Half-clothed and seated on the edge of the bathhouse spa, Atem watched the way the ripples of water radiated from around his legs, sliding across the steaming surface to lap at Satiah's back. She was sitting neck-deep in the water before him, her knees drawn up to her chest. Through the distorted reflection, he could see the distance drawn into her deep-set eyes. Her mind was gone — left wandering somewhere between the planes of gods and men.

Her stare had been long and empty since the moment they emerged into the shadow of Khafra's pyramid. Nothing seemed able to break this trance that was gripping her — not even the warm embrace her father had wrapped her in upon their return to the villa. In their bedchamber, Atem had tried to speak with her — had sat her on their bed and cradled her in his arms, whispering his love and devotion to her. But none of it — not a single word had reached her.

Even now, as he reached out to pull her wet hair over her shoulders, she barely registered his touch. With a deep breath, he took up a pitcher of washing oils from the side of the spa. "Lift your head," he said, soft as he could manage. She swayed a bit, her head lolling backward. Gently, he slipped his fingers beneath her chin and lifted it the rest of the way, then raised the pitcher to pour the oils over her head, careful not to let them drip down into her eyes. After combing his fingers through her hair a moment, he repeated the process with a pitcher of water.

He let steam and silence envelop them again — busied himself wringing out her hair and taking up a cloth to cleanse whatever skin he could reach. He was in the middle of wiping away a patch of dirt on her shoulder when she sucked in a deep breath. The sharpness of it caused him to pull back with a start, fearing he'd hurt her somehow. But she simply blinked, her knees sliding out of her grasp to lay flat against the seat beneath her. Slowly, she lifted her hands up, holding pools of water in her palms for a moment before separating her fingers to let thin rivers trickle down onto the surface.

Hopeful, Atem waited — but her eyes remained glazed and shining, even as her lips parted to speak at last.

"I almost let you die."

He could almost see the very moment shame sank into her, like the fangs of an asp. His own heart grew heavy as he reached out and took one of her hands, folding his fingers over hers to form a loose fist. "Sati—"

"No." She pulled her hand away sharply, turning to face him. The look she gave was one of almost anger. She uncurled her fingers, looking down into her palm again. Then, as if on impulse, she reached out and pressed her fingertips into his middle, just below his navel. "I almost let you die."

Her touch was soft, but Atem still winced a moment. As he looked down, he realized why: She was resting her fingers on the short, raised scar on his abdomen — the spot where Bakura had driven his knife not two months prior.

"I was so afraid," Satiah whispered. "Afraid of everything you stood for. Afraid of who you would become." She pushed her palm tight against his skin — as if concealing damning evidence. "But I didn't even know you then. I was so worried about who you might be, I didn't realize who you were." At last, she looked up at him. Tears were now coming to join the dull shine in her eyes. "I almost let him kill you—"

The last syllable was drowned in a tortured sob. Before a second one could seize her, Atem found himself sliding down into the water and encircling her with his arms. She resisted at first, but he drew her tight against him, hushing her in strained, urgent hisses. He smoothed a hand against the side of her head, brushing back a tangle of her wet hair so he could press his lips to her ear. "I forgive you," he said, no more than a whisper at first — then, more fiercely: "I forgive you."

She stifled her weeping into her hand, then into the curve of his neck as she finally turned and fitted herself to him. There, he rocked her like a child, hopeful that time and tenderness might be enough to draw out the venom of her guilt.

After three days, only one lotus blossom remained in the vase on Satiah's night table. Like all the others, it was withering pitifully now — its once-vibrant petals turned pallid and gray, its yellow stamens curling inward on themselves. Satiah stared at the drooping flower as the sun crept eagerly up the bed in search of her face. Half of her wanted to reach out and cradle the blossom, the other longed to crush it in her fist — as if that might somehow put it out of its misery.

Deep down, Satiah knew her despondency was quickly becoming caustic, both to herself and those around her. But these thoughts only ever seemed to turn to anger, which in turn led to even more self-pity, perpetuating a vicious cycle she felt thoroughly incapable of breaking. To his credit, Atem had remained patient with her, giving her the space she needed to work through her resurfacing grief — so much space, in fact, Satiah was forced to wonder if his distance might actually be veiling a deeper contempt.

He hadn't spoken a word about her betrayal since the night after their return from Khafra's pyramid, but she could see the seeds of doubt germinating behind his eyes whenever he looked at her. To Satiah, whatever words of compassion or forgiveness he could muster would never feel enough to erase what she had done.

Sunlight had just begun to warm her throat when the door to the residence creaked open below. Hurriedly, Satiah pulled herself up against the headboard, trying to feign some semblance of composure to greet whoever it was now climbing the stairs to the bedchamber. But when Atem stepped into the light, bearing a pitying smile, she was left feeling like a pebble eroding within the currents of the Nile.

He paused for a moment, then dropped his eyes and swept over to sit on the bed. There, he took one of her hands and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss into her palm. The sensation drove another stake of shame through her.

He flashed his eyes up briefly; they looked almost as pale as the dying flower beside her. "How did you sleep?"

Satiah moved her head and shoulders ambivalently, halfway between a shrug and a nod.

"Are you hungry?"

She shook her head.

"Feeling alright today?"

Running out of nonverbal responses, she finally allowed herself to reply. "Fine."

The smile returned to his face, less rueful now. "Well enough for visitors I hope?"

Satiah's brow furrowed. But before she could answer, the door to the residence rattled open again, this time giving way to heavy, uneven footsteps. Atem stood back from the bed, allowing Satiah to glimpse a familiar silhouette taking shape in the doorway — Jahar soon staggered over the threshold, leaning grudgingly on a wooden cane.

She felt her mouth falling open at the sight, which caused an amused grin to lash itself across Jahar's face. Atem broke a smile as well, then quietly made for the stairs, stopping to lay a hand to Jahar's shoulder as he passed.

While the king's footsteps drew out of earshot, Jahar straightened up and beamed at Satiah. He sniffed in the silence, then gave her a jaunty nod. "You look awful," he grunted.

Satiah exhaled a wry laugh. "You're one to talk."

He held his hands out incredulously. "What? I thought you'd be happy to see me."

"'Happy' isn't exactly the word I'd choose."

He made a low, disapproving sound, then hobbled forward to sit on the edge of the bed. "Indeed. Your husband tells me you've been feeling rather sorry for yourself lately."

Satiah shot him a glare.

"Alright, so he wasn't quite as blunt about it," Jahar said. "But I knew what he meant."

Satiah wanted to feel guilty again, but Jahar's radiance wouldn't let her. "You two seem to be getting along swimmingly all of a sudden," she said.

Jahar just shrugged. "It helps that he's a bit less … glum than his father. I'll give him that, at least."

Satiah allowed herself another smile, though her eyes soon drifted down to her hands, which were fiddling nervously in her lap.

"Besides," Jahar huffed, "it's hard to hold a grudge against someone who cares so deeply for my favorite student."

When she looked up, Jahar had an uncharacteristic twinkle in his dark eyes. He inhaled sharply and patted a hand on her knee.

"So tell your old Master then," he said, "what ails you so?"

Satiah dropped her eyes again and fiddled faster, running linen viciously through her fingers. It took her a long time to find her words, and even longer to speak them. "Down in the pyramid…" she started. "The God, it — it showed us things. Things I thought I was ready to see…" A familiar fear gripped around her throat, thinning her voice. "But I wasn't."

The declaration settled thickly in the air, but Jahar gave it space to breathe. Surprisingly, Satiah felt her heart growing lighter with each passing moment. She let her gaze roam up again when he scooped one of her hands into his. Gone was the twinkle from his eye — replaced with familiar shrewdness.

"The Gods tested you," Jahar said simply. "Just as they did me. The difference is — you prevailed." Satiah blinked at him, but his conviction remained strong. "You wouldn't be sitting here if you hadn't."

She curled her hand tight around his to stave off the threat of tears. "Then why does it still feel like I failed?"

Jahar let slip a knowing sigh. He lifted his hand and thumbed her chin. "Because you, my dear, are not a god," he said. "Nor is your royal husband — no matter what the scriptures say." He smiled impishly at the look she gave him. "You are both human, and therefore you must sometimes suffer mankind's unfortunate pains." He dipped his head down to find Satiah's eyes before she could let them drift away again. "But that means you get to revel in its joys as well."

Satiah forced a smile, but she knew Jahar was keen to her ruse. He lifted his free hand from the cane in his lap and layered it on top of hers.

"That boy adores you, Sati," he said — then, looking to the ceiling, "Iset pity him." The laugh that shuddered out of her was true this time. "I don't think I've seen such devotion since your father and mother." Satiah looked up, and for the first time in days she felt her cheeks warming. "Don't let this dolorous business with the gods keep you from making the happiness you deserve."

With a deep breath, Satiah squeezed his hand. "And what about you, then?" she asked. "Where will you find happiness now?"

Jahar scoffed and pulled both hands out of her lap. Groaning, he stood from the bed, supporting his weight on his cane. "You'll find that your definition of happiness changes as you get older," he said. For a moment, his eyes drifted over his shoulder to glance out the window, where Khufu's pyramid shone like a moonbeam against the blue sky. "For now…" Looking back, he reached out and ran his finger across the lotus blossom on her bedside table. "…just enjoy the little things."

With a subtle wink, he turned and hobbled away, leaving Satiah bathed in sunlight.

Squinting against the light streaming in from the ship's porthole, Satiah watched with great consternation as four soapstone sticks cascaded across the galley table, landing with the exact throw Atem needed to seal victory on their third game of senet in a row. She hissed out an exaggerated sigh while he escorted his last pawn off the board.

"Sorry," he said, though his voice lilted with satisfaction.

"When are you just going to let me win?" Satiah blurted, fighting a girlish giggle of her own.

"I see nothing to gain by making you think you're better than you really are."

Satiah clicked her tongue, still trying to feign anger. But when Atem glanced up at her, his face cast in the teetering ray of sunlight, anger became something she couldn't even fake. Fearing she might soon mirror his full-fledged grin, she looked away, peering out the porthole to watch a swathe of farmland roll by.

They were roughly halfway through their ten-hour journey to Hardai — a tedious but unavoidable mission, Atem had told her, to check in with the nomark of Behdet and appraise his progress on the irrigation system the crown had recently funded. It seemed a frivolous reason to travel such a long way, but in truth, Satiah was glad to put some distance between herself and Memphis for a few days. Ever since their return from the second pyramid, it felt like every familiar crack and crevice in the villa conjured up memories of Metka.

"Shall we play again?"

Satiah looked back to see Atem cradling a handful of black pawns. "You must realize by now that I'm physically incapable of backing down from a challenge," she said.

Atem smirked; he had already started to reset the pieces. "Oh, I'm well aware."

Satiah began gathering her white pawns and setting them on alternating spaces in the first row. She had just laid down her last one when a deep lurch in the ship caused all the pieces to slide off the board and clatter to the table.

Startled, Satiah looked up at her husband, who seemed thoroughly unconcerned by their sudden change in course. In fact, he was looking a bit amused. Muttering to herself, Satiah stood and crossed to the porthole, peering out to see a sheer cliff rising up beside them. "Where are we going?" The words came out more like a demand than a question, and she looked back to see Atem fighting a mirthful grin now. He just shrugged, then stood and jerked his head toward the door. Satiah narrowed her eyes as he turned and led the way through the dark halls to the ship's upper deck.

When they emerged beneath the shower of late afternoon sun, Satiah recognized their surroundings immediately: The Faiyum Oasis stretched its arms wide across the horizon, forming a perfect reflection of the sky in the water's glassy surface. Framed by every manner of terrain — rolling farmlands, jagged cliffs, busy settlements — Faiyum was truly a refuge from the sparse desert which surrounded it.

Satiah tightened her slack jaw when she felt Atem sliding a hand around her waist. She turned to him, first piqued, then charmed by his glowing smile. "We're not going to Hardai, are we?"

He laughed and shook his head.

Huffing, Satiah looked back to watch the ship easing deeper into Faiyum's embrace. "And what of your kingly duties?"

"It's like you said — a Pharaoh must be ready to rule his kingdom from anywhere." He drew her snug against his hip. "My pen and seal travel with me — everything else can be left up to Aknadin."

Satiah made a derisive sound. At this, she felt a soft kiss feather across her cheek, and a burning warmth bloomed from the spot.

"The kingdom won't fall into disrepair if we're gone for three days," Atem said, hooking a finger beneath her chin to turn her head toward him. "I think we've earned a bit of a reprieve, don't you?"

Resigned, Satiah flashed a small smile and allowed herself to lean into him.

Together, they watched still waters laze by as the ship skimmed toward Shedet — Faiyum's bustling capital. There, they disembarked at the foot of the temple of Sobek, greeted by Faiyum's nomark, Djedefer, and his family. Nostalgic as it was for Satiah to chat with one of her father's oldest friends, the visit was just a formality — Djedefer had offered to put them up in his adjoining villa, but Atem had arranged for them to stay in one of the nomark's smaller, quieter properties located in a nearby private cove.

Knowing Djedefer's lavish taste, Satiah was unsurprised to find his second home just as well-appointed as his primary residence, perhaps rivaling even the Memphis villa. The residence itself consisted of three rooms — a bedroom, a washroom, and a sitting area, all situated on ground level and open to an adjoining terrace shaded by wispy linens. Further up the hill, there was a sprawling complex with plenty of space for the gaggle of servants and advisors who'd traveled with them, including Seto and Mahad. After sweeping the residence and its surrounding grounds for signs of danger, the Guardians and soldiers left their king and queen in peace.

Slowly, Satiah moved from room to room, following the path of sunlight pouring in from each window and door. She stopped in the bedroom, peering through the wide, west-facing doorway toward the shoreline. There, gentle waves caressed the white sands, waving her a warm welcome. Even as a child, she had always loved visiting the Oasis. It had an atmosphere unlike any other waterway in Egypt — somewhere between the mystery of the seaside and the serenity of the Nile.

Satiah jumped a bit at the feel of Atem's hand falling to her shoulder, having not heard his footsteps on the tiles. She looked down to see he'd removed his shoes, and his cloak, too, was already thrown across the bed. "Shall we test the waters?" he said, nodding toward the shoreline.

Satiah smiled. After removing her own shoes and traveling attire, she and her husband began a leisurely stroll down to the lake's warm waters. There, they waded and lounged until the sun painted itself orange across the entire Oasis. Satiah found it odd how quickly Ra's eye made its descent below the desert plateau to the west — it seemed he was only ever in a hurry to leave when there was joy to be had.

Back up at the villa, the servants had started a fire in the brazier on the terrace, and Atem went inside to retrieve a blanket for him and Satiah to share while they watched the stars twinkle out from behind Nut's deep skin. But before even the brightest lights had emerged, their eyes were no longer on the sky, turned instead to gaze upon each other. Amber and violet melted together in the firelight, falling closed only at the soft meeting of lips.

When Atem pulled away, Satiah felt as if the fire in her heart might outburn even the roaring brazier beside them. But then he opened his eyes, and she found herself suddenly cooled in the zephyr of his gaze. He smiled to conceal his wistfulness, reaching up and brushing a thumb across her cheek.

"I've been thinking," he said slowly, his fingers sinking deeper as if he were afraid she might escape his grasp. "What if we were to … put off our final descent?"

Satiah's first instinct was to pull away — but she fought it, instead channeling her conflicted feelings into a twisted expression on her face. Half of her — the half that was here, in this moment, encircled by the way things should be — wanted nothing more than to agree with him. But her other half — the louder, strong one — knew only how things were.

"There's nothing in the spell that says we can't wait another month," Atem went on. To his credit, he kept his voice free of the urgency she knew he was feeling. "That would give us some time to … recover. And prepare."

Satiah lowered her eyes to watch the fire lashing itself around charred tinder. "Forty days is a long time," she said. "Anything could happen between now and then."

Atem hummed his understanding. "Things have been quiet lately," he said. As if it heard him, the fire stopped crackling for a moment. "I hate to think what would happen if we were to face the Almighty One before we were ready."

He fell quiet, and in the silence, Satiah's ears rang with all the words he'd left unsaid. Slowly, she turned her eyes back to the sky, finding it now awash in starlight. With a sigh, she nestled closer to him, allowing her quieter side to win out for the moment. "Let me think about it."

...

Two days passed as gentle and sure as the current of the Nile, filled with more 'shoulds' and 'ought-to-bes.' The daylight hours took them through horseback rides, lush meals, and walks in the marketplace, while the evenings brought with them loving affections and restful sleep.

On their third and final day, Satiah awoke to a gentle thrumming sound coming from overhead. She stirred, opening her eyes to gaze upon her husband's face. He looked to be sleeping as peacefully as he ever had, his breaths whispering out from between his parted lips, deep and steady. She could have stared at him for hours, if not for the swirling haze of gray that soon drew her eyes upward, toward the doorway on the other side of the bed. The light streaming in was particularly drab, even for the twilight hours. But as her eyes adjusted, she realized where the pattering sound was coming from — raindrops sailed down from the cloud-covered sky, drenching the earth in scintillating moisture.

Quietly, Satiah slipped out from beneath the covers and moved toward the window. There, she leaned against the doorframe, and her nose was soon filled with a rich, earthen scent, like freshly reaped barley ready to be mulled. The land looked different in the veiled light — the sandy slopes mottled with dark streaks where the rain was running down toward the sleepy Oasis beyond. A thick mist blurred the line where the land met the water, making the white sails of the ships look like spirits floating upon the glimmering surface.

Satiah closed her eyes and envisioned herself walking down to the banks of the Oasis, wading into the shallow pools and watching the rain scatter ripples all across the glassy water. She would run her fingers along the reed stalks and rushes, feel the rich silt squeezing between her toes, and wait for Nefertem to break through the cloud cover and cast off the rain with his smiling face.

But when she opened her eyes, she was still standing in the bedchamber, her fingers resting on the warped wood of the doorframe.

Her senses awakened further when she heard the sound of stirring behind her. She looked over her shoulder, seeing Atem turning beneath the sheets, casting his sleepy eyes at her and smiling.

"Come back to bed," he whispered.

Satiah let her lips turn up ever so slightly, just for a moment, but the song of the rain called her attention back over to the door. She wasn't ready to leave this dreamscape yet, even if the warm arms of her husband were waiting for her.

Atem must have soon realized this — a moment later, she heard him rising up, his feet padding softly across the floor as he came to stand behind her. She shivered when he slipped his hands around her middle, fitting himself against her back.

"Rain," he said, his voice humming against her ear. "It's been years since I've seen it. It almost never comes as far south as Thebes."

Satiah made a low noise, which stretched out to a soft sigh as Atem reached one hand up and brushed her hair over one shoulder. He then lowered his lips to her exposed skin, feathering kisses all along it. Satiah let her eyes flutter closed as he returned his hands to her waist, where he painted sweeping circles with his fingertips. Slowly, Satiah turned in his arms, reaching her own up to wrap around his neck and pull him in for soft, sensual kisses. His lips were smooth and warm, and it breathed new life into her to feel them pressed against her own.

As if all of Thoth's wisdom had suddenly entered her, Satiah pulled back with a start, causing Atem's eyes to fly open. He looked at her tensely for a moment, but his expression softened when she smiled. "Let's wait," she said. "Just one more month."

Atem let not a moment pass before he swept her in for another kiss, and she knew just from this moment that their love would not be measured in days or months, or even years — but in millennia.

...

Hours later, they found themselves aboard the royal ship again, and Satiah stayed above deck only long enough to bid the Oasis goodbye. The rest of the return journey was spent in the same way as the onward one: head-to-head over the senet board, sharing in laughs of victory and groans of defeat.

But even this joy was short-lived.

Just before sunset, a commotion above drew Atem and Satiah hurriedly back to the upper decks. Even before Satiah mounted the last step, she could smell it: the distinct, barren scent of dross and ash.

On the horizon, Memphis burned.

AN: How about some more emotional roller coasters for y'all, since I know how much you like them! LOL! Thanks for reading as always, and stay tuned for more excitement!