Atem took a few steps toward the door, but stopped with his hand on the metal ring.
"Was there something else, my son?"
Atem turned back, uncertain whether or not he should speak what was on his mind. "Satiah's ka…" he said at last. "And her father's…"
The king made a low, knowing sound. He reached down and cradled the Millennium Pendant around his neck. "I haven't yet had the heart to offer them up to the Wedju Shrine," he said. "Once I do, they will forever sleep in stone."
Atem felt a deep sorrow in his soul just then. He tried to imagine what life would be like without magic — without the ability to feel and see one's ka at any given moment. It broke his heart.
"Would you like to see them?"
Atem glanced up at his father, who looked deeply solemn as well. Atem nodded, and the king stood, removing the Pendant and coming around his table to the open area near his window. He whispered a few ancient words, and the Pendant began to shine as it had in the temple courtyard four days prior. A moment later, a bright light swallowed the bedchamber, followed by the warm glow of magic.
Before them sat the familiar shapes of Satiah's and Metjen's ka, but Atem instantly knew something was different about them. As the glow from the Pendant subsided, Atem looked closer to see Metjen's Servant had sealed himself completely in his golden sarcophagus, though it was now beset with cracks and marred with scars. Beside him, Satiah's Shieldmaiden was sitting, her proud head hung with grief, her form cradled by strange, sweeping shapes that Atem at first thought might be the remnants of her shield. But upon closer inspection, he realized that it was not shards of metal that surrounded her, but the petals of a beautiful blue lotus. Atem took one step forward, and the Maiden snapped her eyes up, piercing his soul with her fiery gaze. A single tear cut sharply down her cheek, dropping from the corner of her jaw to land on the lotus petal before her.
After a week of grieving, Satiah had no more tears left to cry. She watched, dry-eyed, from the shadows as her brother was embalmed, his soulless husk anointed with sweet-smelling oils and incense before being wrapped carefully in the finest linens in all of Menefer. In a few day's time, he would be carried in a holy procession to the foothills of the mountains above the city and laid to rest among the rest of his departed family. After that, Satiah would board a vessel bound for Thebes, forever leaving behind everyone and everything she held dear.
The topic of her departure had been seldom brought up between Satiah and her father since the royals had left. Every time she made mention of it, her father changed the subject, or simply ignored her outright. For a while, Satiah attributed it to the grief, but now she wondered if something more serious was going on underneath the surface. He seemed distracted, preoccupied by everything and nothing at the same time. Even now, as his son was being wrapped, Metjen was sitting against the wall of the embalming chamber, staring at his feet.
Satiah moved out of the shadows and came to stand beside the slab on which Metka now rested. One of the two embalmers turned and gave a somber smile as he worked, wrapping a strip of cloth around one of Metka's legs. "Do you wish to leave a message to your loved one within the linens?" he asked, pausing his work to retrieve an ink brush from the tray of tools beside him. Satiah nodded, taking the brush and moving to the other side of the slab so she could write on the linens wrapped over his heart. She paused, hovering her hand over the wrappings, then drew: "Wait for me in the field of reeds."
Satiah placed the brush down, then reached up and unhooked the pendant she wore around her neck — a blue lotus, carved and painted on bronze, given to her by her brother on her sixteenth birthday. She ran her finger along it, then tucked it gently behind the wrapping she'd written on.
Satiah rested her hand over Metka's heart for a moment, waiting, as if, just maybe, it would begin to beat again. But she felt nothing, and so she coiled her arm back, spinning away to face her father where he sat a few paces behind. Satiah walked toward him and stood over him, her hands curled into fists.
"You haven't written anything on his wrappings," she said. Metjen barely acknowledged her presence, his gaze downcast to where he was fiddling with the edge of his robe. "Father, look at me," she demanded, and he did, flashing his eyes up to her. "Your son may be gone, but I am still here."
"Not for much longer," Metjen whispered.
Satiah's heart felt heavy at the words. It was the first time her father had even acknowledged her departure, let alone expressed any emotion over it. She knelt down beside him, grasping one of his fiddling hands with her own and bringing it to her lap. "Then let us make the most of the time we have left."
"What is there to do?" Metjen said. "I have no power left. No authority. Even now, that High Priest is turning over my office and seizing my documents. Soon I will be banished from my own home."
"You must find new purpose," Satiah pushed. "Father, you must not lose faith. You must not despair. I need you now more than ever."
Metjen looked up and gave a pitying smile. He lifted his free hand and cupped her face, running his thumb across her cheek. "Oh, my sweet daughter," he said. "You have nothing to fear of the future. You will be showered with glory and gifts by your new family. You will never want for anything in this world."
Satiah pulled her hand out of his and backed away from his touch. "I am to be sold to that prince like cattle and you say that I am lucky?"
"You are," he said. "My priests tell me that the boy is quiet and kind — unlike his brutish brother. If you are agreeable to him, he will make you happy."
"Father, are you listening to yourself?" Satiah hissed. "You never once encouraged Metka to be agreeable. You think that just because I am to be married, I must at once forget my heritage and become a slave to these people who killed our kin?" Her father said nothing, but he looked hurt, as if the words had left a scar on his heart. "I will not," Satiah went on. "I am daughter of the nomarch of Ineb-Hedj, and I will be so until the day my flesh returns to the earth."
Satiah stood, staring down at the top of her father's head. She waited, hoping he would meet her eyes again and ask for forgiveness. But instead, he returned to fiddling with the edge of his robe. Satiah spun and took a few steps, then stopped and turned her head over her shoulder.
"Our scouts tell me they saw a man with white hair boarding a ship bound for the capital," she said, and Metjen's head turned up just a bit. "It seems we may once again cross paths with your brave and loyal servant, Bakura."