Satiah barely had time to compose herself before she was corralled into the great hall with the royals again. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice the lingering signs of dismay in her features, and she was careful to keep her face turned away from the prince, even as he was seated beside her at the dinner table. Her father took a seat on her other side, and the rest of the royals and priests filtered into the spots that remained. The Pharaoh sat at one head of the table, with the newly initiated Seto at the other.
With so many in attendance — Satiah counted twelve including herself — and with the excitement of a duel still fresh in everyone's minds, the Initiation Ceremony soon became the main subject of conversation at the table. As the food was brought out, the priests took turns recounting the battle in morbidly gleeful tones and prodding Seto for details — asking why he chose the ka he had, or how he'd felt after Heqab's first counterattack. Satiah found this type of vain enumeration a bit distasteful, but in truth she was glad the attention was anywhere but on her.
Their heightened voices soon settled as many began to fill their plates and mouths with food. Satiah quietly pushed her own meal around on her plate with her spoon, avoiding eyes and questions as much as she could. It wasn't until the priests began asking Seto about his homeland that she and her father were finally dragged into the conversation.
Karim, guardian of the Scales, caught Seto's ear: "Saqqara is just outside Memphis, is it not? Have you ever been to the holy city, Seto?"
Seto nodded and turned his head toward Satiah and her father. "Many times," the priest said. "I had a brief apprenticeship under High Priest Jahar, who was a high-ranking member in the Memphis Conclave at the time. Right, Nomarch—?" Seto stopped, concealed a smirk, then corrected himself: "Oh, I'm sorry. May I refer to you by your given name now, Metjen?"
Satiah felt a twinge of spite; it flickered across her father's features as well, but he pushed through it with a smile. "Certainly, Guardian Seto," Metjen said. "And, indeed — Jahar tutored my own children for many years. Does he still maintain his position in the Conclave, Guardian Aknadin?"
Aknadin didn't look the least bit entertained by this attempt at casual conversation. "I am not at liberty to discuss governing activities with civilians," he said flatly.
An awkward silence followed, in which utensils scraped loudly across plates.
"Of course," Metjen replied. "My apologies."
Satiah stared indignantly across the table at Aknadin, her hand curling into a fist around the stem of her goblet. Atem must have taken notice, as he placed his fingers across the rim of the cup, drawing Satiah's eyes away from the priest.
"Would you care for more wine, Satiah?" His voice was low enough to seem innocuous, and it succeeded in easing the tension at the table. While the others carried on discussing new topics, Satiah looked hard at the prince, trying to decipher the intent in his veiled eyes. His hand continued to rest idly on her glass, until she finally released it.
"No, thank you," she said quietly. "In fact, I'm feeling a bit fatigued. I think I may retire to my room for the evening — if it please the prince."
Atem didn't respond right away. Eventually, he, too, released his hold on the cup and diverted his eyes. "Of course."
Satiah bowed her head lightly to Atem, then turned to address the other royals. "Thank you for your kind hospitality today, your highness," she said to Aknamkanon. "I apologize for my early departure — I am quite weary from the long journey."
The king smiled and made an empathetic gesture. "I understand completely," he said. "Please, let the servants know if you need anything."
She whispered a "thank you," then stood discretely and bid goodnight to her father. As she turned to leave, Atem grabbed her lightly by the wrist, stopping her short.
"Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked quietly.
Satiah flashed a smile, and the prince loosened his grip enough for her to pull her hand away. "You know where to find me." With another slight bow, Satiah turned and swept down the length of the table, avoiding a few judging eyes as she made for the exit.
Once back in the relative privacy of the hall, Satiah could feel the anger bubbling in her veins again. She was ashamed at how willingly her father had submitted to ridicule, but it took just a moment of seething for her to realize he had only done it for her sake. With no power, no title, and no ka, Metjen was hardly more than a commoner to these people. To speak against them would be tantamount to treason, and while Satiah was protected by virtue of her betrothal, her father would be afforded no such luxuries. Still, it pained her to see him being disrespected so blatantly by men who had once been nearly his equals. Even more than that, the idea of spending a lifetime cooped up with them was beyond maddening.
As she stalked down flickering halls, going nowhere in particular, Satiah's thoughts were drawn back to the prince — and his uninvited intervention. She knew he'd done the right thing in diffusing the tension before she could unleash the venom on the tip of her tongue, but it almost felt unfair — as if he'd robbed her of a last chance to make her true voice heard. Satiah had little patience for men who tolerated injustices, and this one seemed to cut her particularly deep.
When moonlight struck her face, Satiah finally stopped walking and looked at her surroundings. She was standing in a narrow hallway flanked with windows. On one side, the windows overlooked a small courtyard, in which Satiah spied dark shadows moving in the silver light. Peering closer, she recognized three distinct forms: two soldiers, and a slumped figure between them. Heqab, Satiah thought — the tribute from the Initiation Ceremony. The guards were dragging the prisoner from one side of the courtyard to an open gate on the other. Craning her neck, Satiah watched as the soldiers pushed Heqab roughly beyond the walls of the palace.
"Begone with you, criminal!" one of the guards shouted.
The other one spit at the dejected prisoner, then laughed and turned to his partner. "Come, brother, if we're quick we might be able to scrounge some leftovers from the feast."
Satiah felt the heat of anger flare in her stomach as the soldiers sauntered back across the courtyard and disappeared inside the palace. Swiftly, she set off further through the hallway until it came to a stair leading down into the courtyard. She followed the palace walls to the gate, and her eyes immediately fell to Heqab's form where it lay writhing on the ground.
Without a second thought, Satiah hurried forward and bent to help him to his knees. Heqab winced away from her touch and looked up, his eyes wide and fearful. "No, please—" Fear turned to recognition as he gazed upon her face. "You! I saw you — on the dais — beside the prince! But … that must mean… You are the princess!"
"Not yet," Satiah muttered, reaching out to steady his quivering shoulders. "Are you hurt?"
Heqab bent into a deep kneeling bow. "My lady, you humble me with your concern. But please, do not belittle yourself before a petty criminal such as myself."
"Don't be absurd," she said, pulling him up out of his bow. "I saw how those soldiers treated you. It was utterly cruel."
"I am one of the lucky ones," Heqab said. "My ka may have been taken, but I leave here with my life and limbs intact. I am grateful for that."
"I heard your plea, before the battle," Satiah said. "You said you were innocent. How did you come to find yourself in such a situation?"
Heqab lowered his eyes in shame. "It's true — I did not commit the crimes with which I was charged. But still, I admit that I am not wholly innocent." He sat back on his heels. "I did not know it then, but I helped a man break into the royal necropolis — I gave him tools and a map of the Valley of the Kings. But I swear, I did not know he was a grave robber! I thought he was a worker, just like all who come to the village of Set-Ma'at! It wasn't until rumors began to spread of missing artifacts and defiled tombs that I suspected something was amiss. But before I knew it, soldiers were already at my door with the tools bearing my mark, left in the tunnels the thief used to make his escape."
Satiah's brow creased as Heqab spoke, her heart filled with a mixture of pity and anger.
"I should have known he was trouble as soon as I met him," Heqab muttered. "A bad omen, it is, to have hair so white…"
Satiah felt a knife of shock twist in her gut. "Did you say white hair?"
Heqab looked up. "Yes," he said. "And a demon's smile. I think he may have been possessed by one."
Satiah had to work hard to conceal the uncanny fear from creeping into her features. Bakura was here, and he was just across the river from them now, rooting around in the Valley of the Kings. Satiah couldn't fathom what he might be searching for amongst the tombs of Pharaohs passed — but whatever it was, it did not bode well.
"I will speak to the prince," Satiah said. "I'm afraid even I may not hold much sway, but this failing of justice must not go unnoticed."
Heqab bowed his head again. "My lady, words cannot express my gratitude for your intercession. But I have accepted my sentence. If this is the punishment for my foolish trusting, then so be it."
Satiah smiled and stood, taking the man up with her. "You are too humble, Heqab," she said. "Not many can say they stood so bravely against a High Priest. May you go in peace with your head held high. I hope you are reunited with your spirit someday."
Midmorning sun filtered through fluffy clouds and sent pillars of light beaming down onto the placid surface of the Nile. Atem watched from the roof of the observatory as dozens of ships floated back and forth across the glassy water, their white sails like ibises' wings, stretched out to catch a cool breeze. If he'd had his own way, Atem would have been content to spend the rest of the week rooted to this spot, simply watching the world laze by. But soon, Ra's light would force its way through the cloud cover and burden the pleasant day with haze and heat. Considering his first day spent with Satiah was very nearly spoiled by a variety of missteps, Atem wanted to make sure the second one wouldn't follow the same path.
As he left the observatory tower and winded his way down the stairs to the palace again, Atem's thoughts drifted back to the night before. He wanted to believe he had done all he could to make Satiah feel welcome, but after recounting the events more carefully, he was forced to admit his heart hadn't truly been in it. He had been woefully distracted from the moment she arrived — his mind filled with thoughts of Ibi and her painful parting, his emotions choked out by the bitterness left behind. Atem cursed himself for expending so much mental energy on this dilemma. In doing so, he'd allowed Satiah's arrival to feel like a punishment for losing Ibi, and this only served to diminish the dignity of both women.
Had his head been clearer the night before, he might have picked up on Satiah's discomfort much sooner — although even in hindsight, Atem wasn't sure what he would have done about it. Would he have been cogent enough to speak up for her at the dinner feast, or insist that the Initiation Ceremony be postponed? The answers were obvious, and this only further motivated him to do better today.
As he rounded the corner to the residential wing, Atem took a deep breath and headed straight for Satiah's door. There, he lifted his hand and knocked on the heavy wood. A beat passed, in which he could hear her soft footfalls on the tiles, before the door slowly cracked open enough to reveal her curious gaze.
"Hello, Satiah," he said, as steady as he could manage.
She opened the door fully, but didn't reply.
Atem cleared his throat and continued. "Would you care to accompany me on a walk this morning?"
She raised her eyebrows, then nodded once. "Let me get my cloak."
She retreated from the door, leaving it open slightly, then returned a moment later with a sun-bleached cloak in her hands. She threw it over her shoulders as she crossed the threshold, then closed the door behind her and turned to Atem.
"Lead the way," she said.
Atem flashed a small smile, then turned and started down the hallway toward the terrace. As they emerged and descended the stairs into the garden, it struck Atem as strange that she did not ask where they were going. He let his eyes flick to her every few steps, analyzing the stoic lines of her face. She seemed deep in thought, her lips pinched downward and eyes angled low to watch each step she took.
"I hope you slept well," Atem said offhandedly, finally summoning her gaze back to his.
The smile she gave felt forced. "I did," she said. "Although, I'm afraid I was plagued with strange dreams. Seeing the Millennium Items at work was … stimulating, to say the least."
She was being careful with her words, and he knew there was more meaning behind them than she was letting on. Atem made an affirmative sound in the hopes that she would continue.
"I just can't stop thinking … about what became of the tribute after the battle."
Atem was surprised at this. He had expected her to ask about the Items, perhaps — or about Seto or the other Guardians. But as she paused, Atem realized it made all the sense in the world. She shared more in common with the prisoner than she did with anyone who had been in attendance that night.
"I must admit, his plea for mercy did move me — especially when I witnessed how cruelly he was treated by the soldiers," she went on. "It struck me as almost … brave. That he maintained his innocence even in the sight of the gods."
Another unexpected turn in the conversation caught Atem off guard again. Her sympathy for the man extended beyond even what he expected. Had the situation been different, his instinct would have been to admonish her — the tribute had been a criminal, after all. But he held his tongue, curious, more than anything, about what else she held in her heart.
"It made me wonder—" She stopped walking, and Atem turned to her, finding her eyes filled with curiosity of her own. "Would you ever consider … giving a criminal back their ka?" Atem must have done a poor job concealing his surprise, as she continued: "If they were able to prove their innocence, I mean."
The threads of her words had finally weaved their way into a clear picture, revealing evidence of a deeper hopefulness and compassion within her. Atem offered her a smile, trying to limit the pity in the curve of his lips. "An interesting proposal," he admitted, "but one that I'm afraid there's no precedent for."
Satiah's face lost the flicker of optimism, and she turned away.
"But I will speak with my father about the conduct of the guardsmen," Atem interjected quickly, causing the movement of her body to stop. "You are right — their actions were … overzealous."
Satiah looked back, and she nodded her acceptance almost indifferently before setting off through the garden again. Atem fell in beside her, left wondering if he'd made another misstep.
After a moment of walking, they emerged from a shaded glade of trees beside the Sacred Lake. As they drew closer to it, two familiar forms came into view: Mahad and Mana were sitting cross-legged and facing one another on the raised edge of the lake. Their eyes were closed — meditating, Atem thought. He smiled and turned to Satiah. With a finger to his lips, he nodded his head in their direction, then set off quietly toward the lake.
When he came within range of the pair, Atem stopped and cleared his throat, somewhat loudly, causing Mahad to awaken with a start. He looked stunned for a moment, then stood at attention. Mana remained sitting, however, and the look of surprise on Mahad's face turned to one of annoyance. "Mana," he hissed, but she didn't move. Mahad shook her shoulder until she roused.
"Wha—huh? I'm awake…" Mana mumbled, opening one eye and lifting it to her mentor.
Mahad jerked his head toward Atem and Satiah. When Mana turned, her sleepy eyes went as wide as two moon disks. She lurched up off the edge of the Lake, then hurried to stand beside Mahad, and both bowed deeply in Atem's direction.
"My prince, what a pleasant surprise!" Mana cried in a comically high voice. "And this must be your betrothed, Lady Satiah! A thousand blessings on you, my lady. Welcome to the royal palace!" She bowed again, and Atem was thrilled to see a slight smile come to Satiah's lips.
"Satiah, these are members of the Royal Conclave, and trusted family friends — Mahad and Mana."
Mahad lowered his head reverently in her direction. "How lovely it is to finally meet you, my lady," he said. "Please know that myself and the rest of the conclave are at your humble service."
Mana nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, ma'am!" she echoed. "If you ever need anything, you can usually find us out here practicing—"
Atem cleared his throat again, stopping Mana in her tracks. Satiah's smile fell for half a moment, but she forced it back up and turned to address Mana. "What a beautiful place to study magic," she said, surprising Atem yet again. "I'll try not to disturb you next time."
Mana grinned; Atem fought to keep embarrassment from showing on his features. "If you'll excuse us, we'll let you get back to it," he said. Mahad and Mana bid their goodbyes, and Atem led the way toward the nearby gate. The guards there stood at attention as they passed through. Atem followed the outer wall of the palace until they came to the corner of the largest of its three pylons, which marked the entrance to the promenade leading to Karnak. Instead of turning down the promenade, however, he crossed in front of the pylon, stopping at the northwest corner.
When Satiah joined him, her eyes went wide at the sight: a vast lowland area stretched out from the palace walls — and in it were erected seven identical pyramid structures, each one capped with an enormous obelisk. Six were arranged to form a circle, with the seventh at the center
"The Shrines of Wedju," Atem explained. "One for each Item, one for each Guardian." He watched as Satiah surveyed the area in awe. "This is where the stone summoning tablets are stored. They are protected by the power of the Items, so that only those who have been anointed to the Royal Conclave can call upon the ka sealed within them."
Satiah finally wrenched her gaze away, and when she turned to Atem, he sensed almost a hint of fear in her eyes. This, again, made him question his plans. The sight of the Shrines was indeed intimidating, but Atem was hopeful a tour of one would temper Satiah's reluctance. Offering an encouraging smile, he gestured toward a nearby set of stairs and led the way down them.
As they leveled off into the lowland area, Atem dropped back to ensure he was side by side with Satiah again. He thought about offering an arm to her, but the distracted look on her face told him it was not the right time. Instead, he moved with purpose down the main path, passing between the first two Shrines and heading for the centermost structure in the second row.
"This is my father's Shrine," he explained as they made their way toward its entrance. Satiah barely offered a response, her eyes drawn instead to the towering obelisk atop the pyramid. As they entered, her gaze stayed upturned, sweeping across row upon row of enormous stone slabs. Atem felt an unexpected flutter in his heart as he watched the torch lights dancing in her eyes.
"Before the creation of the Shrines, men could only call upon their own ka." Though he kept his voice low, it still reverberated off the high, sloped ceiling. "Now, Egypt's most skilled spellcasters have the power to call on any number of fearsome spirit warriors to do their bidding."
Satiah finally dropped her eyes back to him, looking somewhat defensive. "The spirits seized from criminals, you mean."
Atem tried not to take offense at this. "That's part of it, yes," he confirmed. "But the Millennium Items also let us preserve the ka of those who have left behind their earthly bodies. Dozens of respected priests and sorcerers have donated their spirits to the Shrines, so that they may serve their king even in death. To them, there is no greater honor."
Satiah seemed puzzled by this, as if it was the first time she had considered it. Atem seized this candid moment to follow through on his earlier instinct — he reached out and took her hand loosely in his, then guided her toward the center of the Shrine, where directly beneath the obelisk stood a raised altar. After climbing the stairs to the top, Atem released Satiah's hand and gestured instead to the wall directly opposite them. At eye level, the ceiling was not sloped, but stretched out flat for several feet in either direction. On this surface was a collection of a dozen or so stone slabs — his father's most prized and trusted ka. The slab for the Pharaoh's own ka was at the center, flanked on either side by Atem's and Tefnak's tablets.
Atem took a few steps forward to stand at the edge of the altar, and he looked to the slab above his father's. Closing his eyes, Atem called upon the mysticism in his heart and summoned forth the ka. The chamber was filled with a flash of light, followed soon after by warmth cascading down from the very top of the obelisk.
With a deep breath, Atem opened his eyes. Hovering in the air between the altar and the slabs was a beautiful, feminine figure, dressed in striking violet robes that were draped about her body in an almost ribbon-like fashion. She was kneeling, and against her shoulder rested an exquisite silver harp.
The spirit raised her head to Atem and smiled at the sight of him. Atem returned it, then looked back toward Satiah, whose eyes were mesmerized by the spirit before her. "Satiah, this is my mother's ka — the Heavenly Muse."
The Muse bowed her head graciously in Satiah's direction, her lips still upturned.
"This coming Peret season marks ten years since the queen's death, but she was adamant that her ka be preserved," Atem said. "Though ka do not possess the power of speech, it does still bring me comfort to visit with my mother's spirit from time to time."
The Muse raised one delicate hand and gestured for Satiah to come closer. Satiah resisted at first, until Atem, too, lifted his hand, holding it out in encouragement. Satiah finally took a few steps forward, and as she came to stand beside him, Atem rested his hand in the middle of her back, content to see that she did not turn him away.
The Muse looked down at her lap, then deftly ran her fingers across the lyre's strings, bringing forth a scale of silvery notes that rang brightly throughout the Shrine. After plucking the last string, the Muse closed her hand into a tight fist, lifted it to her lips, and breathed into it. She then gestured another "come hither" motion with her free hand. Satiah hesitated again, then, realizing what was being asked of her, cautiously extended her hand in the Muse's direction. The spirit reached out and enclosed Satiah's hand within both of her own, giving it a light squeeze before releasing it. Atem looked down to see, there, in Satiah's cupped palm, lay a beautiful blue lotus, its glowing petals opening as if to the light of a new day.
Atem smiled wide, throwing his mother's ka a knowing glance. When he looked up at Satiah, however, his joy came crashing down. The light pulsing from the lotus threw stark shadows on her face and illuminated the distinct trail of a tear rolling down her cheek. Without so much as a word, Satiah closed her fist around the flower, then turned to leave. Instinctively, Atem reached for her, but she was already descending the altar stairs and making for the exit with haste.
Wounded, Atem turned back around, just in time to see his mother's spirit lower her head in sorrow, her form dissipating into a wisp of nothingness.