By the time Satiah regained full control of her mind, the sun was already beginning to rise. It took her a long time to recognize her surroundings, and even longer still to recall why she was there. As she looked around, she found herself alone in her old room in the visitor's wing, sitting on a bench beside the window. She could feel herself shaking, her arms loosely crossed around her middle.
She lifted her hands and looked down into her trembling palms to see that they were wrapped in fresh bandages. The white linen was already staining a faint rust color in the center, and Satiah's mind was suddenly flooded with flashes of memories — the sting of a blade passing between her hands, the cool ridges of the ivory comb slick with blood, the worried faces of healers cleaning and bandaging her wounds. With a sharp inhale, Satiah dropped her hands, revealing more red stains splashed across the front of her white dress, from bodice to hem.
It came crashing back in an instant — the image of her husband's blood rushing forth and pooling thickly on the tile floor. Her breath caught in her throat as more memories built themselves back up in her mind — ending with Bakura's devilish smile as he took up the Millennium Ring. Satiah clutched her chest, trying to force her lungs to pull in air, feeling almost as choked as she had when she was lying on the bedchamber floor just a few hours earlier.
At the sound of the door opening, her heart suddenly hammered with panic. When Isis stepped into the dawning light, Satiah let slip a shuddering sigh. Isis stood rigid in the door a moment, holding a swathe of fabric to her chest. Then, quickly, she swept closer with her free arm outstretched; Satiah stood to accept the woman's urgent embrace.
"Atem?" Satiah hissed into Isis's ear.
The priestess pulled away, her calm eyes suddenly a thrashing ocean. "He is stable," she said, and Satiah let out another sigh of relief. "He is very weak, but the healers are hopeful he will make a full recovery — with time and patience."
"Thank the gods," Satiah said.
"What about you, Princess?" Isis whispered, taking one of Satiah's hands in hers. "I heard you were injured as well."
"It's nothing."
Isis clicked her tongue, then lowered both herself and Satiah onto the bench. She laid the bundle of fabric in her lap and brought Satiah's hands to rest on top. "I don't know how I didn't see this," she whispered. "I had been so sure … so certain that Bakura was dead. How could I have been so foolish…?"
Satiah's stomach turned at the mention of Bakura. "What of the thief?" Satiah asked. "Was he apprehended?"
Isis looked up, pursing her lips. "No. He escaped, wounding several guardsmen on the way out of the city."
Satiah squeezed Isis's hands, making her frustrations apparent. She cleared her throat to temper herself. "Can I see my husband?"
Isis's eyes softened. "Of course," she said, releasing her grip to take up the bundle in her lap. "Here — I brought you a clean dress."
"Thank you." Satiah took the garment.
"I'll be just outside when you're ready."
Isis bowed her head and floated out of the room, leaving Satiah in deafening silence. She found herself suddenly smothered by creeping guilt. Among the flood of memories returning to her, she now recalled clearly the darkest of them: that with Bakura's blade hovering inches above the prince, when she had faltered and had almost let her husband be murdered before her eyes, without doing a single thing to stop it. Even though Atem had survived, the consequences of Satiah's hesitance were now cascading down into reality and carving the way for a sinister future. How could she look her husband in the eye, knowing she had very nearly condemned him to death?
With a deep breath, Satiah forced herself to rise and remove her blood-stained clothes. She stepped into the new dress, hoping the clean fabric would restore some confidence, but her legs still shook with each step as she moved toward the door. Careful not to reinjure her hands, she reached out and pulled the door open, peering into the shaded hall to see Isis waiting patiently for her.
As she stepped over the threshold, Satiah's eyes were immediately drawn over her shoulder toward the sound of footsteps. Her heart thumped up into her throat again at the sight of the Pharaoh emerging from the royal living quarters, followed by Mahad. As they drew closer, Satiah saw anguish straining the king's face, and she felt another knife of guilt twisting in her gut. Even worse, however, was the look of relief that took him as he set his eyes on her.
He stopped walking for a moment, then came rushing toward her and caught her in a tight embrace. Satiah seized up, paralyzed by conflicting waves of warm and cold. When he reached up and pressed his hand into the back of her head, Satiah forced herself to return his affections, gripping loosely to his robes until he finally released her. Even in the dark, she could see the sparkle of tears welling in his eyes.
"Thank you," he uttered, still cradling her head in his hand. "I am forever indebted to you."
Shame burned hot on Satiah's cheeks. The Pharaoh released her, stepping back and taking a deep breath. He stood still for a moment, and Satiah noticed that his tears still hadn't fallen, simply left brimming along his dark, sparse lashes. Finally, he turned and started down the hallway again. Mahad trailed after, giving Satiah a strong and condoling nod as he passed.
She watched them disappear into the darkness, turning back only when Isis reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. Satiah followed as the priestess led the way toward the prince's bedchamber, which now had two guards posted outside it. Isis stopped, opened the door and stood aside, offering an encouraging smile as Satiah moved into the room.
Immediately, her memories grew even sharper in the familiar surroundings. The first thing she saw was the vague shape of her husband's body lying on his bed at the back of the room, cast in cool dawn light and partially concealed by Shimon's hunched form. The prince was propped up on a set of pillows, his head lolled lightly to one side. Beside the bed, two servants were currently hard at work scrubbing dried blood out of the tiles.
Satiah swallowed hard as she moved further into the room, catching sight of the bench strewn with sheets and the table still sitting crooked from where she'd collided with it. The servants were the first to notice her approach, and when they stopped their scrubbing and stood to leave, Shimon turned as well. His face set with pity as he quickly moved to meet her. For a while, no words came to either of them, and in the pervading silence Satiah forced herself to look at her husband.
The prince's eyes were closed, and if his bare chest hadn't been rising and falling with gentle breaths, she might have thought he was gone from this world. His skin, which usually glowed a rich bronze, was now almost as pale as alabaster. He wore no tunic, nor any of his usual adornments, but his lower abdomen was wrapped tightly in strips of white linen. Just like her hands, a thin stain of blood was beginning to show itself, slightly below and to the left of his navel. His hands clutched loosely around a sheet that covered his bottom half.
"He's been given a light sedative for the pain," Shimon whispered, summoning Satiah's attention to him. "But you should be able to speak with him for a bit." He looked over his shoulder at the prince. "He's been asking for you since he came to."
Again, guilt thrashed within her. "Thank you for looking after him."
Shimon smiled. "The Guardians will take turns watching over the room," he said. "You should both get some rest."
Satiah nodded, and Shimon returned it with a light bow before taking his leave.
She stood in silence for a long time, her eyes settling heavily on the caked stain of blood on the floor. Her guilt must have been palpable, as Atem finally stirred on his own a moment later, drawing in a long, ragged breath and casting his glazed eyes in her direction. Slowly, a delirious smile spread on his features, and Satiah felt her heart nearly breaking at the sight of it.
She bit down hard on her bottom lip and swept in to sit carefully on the bed beside him. She knew she was wholly undeserving of his peaceful smile, which remained despite his struggle to hold her gaze. And yet, she found herself inspired by it all the same, as if maybe — just maybe, there was hope for redemption yet.
Unbidden, and against her better judgement, Satiah reached out to stroke her fingers across the skin just above his bandages. He winced, but not from pain, she knew — rather from the unexpected tenderness of her touch, which surprised even herself. This may have been the first time she'd touched him with the intent to convey any emotion, let alone something like affection.
With some effort, he took hold of her hand and brought it to rest palm-up on his chest. He held it as gently as one might cradle a baby bird fallen from the nest and stroked his thumb along the line of bandages running from her index finger to the heel of her hand. Satiah surprised herself again when she felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. He closed his fingers around hers, and as if on cue, her tears cascaded into shining rivers down her face.
As soon as it had come, the smile left Atem's lips, and he lifted his free hand to wipe her cheek. "Why is it whenever you are with me, you are brought to tears?" he asked, his voice low and breathy. "If I had the strength, I would make it so that you would never weep again."
Satiah choked back a sob and leaned, trembling, into his hand. Even though his body had nearly been drained of its essence, there was still so much warmth in his touch, and it gave Satiah new life to feel him sharing it with her. But her tears flowed on, knowing that he wouldn't have smiled if he knew the dark secret in her heart.
She forced herself to stifle her sobs, wanting desperately to preserve his hope, however misguided it was, for as long as possible. Slowly, she rose and lifted the sheet, then lowered her body down beside him on the bed. He followed her with his eyes as she came to rest her chin on his shoulder. She wrapped one hand around his arm and clutched it close to her, causing his smile to return.
Still biting back tears, Satiah lifted her free hand and tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. He closed his eyes, and almost instantly, his breaths fell into a deep and steady rhythm, as if he had been waiting for this closeness before finally letting sleep take him. Satiah found herself giving into the pull of slumber as well, even though she knew that when they awoke, nothing would ever be the same.
Satiah quickly discovered that caring for her husband during his recovery was not at all easy. For the first few days, she had to help him with even the most basic of tasks, like eating and sitting up. He needed the assistance of two servants in addition to herself just to move between rooms, and bathing was a challenge all its own. But whenever she found herself frustrated by her duties, Satiah forced herself to imagine how Atem must feel — reduced to little more than an invalid and in the constant care of a woman he'd only just met a few weeks prior. These thoughts, coupled with her lingering guilt, were more than enough motivation to push through any awkwardness or discomfort she felt.
After the first week, her patience and his perseverance began to pay off, with Atem's condition seeing steady improvement. Shimon had fashioned for him a sturdy wooden crutch, and with it he was now able to walk almost the entire length of the royal living quarters on his own. He still needed Satiah's help with more challenging obstacles, like stairs, but he seemed eager to gain his independence again — a fact she found both relieving and worrying. She noticed very quickly that he had a tendency to push himself beyond his limits, and the only times he'd experienced setbacks were when she left him to his own devices.
Overall, however, they were both adapting well to their new reality, and Satiah was surprised by how quickly she'd grown accustomed to sleeping beside him. The bed was large enough for them to each have their own separate spaces, but she often found herself waking up with her head on his shoulder or his arm thrown around her middle. Satiah was always quick to peel herself away from these positions, hiding the glow of blush in her cheeks.
Mornings were usually the most difficult part of the day — Atem was often stiff from a night spent sedentary, and his bandages needed to be changed not long after he woke. To his credit, he was always a good sport about it, despite Satiah's less than gentle bedside manner. After rising and helping him dress, they would leave their bedchamber, bound for the gardens to get in an early walk before breakfast.
But what bothered Satiah the most about mornings was Atem's insistence that he stop and speak with the Guardian standing watch outside their door. Since the attack, the Sacred Guardians and other trusted members of the Conclave had begun taking turns guarding the royal chambers, with at least one spellcaster in the hall and two more patrolling the garden below. Each morning, Atem would check in with whoever was on duty, and retrieve from them his new most prized possession — the Millennium Ring.
During the first few nights, it was everything Satiah could do to convince Atem not to wear the Ring while he slept anymore. He'd eventually given in, and in the evenings before going to bed, he would entrust the Item to whomever was guarding the room that night. But in the morning, after the haze of sleep had worn off him, Satiah could see desire kindling behind his gaze — a desire not unlike the one she had seen in Bakura's black eyes after he'd almost gotten away with the Ring.
Satiah knew it had more to do with pride than anything, for Atem was not truly a Sacred Guardian yet — after the attack, his initiation ceremony had been postponed indefinitely. Satiah feared that this was the true reason behind his eagerness to get back on his feet — that he was desperate to repair his broken ego and take up the mantle left by his departed brother. Often during the day, she would catch him gazing down at the glinting gold, or spinning one of its tapered spikes idly between his fingers, and it made her uneasy.
Today was no different. They emerged from the bedchamber to find Mahad sitting outside the door, and Atem didn't even greet his friend before extending his hand for the Ring. Looking puzzled, Mahad hesitated a moment, then stood.
"Good morning Prince — Princess," he said warmly.
Atem jolted as if woken from a trance, pulling his hand back. "Hello, Mahad," he replied. "It's nice to see you again — but isn't this your second shift this week?"
Mahad smiled. "Yes, my prince. Shimon was feeling a bit tired, so he asked that I take his shift."
"How kind of you," Satiah said.
He nodded graciously, then slowly extended the Ring in Atem's direction.
Atem grimaced as he took the Item and slung it around his neck. "Any word from the scouts?"
Mahad shook his head. "The hounds picked up his scent last night, but the trail ran cold at the river again," he explained. "He's smart — not staying in one place for very long."
Atem made a low sound. "Thank you, my friend," he said. "Let us speak more at breakfast."
Mahad bowed his head, and a moment later, Atem started down the hall toward the terrace. Satiah followed close, keeping her arm elevated slightly should he need to grab on. He didn't take it until they reached the stairs, which he descended slowly, one at a time, alternating between favoring his crutch and leaning on Satiah for support. As they leveled off, he was quick to release her arm, and he set off with purpose through the shaded gardens.
Satiah dropped back a step, giving him the space he needed to stretch his legs. He was doing very well, his strides long, his footfalls confident. Soon, they rounded the corner toward the Sacred Lake, and Satiah found herself slipping into a daze, her mind hypnotized by the way the Millennium Ring chimed with each step.
It happened quick — Atem's leg buckled, sending him tumbling toward the earth. Still distracted, Satiah failed to react in time. His knees hit the ground, his upper body following, and he just managed to get one arm out to brace his fall while his crutch clattered into the dirt. Gasping, Satiah rushed forward, taking hold of his shoulders to help him into an upright position again. He groaned as he sat back on his heels, one hand falling to clutch at his side.
"I'm sorry," Satiah breathed.
Atem gritted his teeth and waved his arm at her. "I'm fine," he said, immediately trying to stand again. Satiah hesitated, but he seemed intent to be on his feet — with or without her help. Quickly, she took him beneath the arms and hoisted him up, then led him over toward the Lake, where he spun and sat down hard on the edge of it. He panted and snapped his hand to his side again. Satiah gently pulled his tunic aside, inspecting the bandages beneath to make sure he hadn't reopened his wound. Thankfully, there were no signs of blood on the white linen.
She stood back and placed her hands on her hips. "We should get you back inside—"
"No," he snapped. "I just need to rest."
"You're pushing yourself too hard."
"I don't need you to coddle me. You're not my mother."
Satiah felt a whip of anger crack across her heart. "But I am your wife."
His eyes flew up to her at this, and his face softened with guilt. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm just … tired of leaning on you."
Satiah sighed deeply. "Well, I have bad news for you then," she said, lowering herself down beside him. "I'm not going anywhere."
A tight smile flickered on his face, but it was quickly replaced with a grimace. She knew he was fighting the same anger and defiance which had driven him to follow his brother into danger's embrace. After a quiet moment, Satiah reached out and placed a hand over his where it lay gripped at the edge of the Lake, causing him to glance at her, eyebrows raised. "We never talked about … everything that happened," she said quietly.
He sighed and looked back into the gardens. "What is there to say?" he replied. "My kin were murdered in cold blood."
Satiah concealed her dismay with a hum of agreement. She turned her head away as well, watching two songbirds building a nest in a nearby sycamore tree.
"I do find myself wondering, though," he went on, unprompted. "…Why? Why would he target my brother?"
Satiah felt strangely accused by the words, but when he looked back at her, his eyes were soft — almost pleading. Part of her wanted to confess it all — that she'd been suspicious of Bakura from the start, and that his fury had likely been stoked by the death of her brother. But what good would it do now to reopen those wounds, when there were still so many left to heal?
She cleared her throat lightly. "Did he tell you why he wanted the Ring?"
Atem shook his head, darting his eyes away in recollection. "He was crazed … Out of his mind. Sputtering something about … Ramesses. And Amenhotep."
Satiah's brow creased. At first, she'd thought Bakura's choice of venue for their confrontation had just been out of convenience — there was little chance of being disturbed at the deserted and crumbling mortuary complex. But now, it seemed eerily relevant.
"Perhaps he was looking for something," Satiah surmised. "Isn't that the power of the Ring? To lead the bearer to his deepest desire?"
Atem dropped his chin to his chest, reaching up to run his fingers along the Ring's tines. After a pensive pause, he dropped it and huffed a laugh. "What use is it trying to explain the actions of a madman?" he said, looking forward again.
But Satiah felt thoroughly unsatisfied by this reply. Her thoughts were already tumbling, searching for answers to these questions as if they might form some sort of shield against Bakura's wrath. But even the questions themselves seemed unfinished — like a puzzle with half its pieces missing.
Suddenly, Atem turned his hand over and threaded his fingers with hers. Startled, Satiah looked up to see soft concern painted on his features again. "What about you…?" he asked, trailing off quietly.
Though she knew the deeper meaning of his words, Satiah could not bring herself to reply.
"You were there," he went on, his words staggering with reluctance. "You were there, when—"
He was cut short by the sudden sound of shouting — garbled words in a familiar voice, echoing over from the gate nearby. There, the guards were scuffling with someone on the other side.
"Let me in this instant! My daughter is the princess — I must see her at once!"
Satiah surged to her feet when she saw her father pushing against the soldier's shields, hollering at the top of his lungs. She turned to Atem, whose face flashed with a tortured smile. He nodded, and Satiah immediately set off at a sprint toward the gate, where she skidded to a stop behind the guards.
"Let him in, you fools!"
The soldiers straightened up in surprise, then quickly uncrossed their spears to allow her father to pass. Satiah jumped into his arms, feeling the prickle of his whiskers as he kissed her cheek.
"I came as soon as I heard," he said, putting her down and pulling away. "Can you believe — I had to wait a week to hear that my daughter had been attacked? And never a word from the Pharaoh or his silly Guardians! I had to hear it from that little girl — Mana!"
Satiah couldn't help but grin at this. "I'm fine, Father," she said, but he took up her hands anyway, inspecting the faded scabs on her palms. "In case it wasn't apparent, the Pharaoh has been a bit distracted as of late." She turned, nodding her head to Atem where he sat, still on the edge of the Sacred Lake several yards away. "The killer was after him, not me," she explained. "And he very nearly succeeded."
Her father lifted her hands and showered them with kisses. "So brave," he said. "I'm so happy you're alright — both of you." Suddenly, his face deepened with anger. "Why didn't you tell me what happened?! I was worried sick!"
Satiah huffed. "And what about you?" she said. "It's been three weeks since you left my side, and not a single letter or message."
He softened a bit and lowered her hands. "You're right," he said. "The truth is, I am plagued with shame for everything that has happened. I still have nightmares about the poor boy… And his mother—! Gods, Satiah. My heart is so heavy. If anything had happened to you, or the prince—"
Satiah pushed forward and hugged him again. "It's alright, Father. I'm still here — we still have each other." She pulled away and took his hand. "But enough talk of shame and sorrow. Come — tell me about your new posting."
Her father smiled and followed as she led the way behind a nearby tree — out of earshot of her husband and the guards. "It's nothing special," he said. "I spend most days locked in a cellar transcribing old texts. It's quite boring, really."
Satiah hummed her interest. "Well, if that's the case, then I have a thrilling request for you."
Metjen's brow furrowed.
"I need you to search the archives for mentions of Ramesses," she whispered. "Not the common legends — I'm interested more in the obscurities. Funerary texts, personal accounts from his priests — the like."
"What's all this about?" he asked, his eyes floating back toward Atem.
"I'm sure you know by now, but Bakura is still on the move," Satiah said. "The only thing we know is that he had a particular interest in the myths surrounding Ramesses and Amenhotep. I do not know what power was wielded by the kings of old, but if Bakura were to get his hands on it…"
"I shudder to think," her father confirmed.
She nodded. "But be discreet for now," she urged. "The Pharaoh still has many worries on his mind. I do not want him — or his son — to misunderstand my intent."
"Of course, my dear," her father said, nodding. Once again, he turned back toward the prince. "He looks afflicted. Has he been treating you poorly?"
Satiah rolled her eyes. "Do you think I would let him?"
Her father grinned, taking up her hands and squeezing them again. "No — not even for a moment."