Atem awoke before the sun the next morning, his eyes greeted by a veil of gray light drawn over the land. Part of him wished for darkness to creep back across the sky again, to give him another few hours of much needed rest. It seemed only minutes had passed since he closed his eyes to the world, lulling himself to sleep to the sound of his new wife's muffled weeping.
The thought made his heavy eyes fly open, and he lifted his head to look across the room at his bed. Even from this distance, he could see the gentle rise and fall of Satiah's body where she lay twisted beneath the sheets. The sight filled him with conflicting waves of relief and unease. Half of him expected her not to be there — not because he thought she had left in the night, but because the events of their wedding had passed in such a blur that he was left wondering if it had even been real.
Quietly, Atem sat up and shifted to rest his back against the arm of the bench. He suddenly had the urge to wake her — to look into her eyes, as if they might hold the truth about what happened the night before. But he knew it would be selfish to do so. There were no words she could say, no look she could give him that could whisk away the dunes of guilt building in his heart.
He removed his covers and stood, the shock of cold helping to ground him in the present moment. Quiet as a spirit, he drifted across the room to his wardrobe, carefully pulling on a fresh set of clothes and his cloak. He avoided looking to his bed again, instead turning to leave the room. On the way, he caught sight of a mountain of gifts leaning up against the wall, no doubt brought up by servants during the dinner feast. On the top of the pile was the small rectangular box with the cartouche of Ramesses etched on it — Satiah's gift. He smiled reflexively at this small and subtle token of hope. Heartened a bit, he continued on and left the room as quietly as he could.
A shiver overtook him as he walked down the deserted hall, and he pulled his cloak around his front to keep some heat in. Even as he emerged onto the terrace, the twilight air was still filled with the chill of night. Atem moved to the edge of the balcony, leaning over and surveying the gardens, which sat as still as he'd ever seen them. The sight gave further credence to the thought that he might still be dreaming, but the peaceful air was soon broken by the sound of footsteps behind him. He spun just in time to see Tefnak emerging from the hall, looking as if he'd been trampled by a horse.
Tef groaned, rubbing his fingers roughly into the dark circles beneath his eyes as he came to stand beside Atem.
"Perhaps you can tell me why I woke up in the wine cellar?" Tef asked, sounding as if his throat were filled with sand.
"I guess you needed more wine?" Atem replied.
Tef broke a smile, and involuntarily, Atem mirrored it, feeling it grow into a full-blown grin as Tef threw his arm around him and patted his shoulder.
"What are you doing up so early, brother?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be … well, busy furthering the family line?"
Atem's smile fell, and Tef jabbed him in the side with his finger.
"Rough first night, I take it?"
Atem gritted his teeth. "It wasn't like that," he said. "I didn't want to rush things."
Tef smirked, then heaved a big sigh. "I can't say I'm surprised," he said, in that flippant way of his. "I know you have cautious instincts, little brother, but there's nothing to be afraid of. Fatherhood is the greatest blessing a man can ask for. And to be honest, you aren't doing Satiah any favors by taking things slow, either."
Atem couldn't help but feel a bit defensive. It was true, the weeks and days leading up to their wedding had been clouded with the awkward expectation of what was to come after — consummation and procreation. But when the moment came for them to escape to their wedding bed, it seemed such notions were the last thing on his mind — even before he'd witnessed Satiah's tears.
He wondered why he had so willingly shied away from this responsibility, and even more so, why Satiah had been the one so quick to expect it. For a long time, Atem had been quietly shouldering the burden of their forced betrothal, convincing himself that it was his duty to marry her — that it was for the good of Egypt to bring together their noble bloodlines. But after spending time with her, and seeing so many sides of her — the poised and the vulnerable — it now seemed more important that he simply make himself worthy of her affections in the first place.
"I'll work on it," Atem finally said.
Tef forced a smile and gave Atem another encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Good," he said, pulling away. "Well, I'm going to try and squeeze in another few hours of sleep. If I'm careful, Neb might not even notice I never came to bed."
Atem cocked a brow, laughing skeptically.
"If you're smart, you'll do the same," Tef said as he turned to walk back into the palace. "This might be the only day in your whole life that not a soul in the palace will come to disturb you."
Satiah fought hard against the forces which sought to pull her from her dreams — the sound of footsteps, the creak of a door, the rays of morning light hunting for her eyelids. Eventually, it was neither light nor sound which awoke her, but the wandering trail of her thoughts finally landing on the painful memories from the night before. Her eyes flew open, and she surged upright. Her surroundings felt somehow even more surreal than her dreams — her hands clutching to cool linens, her body still wrapped in the lush fabric of her wedding gown.
Immediately, her eyes snapped to the other side of the room, and her nerves settled upon seeing the bench below the window was empty. She stared at the spot for a while, at the sun cascading over the strewn sheets and the indentation of a body still impressed in the feathered cushion. A tide of shame crept over her as she recalled the sharp and aching sound of her sobs, echoing through this bedchamber she now shared with her husband. How could she have been so weak as to let herself tumble into tears before him? Had she not been bracing herself for weeks in anticipation of this reality? Had he not been gentle to her in the hours leading up to it, guiding her with grace through the ceremony and sparing her from needless embarrassment before the court?
Of all the things that hung heavy in her mind leading up to their marriage, the act of consummation was easily the least intimidating. It was a visceral and instinctive deed, one with which she was not altogether unfamiliar, and which would likely have been over almost as quickly as it began. No. Sex was not what frightened her, she decided. It was everything that came after — carrying, bearing and raising a child — which had brought her to frantic tears the night before.
It had all come so quickly — the meeting, the marriage, the possibility of motherhood. Barely half a week prior, Satiah had scoffed at the idea of spending time with the prince. She cursed herself for being so dismissive, when what she wanted now most of all was simply to have an honest conversation with her husband — to tell him of all the dreams she held onto, and to learn of the ones he kept in his own heart.
The sound of hurried footsteps beyond the door brought Satiah rushing back to reality. She worried that perhaps her silent musings had somehow summoned the prince, but the steps quickly receded out of earshot. Exhaling sharply, she threw back the sheets and stood, gathering the strength to face the day ahead.
She scanned the room, happy to see that her trunk and belongings had since been brought up, now sitting in between the prince's wardrobe and the pile of gifts accumulated during the wedding. She made for her trunk, throwing open the lid and rummaging around for a fresh dress. While she peeled off her wrinkled gown and stepped into the clean linen kalasiris, Satiah wondered where she might find Atem. The obvious answer was the gardens — a frequent haunt of his, she'd since discovered. Remembering his bedchamber had a clear view of the courtyard, she headed over to the window and peered down into it.
The sun was just beginning to trickle over the palace walls, bathing the gardens in tones of gold. The wind shook the palms and sycamore trees, whose leaves fluttered in greeting to Ra's light and cast long, creeping shadows across the grounds. There was no sign of the prince, however, at least that she could see.
She was preparing to take her search elsewhere when a booming noise reached her ears, echoing sharply through the courtyard. "Where is the bastard?! I'll kill him!"
A fist of fear closed itself around Satiah's middle. A moment later, a loud bang filled the hallway on the other side of the door. She jolted and raced to it, throwing it open just in time to see the prince's brother stalking angrily past. Shortly behind him, four servants came rushing into the hall, each one holding tight to the corners of a wooden stretcher.
Satiah covered her mouth when she looked down to see princess Nebetah lying on the stretcher, unmoving and bleeding from a grisly head wound. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw next — Atem emerged from the room soon after, carrying the body of the crown prince's son limply in his arms.
She met eyes with her husband as he drew near, and the look he gave her was like nothing she had seen before. No longer were his eyes veiled with calm mist, but rather burned a dark indigo. His body was tense and rigid, as if he were fighting rage.
"Stay inside," he ordered.
She would have listened, if not for the commotion that drew her attention down the hall in the other direction. More yelling, this time pained — and familiar. Satiah felt her own anger surge when her father's body was then thrown roughly to the ground at the junction of the visitors' wing and the servants' quarters.
She broke immediately into a full-blown sprint, arriving at the scene just in time to see Tefnak grabbing a spear from one of the guardsmen who stood, dumbfounded, nearby. The crown prince pointed the spear down at her father, who was just now turning onto his back and holding his hands up in surrender.
Satiah flung herself in front of the spear, staring up at Tefnak as if daring him to strike.
"Tef!"
The crown prince broke his gaze, turning to look at Atem. The two brothers shared an indignant stare before Tefnak finally lowered the spear and thrust it back into the guardsman's hands.
"Take them both to the throne room," he barked. "And gather the Guardians."
The soldiers hesitated, until one of them stepped forward, stooping to collect Metjen from the ground. While his partner joined him, Satiah felt another set of hands trying to seize her as well.
"Stop." Her husband's voice cut quick, bringing all the guards to a standstill. Satiah looked at Atem, seeing his eyes locked on the guard's hand where it lay clenched around her arm. Sensing the severity in his prince's gaze, the guard slackened his grip, and Satiah pulled her arm roughly away. Atem then turned to the soldiers who held her father, nodding once. All the guards immediately set off down the hallway, dragging Metjen with them.
Tefnak waited for a moment, staring bitterly at his brother, before following the group down the hall. As their footsteps receded, Atem swept in close to Satiah, cradling Meriti's body close to him. Satiah could just barely see the boy's chest moving with ragged breaths. "Wait for me in the throne room," he whispered, "and do not say a word to anyone."
He did not wait for her acknowledgement before brushing by her with haste. At the next junction, he split from the others and disappeared from sight.
Satiah curled her hands into tight fists, feeling her nails digging painfully into her palms. Her senses were assaulted by pangs of confusion, wrath, loathing … and sorrow, over the state of Tefnak's innocent family. She couldn't even begin to fathom who had done such horrible things to them, or why — but she knew with certainty that her father was innocent. In a frustrated haze, she set off down the hall and followed the dark passageways toward the throne room. As she rounded the corner to it, she saw the Pharaoh striding purposefully through the entrance. She jogged to catch up, walking into the cavernous chamber just in time to see her father being forced to his knees before the king and a cluster of his Sacred Guardians, who stood behind Tefnak in the center of the room.
"What is the meaning of this?" the Pharaoh demanded.
Satiah circled carefully around the outer walls of the chamber, catching her father's eye and giving him a supportive stare.
"This villain…" Tefnak muttered. "He tried to murder my wife and child!"
The Pharaoh stiffened with disbelief. After a pause, he turned to Metjen. "How do you answer these charges?"
"I am innocent, my king!" he sputtered. "I would never lay a finger on them!"
"LIAR!" Tefnak shouted. "You beat Nebetah within an inch of her life! And you poisoned my boy!" Even from this distance, Satiah could see the crown prince shaking with rage. "My baby boy…!"
"Where are the woman and child now?" Aknamkanon said quickly.
Just then, Atem strode into the room, with Shimon hurrying along behind him.
The Pharaoh turned. "What news?"
"Nebetah is being treated for her wounds, but she is still unconscious," Shimon explained breathlessly. "Meriti has indeed been poisoned. By what agent, we do not yet know. There are no markings which indicate a bite or sting, but the guards are searching the room as we speak."
"Have them search his room," Tefnak snapped, pointing to Metjen. "Or better yet, his heart!" He spun, addressing the Guardians. "Karim! Use your Scales to reveal this man's treachery!"
The black-haired Karim stood up straight, clutching tightly to his Item. He looked from the prince, to the Pharaoh, and back again. "I'm sorry, my prince… But even if I did, this man has no ka — his spiritual essence is no longer visible to any of the Millennium Items."
Tefnak looked suddenly desperate, and Satiah wondered if perhaps the shine in his eyes was the beginning of tears.
"Then let this be your guide."
A deep and booming voice cut across the dead air. All eyes turned, falling to where Aknadin was striding contemptuously into the throne room. Satiah felt her stomach turn as her eyes fell to his hands, which were clutched around a stack of familiar papyri. When he reached the circle, he tossed the stack onto the ground, sending Bakura's sketches sliding across the floor toward where her father kneeled.
"These were found amongst the former nomarch's personal belongings," Aknadin explained.
Satiah could feel her pulse quickening as the royals and Guardians each took up a drawing, their faces twisting with shock and disgust. Atem, too, peered down over his father's shoulder, then turned unblinking to Satiah.
"How do you explain yourself?" the Pharaoh demanded of Metjen.
Satiah watched as her father struggled to respond, his hands turning up in an almost beggarly fashion. She was immediately reminded of the day he'd fallen to his knees before the Pharaoh in the hot Memphis sun, pleading for mercy.
Unbidden, Satiah found herself stepping out of the shadows toward the circle of royals. "They belonged to a former member of the Memphis Conclave," she said quickly. "You may remember him from our duel — his name is Bakura."
Tefnak's lip curled up in defiance. "More lies, certainly—"
The Pharaoh held up his hand, silencing his son. "If that is the case, then why are they in your father's possession?"
Satiah gulped down a breath, catching her husband's eyes for a moment again. He looked almost fearful for her. "Bakura fled after our defeat at Memphis," she explained. "These were found in his room. We feared he may be planning something, so we brought them here to show your highness and his court — as a warning."
Satiah was surprised by the strength of her own voice, which had succeeded at least in tempering Tefnak's anger. In the silence that followed, the Pharaoh took deep, steady breaths, his eyes falling back to the papyrus clutched in his hand. He had just opened his mouth to speak when hurried, uneven footsteps drew his attention back to the entrance of the throne room.
Nebetah stumbled into the chamber, carried under the arms by two servants, one of whom was holding a bloodied cloth to her forehead.
"Neb!" Tefnak raced to meet his wife, taking her from the arms of the servants to cradle her against him. "Thank the gods! I feared the worst for you."
The princess's face was streaked with tears, and she broke down further in her husband's arms.
"What happened, my love? Tell me — who did this to you? Who poisoned Meriti?"
Nebetah wept louder upon the mention of her son. "A ghost—!" she cried.
Satiah tensed.
"He came in through the window — creeping like a dead thing in the shadows. He took me by the throat—" she pointed to her neck, where angry purple bruises were forming, "—and asked where he could find the bearer of the Millennium Ring. When I said I didn't know, he threw me aside… Then he summoned a ka more powerful than any I have seen… Pale like a corpse, floating upon the body of a great, coiled asp. The snake loomed over Meriti and dripped its venom into his ear—"
Nebetah wailed and struck her fist against her husband's chest. Tefnak held tight to her, his eyes going wide with each word.
"He told me that he alone held the antidote to the poison," the princess choked. "And that Meriti would die by sundown if the prince of Egypt did not come and face him in a duel."
Silence swallowed the chamber like a god's embrace.
"Where, my love?" Tefnak urged. "Where did he go?
"The mortuary temple," she sobbed, "of Ramesses the Great."