When Atem awoke the next morning, it was to the harsh rays of Ra's light, already high in the sky. He blinked and covered his eyes, unaccustomed to being so exposed to the sun so early. It was then he remembered that he was still lying on the bench below his window, covered only with a twisted sheet stolen from his bed at some point in the night. As he sat up, casting his face out of reach of the sun, memories from the night before came flooding back. Closing his eyes, he remembered with content the moonlit curves of Ibi's body, rising above him in ecstacy. Briefly, the spread of warmth returned to the pit of his stomach, but when he opened his eyes again, it was gone — just as she was. Instead, a burn of shame came to his cheeks, now forced to face his questionable judgement in the harsh light of day.
As Atem rose and dressed himself, he decided he didn't regret his decision to spend the night with Ibi, but he couldn't fully condone it either. It was true — he wasn't married yet, and there was nothing particularly sordid about the affair. He hadn't paid her; she hadn't extorted him. It was nothing more than a spontaneous fling. Not to mention, it was one that he hadn't even sought out himself. Tefnak, after all, had been the one to send her to his room.
Once decent, Atem left his bedchamber, alternating between cursing and commending his brother. He headed down the hall and out toward the terrace overlooking the gardens, where he usually had breakfast with his family. Sure enough, when he emerged onto the covered balcony, Tefnak was already sitting at the head of the table, grinning like a fool.
Atem tried to conceal his own smile as he took his seat, keeping his eyes locked on the bowl of eggs sitting before him. Tef made a clicking sound with his tongue, taking a roll from the center of the table and tearing it in half.
"You're looking rather … refreshed," he said, taking a bite of the bread.
Atem shot him a look of daggers as he scooped some eggs onto his plate. "And I suppose I should be thanking you for that?"
Tef grinned wider. "Consider it an early wedding gift," he said, mouth half-full. "Don't say I never got you anything, brother."
"You seem to have a habit of getting me things I didn't ask for," Atem shot back, picking up a wooden spoon and stabbing it into his meal.
"Oh, please," Tef scoffed. "I saw you making eyes at her in the temple yesterday. How very blasphemous of you."
Atem must have done a poor job concealing his guilt, because Tef dropped his roll and gave a reproachful look. "I jest!" he said. "These are your last days of freedom, brother. You deserve to enjoy them."
Atem opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by a loud cry from behind him. He turned, just in time to see Meriti's miniature form emerging from the stairway to the garden, his mother in tow. Meriti raised his hands as he rushed toward his uncle, and Atem let out an exaggerated cry as he lifted the boy into his lap.
"Sooprise attack!" Meriti shouted.
"A wise move, little soldier!" Atem said. "You nearly got me."
"You said you'd play with me before breakfast," Meriti whined.
"Did I?" Atem said. "I must have slept in. That just means we'll have to play twice as long after I finish."
Meriti grinned a half-toothed smile and giggled. "That's okay. Papo says I'll have plenty of little cousins to play with soon!"
Atem felt his ears burn as Nebetah and Tef stifled their laughter. Neb ruffled her son's hair, then took him under the arms and lifted him out of Atem's lap. "Come on, monster," she said. "Let your uncle finish his food so he can come and play."
Meriti whined again as his mother took him back into the gardens, and Atem narrowed his eyes at his brother, who was looking ruefully occupied with his food all of a sudden.
"Do me a favor," Atem said, "and don't give me any more gifts."
The humming excitement and activity of the Memphis bazaar gave Satiah a boost of much-needed energy. After spending days sulking in dark chambers and tombs, it felt good to be in the warm embrace of daylight, rubbing shoulders with her people for what would likely be the last time.
In truth, it had taken her handmaiden some time to convince her to come to the market — it hadn't even been a full day since they had laid Metka to rest, and it felt like betrayal for her to enjoy anything so soon after such a somber occasion. Thankfully, Tuya had insisted, reminding Satiah that she still needed to buy wedding gifts for her new family.
Between sampling fresh fruits and running her fingers along the fine silks from the eastern weavers, Satiah almost forgot about the inconvenient reason she'd been dragged out in the first place. It wasn't until Tuya pointed out a trader's stall that the dreaded thought of her wedding returned. It was customary for the bride and groom to provide offerings to the gods before exchanging gifts of their own, but Satiah didn't have the slightest idea as to the inclinations of her betrothed. From what little she'd heard through the whispers at court, the second-born son of Aknamkanon was an exceptionally average young man, if not a bit dull.
Satiah crossed her arms as Tuya shuffled through the trader's wares. "I hear the prince likes games," Tuya said, picking up a beautiful senet board carved from ivory.
"Am I to marry a child?" Satiah felt a pang of guilt when Tuya's face fell. "I'm sorry," Satiah said. "I know you're just trying to help."
Tuya put down the game and laid her hand on Satiah's shoulder. "No offense taken, my lady. I can't imagine how you must be feeling."
Satiah forced a smile. "That's no excuse for my cheek," she said. "I must be unbearable lately."
Tuya took Satiah's hands in hers, stroking them in a motherly fashion. Satiah hated being pitied, but she knew it was coming from a good place.
Satiah was about to suggest returning to the villa when the trader running the stall caught sight of her. He let out an exaggerated gasp, his eyes going wide. "Can this be?" he breathed. "The nomarch's daughter patronizing my very own stall?"
Satiah turned away from Tuya and flexed her jaw, sizing up the man. He was squat and round, dressed in silks much finer than someone of his station should have been able to afford. "Former nomarch's daughter," she corrected.
The trader looked horrified, then bent into a steep bow. "Anubis pity me and my wretched tongue!" he gasped. "I almost forgot. You are betrothed to the prince now, are you not?"
Satiah fought more consternation as she gave a subtle nod.
The trader straightened, his expression shifting once again, this time to one of sympathy. He removed the head cloth he wore, revealing wiry white hairs surrounding a large, shining bald spot on the top of his head. "I was utterly heartbroken to hear about the tragedy that happened at the temple last week," he said, his voice a low whisper now. "Your brother was one of the finest spellcasters of our age. His passing will be mourned for years to come."
Satiah wanted to keep up her facade of impatience, but in truth, she was quite thankful to hear the man's sympathies. High Priest Aknadin had gone to great lengths to quell public unrest following her family's surrender, even going as far as to forbid public memorials or funerary services in her brother's name. It felt good to be reminded that the citizens of Memphis hadn't forgotten her family just yet. "Thank you, shewtey," she said.
The trader replaced his head cloth and gave a light nod. "So — what brings you to browse my wares this eve, my lady?" He pursed his lips. "Or — should I say Princess?"
Satiah flashed her eyes up, fighting a smile. "Lady is more than fine, shewtey," she said. "Though as it happens, I am indeed in search of a wedding gift."
The trader lit up with a grin. "It seems fortune is still in your favor then, my lady," he said. "I have in my possession a selection of goods that are, in my humble opinion, fit for a king!"
Satiah huffed, turning her attention to the shelves of the trader's stall. She ran her fingers along some of his wares: a wide usekh collar strung with gold leaf and rubies; a solid bronze ankh carved with a prayer to Osiris; but eventually, she hummed her disinterest. "My handmaiden tells me the prince is partial to games," she said offhandedly.
The trader pointed to the senet board Tuya had been handling moments before, but Satiah shook her head.
"I'm sure he already has dozens," she said. "I'm looking for something a bit more … unique."
The trader pulled back and stroked his chin a moment. Then, he made a triumphant noise and turned to disappear into the darkness of his stall. Satiah shot Tuya an unamused glance, who giggled into the back of her hand.
The trader reappeared a moment later, bearing a heavy ceramic box carved all over with pin-straight, precise lines of hieroglyphs. He set it down on the counter of his stall with a loud thump. "I do believe this is just what you're looking for, my lady," he said assuredly.
Satiah leaned over and inspected the box. It seemed nothing special at first — until her eyes were drawn to the cover, where, carved deeply into the ceramic, was the cartouche of Ramesses the Great.
Cocking her head, Satiah looked up at the trader. "May I?" she asked.
He swept his hand out and nodded. Carefully, Satiah took the cover in both hands and lifted it away, revealing the contents of the box: dozens of tiny bronze ornaments and baubles, all shimmering together in the light of the sinking sun.
She looked up at the trader. "What is it?"
He smirked. "A puzzle, my lady," he said matter-of-factly. "One that was said to have been designed by the Great King himself."
Satiah replaced the cover and straightened up, clicking her tongue. Puzzles weren't a particularly popular pastime amongst commoners, so she wasn't surprised the trader was trying to foist this artifact off on her. Still, the intricacy of the box and the fine craftsmanship of the pieces had indeed piqued her interest, a fact which appeared not to have escaped the trader, who was rubbing his hands together expectantly.
"And what shape is this puzzle meant to take?" she asked, still trying to feign indifference.
The trader's face fell. "Some say only the Great King himself truly knows," he said with a deep sigh and a shrug of his shoulders. "An effigy for his ka, perhaps — or maybe even his legendary crook and flail, which are said to have been lost for centuries."
Satiah hummed skeptically. "Well I'm afraid I can't place my faith in maybes," she said, crossing her arms. "I can't risk giving my future husband something profane, after all."
She turned to leave, and suddenly the trader lurched forward. "Wait, my lady!" he gasped. Satiah looked at him over her shoulder. "What if I were to … knock a few gold pieces off the price?"
She hid a smile. "I'm listening."
Atem tried to resist the temptation to return to Karnak, but by the time the sun had reached its noontime peak, he was already making his way down the promenade and entering the cool shelter of the prayer hall.
He meandered between the statues for a while, alternating between bowing his head in feigned prayer and craning his neck to look down the aisles for any sign of Ibi. As he searched, he felt a small twist of guilt in his gut, but it was overshadowed by the warm glow of excitement that had plagued him since the night before. It wasn't until Atem passed the statue of Hathor, who glared down at him with a disapproving motherly look, that he finally stopped and felt some sense return to him.
Hathor. The favored goddess of his mother. What would the queen think of him if she could see him now, fawning over a girl like a lost puppy? And merely a week before his own wedding, no less. The thought made him feel suddenly very small, like the lonely and confused child he had been back when his mother had been taken. It pained him to think of kneeling before the gods and binding himself to another human being, without the love and support of his own mother behind him.
"Thinking about your wedding?"
Atem nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound and feel of a whisper floating by his ear. He sidestepped and turned, struck to a standstill by the sight of Ibi standing beside him.
"W-what?" Atem stammered.
She grinned at what must have been a very amusing expression on his face. "Your wedding," she repeated. "Are you thinking about which god you and your wife will kneel before?"
"Oh… Yes," he lied, turning to look back at Hathor again. The mother-goddess seemed somehow even more chagrined than before.
Ibi cocked her head in thought. "Hathor," she said. "The safe choice."
Atem was surprised at first, then charmed by her forwardness. "Oh?" he lilted. "Would you suggest another?"
The captivating smile returned to Ibi's lips, and Atem felt his heart start to flutter up into his throat. "Well, I don't claim to be an expert in your Egyptian gods, but…" She stopped, looking side to side down the aisle of statues. Atem was bemused by the statement, but he was distracted yet again when Ibi suddenly reached out and grabbed his hand. "If I may…"
She tugged him deeper into the shadows of the prayer hall, ducking at least two rows beyond Hathor's. With each step, Atem felt his cheeks grow warmer, his thoughts preoccupied with the soft yet firm grip of her hand. She came to a stop just beyond a large hypostyle pillar, which was hiding a shrine that had been tented closed on all four sides with sheer linens. The flames from a handful of candles flickered behind the curtains, casting the statue's eerie shadow up through the canopy and onto the ceiling.
Ibi crept closer to the shrine, smiling impishly. Once within reach, she released Atem's hand and put one finger to her lips before pulling the curtains back. Curious, Atem peered inside, greeted with the bronze curves of a woman's body, and a ferocious lioness head atop it.
"Sekhmet," Ibi whispered. "Now there's a goddess worth her salt. Patron of battle, protector of warriors…" Ibi walked through the curtain, holding it open for Atem to follow. "…arouser of passions."
Atem took a deep breath as he entered, his head growing fuzzy from all the incense burning at Sekhmet's feet. He looked at Ibi through the cloud of smoke, his thoughts drifting to her offhanded statement from earlier. "Where do you hail from if not mother Egypt?" he asked.
Ibi's smile fell a bit, and she crossed her arms. "My parents were taken as prisoners during the Nubian wars," she explained. "They were slaves to Egyptian masters for a time… Until your father banned the slave trade after the war ended."
The sensuous direction of the conversation suddenly took a sharp turn — Atem remembered that the conflict around the Nubian wars had been the catalyst that spawned the Millennium Items.
"It's strange," Ibi went on, moving to rest her hand on Sekhmet's knee. "I've never known any home other than Egypt. I've never even left Thebes… And yet, I still feel like I don't quite fit here."
"You do," Atem said, surprised by the urgency in his voice. "I just mean… Egypt is home to many peoples now. We value the peaceful exchange of knowledge and cultures."
Ibi turned, looking somewhat heartened by his words. "You sound like you're auditioning for the role of Pharaoh," she teased. "Should your brother be worried?"
Atem laughed wryly, the burn returning to his cheeks as Ibi took a step forward.
"No, I don't think so," she whispered, lifting her hand to tap a finger on his chest. "I think you're happy… Right. Where. You are."
The drumming of her finger was like the wave of a wand — casting him under Ibi's spell again. He blinked down at her, then lifted his own hand to stroke across the exposed skin on her upper arm. "Well, I do still have much to learn, about a great many things," he said, "as you have so clearly demonstrated."
Ibi bit her lip to temper a mischievous smile. "Lucky for me, you're an ambitious pupil." She pushed gently against his chest, encouraging his body backward until she had him pinned against the statue behind. Ibi's motions were as fluid as water — both of her hands rising up to press down on his shoulders now. Atem followed her directions in earnest, sinking to sit on the gentle slope of Sekhmet's feet. With one hand still resting on his shoulder, Ibi turned her body and lowered it to sit crosswise in his lap, summoning another burst of excitement into his core. She snaked her arm the rest of the way behind his neck, bringing her body into his like the tide of the Nile up its shores.
"Are you ready for your next lesson, my prince?"