Tears shook free of Satiah's cheeks with each stair she ascended on her way back to the palace. She rounded the corner past the main entrance and trekked along the outer walls again, forgetting that the prince's friends were likely still sitting by the Sacred Lake. Sure enough, as she passed through the gate into the gardens, she met the cheerful eyes of the young girl, Mana, who was sitting alone under a tree with an open spellbook in her lap. Satiah froze, and the girl's sunny face fell with concern. Lowering her eyes, Satiah hurried by her without a word and climbed the stairs back to the living quarters.
Once inside, she made swiftly for her room, opening and closing the door with an audible slam. She leaned her back up against the cool wood and huffed one last shuddering sob before gathering herself. It was bad enough she had broken down in front of the prince — but it somehow felt even worse now that his friend had witnessed it as well. The show of emotion had taken her thoroughly by surprise — the last thing she had expected to see in the Wedju Shrines was a reminder of her brother.
Sniffing back her tears, Satiah lifted her hand, which had been clenched during the entire walk back to the palace. Slowly, she opened her fist, revealing the soft glow of the lotus again, looking undisturbed despite the force with which she had clamped down on it. It took everything in her not to burst into tears again as she looked upon the flower. She was spared only by the multitude of other emotions that now began to fight her sorrow — joy at this immaculate effigy of her brother, anger over his untimely death, despair at the thought of living the rest of her years without him — all of them, tumbling together and ringing hollow in the depths of her empty heart.
Satiah moved further into her room, cradling the blossom close to her chest as if she might feel the captured rays of Ra's warmth within it. After Metka's death, Satiah's only relief came from the thought that his ka had been allowed to pass peacefully on to the Duat. It was a small comfort knowing he would never suffer being sealed in stone for eternity, as was the fate of her own spirit. But as she thought back to the queen's peaceful ka, Satiah couldn't help but feel a spark of jealousy. What she wouldn't give to see Metka's spirit again — to commune with it, even if it couldn't speak back.
Her dark thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock on her door. Instinctively, she clenched her fist around the flower again and snapped her eyes to the source of the sound. "Who is it?" she demanded.
After a brief pause, a meek voice came from behind the door. "It's Mana, my lady."
Satiah hissed a curse for letting herself be seen by the girl. Sighing, she approached the door, rubbing tears and black ink from her eyes with the back of her hand. She opened the door a crack, just enough to catch a glimpse of the girl's cheery smile.
"May I come in?" Mana asked.
Satiah forced a smile in return. She opened the door a bit wider, allowing Mana to cross the threshold. The girl looked around at the room for a moment before turning to Satiah, bouncing from heel to toe.
"Is there something I can do for you, Mana?" Satiah asked, trying not to sound as impatient as she felt.
"Well…" Mana began in a sing-songy voice. "I was just wondering if maybe … you'd like to do something?"
Satiah cocked a brow. "Like what?"
"Anything!" Mana chirped. "We could go into town for a little shopping…? Or maybe walk down to the river and watch the ships come in?"
Satiah tried to maintain a smile, but when Mana seemed suddenly desperate, Satiah feared it was turning into more of a grimace. "That sounds very nice, Mana, but I'm afraid I'm not feeling very well just now—"
"We could just go sit in the garden if you want!" Mana exclaimed. "I can steal some sweets from the kitchen, I know where they keep the best ones—"
Satiah exhaled sharply. "Mana, you seem like a nice enough girl, but I'm really not looking for a new friend right now." She was unable to temper the edge of annoyance in her voice, and Mana looked incredibly hurt. Guiltily, Satiah turned her eyes away and moved toward the door again. "So if you don't mind—"
Mana made a determined sound, and suddenly Satiah felt a lurching in her stomach, as if she'd been knocked off her feet and was now in freefall. She winced, expecting an impact, but when she opened her eyes, she was still standing, now greeted with a shower of golden light and a gust of fresh, mountain air. Where the door had been only a moment before, a craggy rock arch now stood, through which a hazy and familiar landscape was visible — Memphis, shining bright in the noonday sun.
Stunned, Satiah turned, setting her gaze first on the girl, whose eyes were squeezed shut and fists balled up tight. But over Mana's shoulder was a sight that set Satiah's hair standing on end — against the wall where her bed should have been, the unmistakable shape of Metka's sarcophagus came into view, surrounded by incense and offerings she had put there herself not a week before.
Her breaths shallow, her heart pumping loud, Satiah moved by Mana, coming to stand over her brother's sarcophagus. She reached out to touch it, half expecting her hand to fall through it, and fully frightened when it did not. Eyes wide, she ran her fingers across the cool stone and felt her fear turn to wonder.
Recoiling her hand, Satiah spun back around to see Mana looking at her with a resolute stare. Satiah wouldn't have believed such strong magic could come from such a fledgling spellcaster, but her heart and mind were thoroughly convinced by the illusion.
"I want to help you," Mana said, her voice quavering despite the steadfast look in her eyes. "I don't want you to feel alone."
Satiah felt like a knife had been driven into her gut. This girl had offered her the first true expression of kindness since her arrival, and yet Satiah had repaid her with nothing but scorn. Ashamed, she turned back to Metka's sarcophagus, watching the way the torch lights on the tomb wall flashed across the cast-bronze mask that was meant to resemble his face. But it looked nothing like him — no more than a shadow etched by someone who'd likely never even known him.
Satiah opened her palm and looked down upon the sparkling lotus blossom again. Reaching out over the sarcophagus, she tipped her hand over and placed the flower gently between the crossed arms etched on its surface. She then turned back to Mana, with a true smile finally on her lips.
"Thank you."
Atem didn't see Satiah again until dinner was served. Part of him had wanted to seek her out, to see if he could offer her some comfort, but he knew it would only make things worse. He'd taken her to the Shrines with the best intentions — to show her the deep and meaningful magic granted by the Items. It was a demonstration he'd rehearsed in his mind dozens of times since he'd dreamt it up in the war room with his father and brother. But it had taken Satiah's tears for Atem to realize that his grand plan had been meant for a much simpler time — a time before bloodshed and surrender and coercion — all things even the grace of his mother's ka wouldn't have been able to outshine.
It was for that reason he was relieved to see Satiah looking somewhat less somber as she came to join them on the terrace for dinner. Since this was a smaller venue, meant only for the royal family, and with the seats beside Atem already filled by his father and brother, Satiah seated herself across the table from him instead. She offered the Pharaoh a slight bow of her head and a smile, which she maintained as she looked at Atem. He returned it, though their brief connection was interrupted by the arrival of Metjen a moment later. He took the open seat between Satiah and Nebetah, who shushed Meriti as he whined about his hunger.
Thankfully, servants soon filed in and set the table with a variety of courses, all which seemed especially appetizing to Atem at the moment. He hadn't eaten at all since his stumble at the Shrines with Satiah, instead electing to spend the rest of the day holed up in the training complex with his brother and Mahad.
Once the servants left, he set to work filling his plate, happy for this welcome distraction. The comfort of food was unfortunately short lived, however, as the silence soon broke with his father's voice.
"Satiah," Aknamkanon said, causing her eyes to fly up from her plate and meet timidly with the Pharaoh's. "I heard Atem took you to the Shrines of Wedju this morning. How did you find them?"
Satiah's lips twitched upward briefly, and Atem could almost see the thoughts forming in her mind. "They were … impressive," she said at last, placing her spoon down on the table.
Aknamkanon smiled proudly. "Indeed," he said. "Between you and me, I find the Shrines to be an even greater feat of magic than the Millennium Items. Our priests erected them in less than a month's time, and they are protected with some of the strongest spells in all the land." The king took a sip of wine, and in the beat of silence, Satiah forced a conceding smile. "I had a thought to perhaps one day open the Shrines to the public — to let our citizens pay homage to the ka of their brothers and sisters."
Atem watched as a mixture of emotions flickered across Satiah's features. He knew his father had meant his words as a sort of peace offering to Satiah and Metjen — a way to acknowledge and elevate their traditional values — but after seeing what had happened at the Shrines earlier that day, Atem wasn't sure this approach would achieve what his father sought.
It was not Satiah who finally replied to the Pharaoh's open-ended suggestion, but rather her father. "What an interesting proposal, your highness," Metjen said. "I'm sure your people would very much appreciate such a privilege. All men, ordained or not, deserve to commune with the spirits of their kin."
Atem stopped chewing and shot his eyes to his father, surprised when the Pharaoh's smile didn't falter one bit. Instead, Aknamkanon raised his glass to Metjen. "I couldn't have said it better myself."
Metjen returned the gesture, and both men took a sip of their drinks in recognition of this rare show of agreement. In the silence that followed, everyone returned their attention to their meals, except Satiah. Atem stole glances at her between bites of his food, not failing to notice the rough lines of skepticism that were still etched in her features. He knew it was likely because Satiah hadn't yet told her father about what happened at the Shrines, and Atem wondered if Metjen would have reacted differently to the Pharaoh's proposal if she had.
A moment or two passed before conversation arose again, and Atem was surprised when it was Tefnak who spoke this time.
"So, Metjen," he said, his mouth half-full with a lamb chop. "Have you considered what you'll do now that you've given up your title?"
Atem wanted to kick his brother in the shins for his cheek, but he held back when Metjen turned to Tef and smiled. "I've given it some thought, yes," Metjen confirmed. "I actually had plans to go into town tomorrow to look for work here."
Atem caught sight of Satiah sending her father a sidelong glance — apparently, this was the first she'd heard of that.
"Memphis will always be my home, but now that I've been … relieved of my responsibilities, I don't see any reason why I should put so many miles between me and my daughter if I don't have to."
Nebetah looked up from where she had been helping Meriti cut his food. "Oh, what a wonderful idea," she said. "It's such a blessing to be near family, don't you think Satiah?"
Satiah didn't reply, still looking expectantly at her father.
"But what will you do?" Tef pressed, obviously still in the mood to antagonize.
Metjen maintained his smile through it all. "An excellent question," he said. "I'm embarrassed to admit I'm no longer strong enough to work in the natron mines or the necropolis, and I'm probably too old now to learn a new trade. Such are the pains of aging, I suppose."
"What about scribery?" All eyes once again snapped to the Pharaoh. "There are many archivists and historians in Thebes who would very much appreciate your linguistic talents, I'm sure."
Metjen huffed a wry laugh. "Another brilliant idea, my king," he said. "Where would one go to seek out such employers?"
Aknamkanon smiled and took hold of his cup. "Let me speak with my viziers. I believe I can arrange a meeting with the temple archivist at Karnak."
"Thank you, my king — you honor me," Metjen said, putting his hand to his heart and bowing his head lightly.
"The pleasure is mine," Aknamkanon replied, raising his glass again.
During this exchange, Satiah's skepticism slowly melted away into disbelief, perhaps bordering even on optimism. This tone of good will held strong through the rest of the dinner, with Metjen laying out his plans to find a home south of the city so that he could visit Satiah regularly. It did Atem's heart good to see her smile at this, and he had a thought to perhaps ask her on another walk after dinner to see if he could capitalize on her good mood. By the time the last course was served, even Tefnak was sharing in the cheer, perhaps encouraged by how quickly his wife and son had taken to Metjen, who at one point during the dinner had even taken Meriti into his lap to help amuse the energetic boy.
Finally, when the table was cleared, Metjen sighed and pushed his chair back. "Thank you for another wonderful meal, my king," he said. "Come Sati, shall we turn in before they tempt us with dessert?" He stood and turned toward the door behind him.
Nodding, Satiah pushed her chair back and stood; Atem surged out of his chair as well, not wanting to miss his chance. But as he opened his mouth to speak, he found himself interrupted by the voice of his father.
"Atem," the king said, "would you accompany me on a walk in the garden, please?"
Atem blinked at his father, then trailed his eyes to Satiah, who was looking curiously back at him. As if afraid she might overstay her welcome, she turned and continued into the palace.
Atem looked back at the king. "Of course, Father," he said.
The Pharaoh stood and placed a hand on Atem's shoulder, turning him toward the stairs to the garden. Atem found himself strangely nervous as they walked side by side into the sunsetting light. This would be the first time they had spoken directly to one another since his father decreed the punishment for his affair. The twinge of shame accompanied by this memory very nearly wiped out the confidence he'd cultivated during dinner.
But when his father finally spoke, his tone was light — almost whimsical. "One more day," he said. "How are you feeling, my son?"
Atem didn't respond right away, his thoughts preoccupied by the way the light filtered through rustling palm leaves.
"Anxious?" the king suggested.
Atem looked up at his father, catching a hint of a smile on his lips. "No, not quite. More like…" He trailed off, struggling to find the right word for how he felt. "Hopeful, I guess." Somehow the term still didn't feel right, but it was the only thing he could think to say that wouldn't worry his father.
"That's good to hear," the king said. "And I do believe you have much to be hopeful for. Satiah is a bright young lady. I trust your talks with her have been constructive?"
Atem gritted his teeth, remembering Satiah's appeal from earlier that day. "She holds many thoughts in her heart," he said, "but she is very sincere."
His father nodded knowingly. "That's good," he said. "A marriage is much more than a holy union — it is a partnership. Never underestimate how important it is to have someone with whom you can share your thoughts freely."
Atem looked away as they turned into an aisle of palm trees. If he was honest with himself, Atem wasn't sure if he had the confidence to follow his father's advice just yet, especially after he had already stumbled so many times with his future wife. Even with the best intentions, he had yet to bring a true smile to her face — having done quite the opposite, for it seemed sharing his thoughts had so far only ever caused her dismay.
"Father, how is it you always know the right words to say?" Atem was surprised by his own question, and even more so when his father laughed at it.
"Well, I'm not sure that's always the case," he said, chuckling. "But I've had a lot of practice. A Pharaoh who is undiscerning is not Pharaoh for long."
Atem smiled, though he knew this was his father's humble answer. He looked up, waiting expectantly for the rest.
"I find it helps to think of every difficult conversation like a contract," his father continued. "You receive only as much as you are willing to give." He stopped walking and pivoted, laying one hand on Atem's shoulder. "We all have our own ambitions in life, and it is likely your wife's will sometimes diverge from your own. You must not fall into the trap of overlooking her desires in favor of yours. A willingness to compromise will keep you honest and fair, and will lead you to a successful marriage."
His father's words were sincere enough, but Atem was left feeling somewhat hollow in their wake. Some part of him had perhaps hoped for guidance of a more spiritual nature — that his father might tell him love was the key to a happy union. It was what Atem had always remembered so fondly of his own parents' marriage, after all — the way they laughed blissfully together on walks in the garden, or how they traded knowing whispers and smiles while huddled around the firelight. Atem couldn't imagine how something as mundane as compromise could lead to such a warm and affectionate relationship.
Still, he filed this lesson away, along with all the other words of wisdom shared by his father over the years — though Atem feared he would soon run out of space in his mind with all the prayers Shimon had forced him to memorize. "Thank you, Father," he said at last.
"Of course, my son," the Pharaoh replied. He made a move to continue up the path, but stopped and turned back. "And Atem… I know I have been strict with you recently, but I want you to know that I am proud of the man you've become."
Atem felt his cheeks grow warm with a mixture of shame and humility.
"I worried I had asked too much of you with this marriage," his father continued. "In some ways, you have taken on an even greater responsibility than your brother, and I thank you for carrying the burden with dignity." He paused, and his eyes glinted in the deep red glow of Ra's light. "I see so much of myself in you, but it is your mother's grace that shines through in moments like this. Keep it with you, and I promise — there is nothing you won't be able to achieve."