The journey back to Berenit's home was not an easy one: Kisara proved a significant burden for the injured priest to carry, and Set took the long way around in order to avoid coming into contact with any passersby. While he doubted the resident farmers knew anything about ka spirits or magic, he also doubted they would require such knowledge in order to connect the white-skinned, blue-eyed girl with the white-scaled, blue-eyed dragon that had appeared in the sky above them. As such, Set moved quickly and carefully, tense with the fear of detection.
The afternoon sky was clear now. The sun shone as brightly it ever had, and the fields around Set were tranquil. Set could hear a few voices shouting from the direction of the well, but for the most part, the world seemed essentially unaltered despite just having been visited by a god. Still, tarrying in the farming village posed risks Set was not prepared to take. They needed to leave, and soon.
Berenit had been driven half hysterical with worry by the time Set returned to her house. The old woman viewed the inexplicable roaring, thundering, and darkness in the sky as signs that the invaders from Akhenamkhanon's reign had returned to conquer the capitol. Not bothering to disabuse her of the idea, Set pried himself away from the old woman's panicked grasp and laid Kisara down on the floor of Berenit's home. Then he retrieved his jewelry and the Millennium Rod from the vessel in which he'd hidden them.
"We must get away," Berenit was saying, "but where can we go? They will be all over the river, and the desert is full of bandits and robbers. Oh, gods above, they will make slaves of us all!" She began to cry.
"Enough," snapped Set, agitated.
He stared at the Rod in his hand for a moment, then nudged it with the barest touch of his magic. The Rod hummed to life, licking its proverbial chops in eagerness for another round of domination and pain; Set calmed himself, sharpened his focus and, with effort, dragged the Item's power to heel. We do this gently or not at all, he told it, icy and implacable. The Rod reluctantly fell in line with Set's desires. Carefully, ever so carefully, the priest directed its influence towards Berenit.
"Be calm," he commanded her, and all at once, the weeping woman was. Berenit stood blinking owlishly in the center of her one-room house, the tears still wet on her face. Set felt how delicate her mind was compared to Intef's and knew that a lack of finesse on his part could damage her permanently. "Tell me: does anyone hereabouts own a horse?" he asked.
"Only Hapu," said Berenit faintly. She spoke as though in a dream state. "He lives two houses down."
Gesturing to Kisara, Set instructed Berenit, "Find a cloak to conceal her hair and skin."
For a cloak, Berenit offered up the homespun blanket that Set had used the previous night. Set lifted Kisara so Berenit could drape the linen securely around the girl. He filled an old satchel with some dried dates and all his belongings save for the Rod. Then, with Berenit's help, the young priest hoisted Kisara onto his back, though the weight of her irritated the injury Khui had given him. Thus prepared to leave, Set opened his mouth, intending to command that Berenit forget all about him and Kisara, but he hesitated at the last moment, sensing through the Rod that altering Berenit's memories would cause her fragile mind less trauma than removing them entirely.
"Your son came home to you changed but whole. He brought you these," Set told Berenit, pressing his gold earrings into her wrinkled palm. "He had to leave you again afterwards—he travels to the capitol in order to receive honors from the Pharaoh for his military service to Kemet—but he will return to you soon. Until then, take care of yourself and wait for him. You know nothing about a white dragon or a blue-eyed girl. After I leave you, you will go to bed early, sleep peacefully, and wake refreshed tomorrow."
Staring straight ahead, the old woman gave a wordless nod. Set hitched Kisara higher up on his back, cast a final glance about Berenit's humble home, and departed. Berenit did not follow him, and Set did not bid her farewell.
The path from Berenit's was dusty and deserted. Set knew he'd reached Hapu's residence when the smell of horse came to him on the road. He followed his nose to a paddock behind the farm house. A man-Hapu himself, Set presumed-stood within the fenced-off area, attempting to calm his skittish horse with the aid of a long leather whip.
"Stupid nag," Hapu berated the animal. Thin white scars marred the horse's dark flanks. The horse foamed at the mouth, loose reins flapping against its neck as it reared and snorted. Hapu was so focused on his beleaguered beast that he completely failed to notice Set, who pointed the Rod in the farmer's direction.
"You know," he said conversationally as Hapu froze in place, the whip falling from his nerveless fingers, "if you had shown that you cared for it, I would have given you one of my gold arm bands in return for your horse. As it stands, I think you're just feeling uncommonly generous today. Fetch some water and whatever tack you have."
Trying not to feel too satisfied as Hapu shuffled off to do as Set commanded, the priest leaned Kisara in a seated position against a fencepost. He hid the Rod behind his back so the horse would not be frightened by its shine and climbed one-handed into the paddock. The stallion put back its ears and rolled its eyes, sidestepping away from the intruder. Set did not approach it. Instead, without looking directly at Hapu's whip, he picked it up and threw it away over the paddock fence.
"All is well. It's gone now," he told the horse. The stallion tossed its head and huffed, but Set continued speaking to it with firm, soothing confidence. Gradually, the horse's breathing grew less labored and its ears pricked up. When Hapu returned with a saddle and a water-skin, Set brought the water to the creature himself. The horse drank deeply from the leather bag and allowed Set to rub the white spot on its forehead. Able to inspect the stallion more closely now, Set judged it abused and neglected, but not so unhealthy that it could not make the journey to the palace. It was a hearty, muscular breed that could presumably help plough fields as well as transport humans; it would serve Set well, given that he needed a mount capable of bearing two people.
"What is his name?" Set asked Hapu. The farmer stared dumbly at Set in response. The priest scoffed and returned his attention to the horse-in particular, to the white circle on its brow and the crescent-shaped scars on its flanks. "Khonsu," he dubbed the stallion after a pause. The lunar deity's name was itself derived from the word for 'traveler,' making the title particularly suitable.
"Go back to your house and remember nothing of me later," Set ordered Hapu, and at the Rod's none-too-gentle prodding, the farmer did as he was told. The saddle he had brought Set was a simple square of padded cloth. Set secured it around Khonsu's belly and chest with the attached rawhide straps, then led Khonsu out from the paddock. Khonsu forbore the next few minutes, in which Set somehow heaved both himself and Kisara's unconscious body up into the saddle, with unusual patience.
"You really are too good for that idiot," Set told Khonsu as he took up the reins in one hand. He'd positioned Kisara aside the horse's back rather than astraddle it like him; now, he propped her head and shoulder against his chest and wrapped his other arm around her to ensure she wouldn't fall. "Let's get out of here."
Despite his eagerness, the priest set an easy pace, not wanting to tire his horse or jostle his passenger. As uniform fields of enmer and barley gradually replaced the village's more varied food plots, Set occupied himself with holding Kisara upright, guiding Khonsu forward, and scanning the road for anyone who might trouble them. There wasn't much to keep an eye on: because shipments of goods were usually transported to the capitol via the Black River, most people who used the overland path were simple laborers and farm hands, too weary and incurious to comment on the cloaked girl sitting side-saddle in front of Set. In fact, the journey's biggest irritant was Set's own physical condition. His cuts and bruises notwithstanding, it had been years since he'd ridden for an extended period of time. Set resolved to work on his horsemanship as well as his meditative techniques after he reached the palace.
The sun, which had been near its apex when the White Dragon had appeared, hovered just above the horizon when Set finally gave into his hunger and dug out a few dried dates from his bag. He chewed the sweet, leathery fruit with an intensity born of boredom and worry: Kisara still hadn't woken, hadn't so much as twitched. She didn't seem injured, but who knew what effect releasing all that power might have had on her spirit? Set knew that her body and soul likely just needed time to recover, but a less rational part of himself had grown more and more uneasy as time had passed.
Just then, as though responding to his thoughts of her, Kisara stirred against Set, murmuring his name in a sleepy, questioning tone. Her blue eyes fluttered open, and Set choked on the last of his dates in his eagerness to swallow it and respond. Damning himself for an idiot, he coughed for a few seconds, then finally just spat the whole wretched mouthful onto the ground, praying that Kisara was still too disoriented to register his blundering. He needn't have worried, however, because Kisara, who had not expected to wake atop a moving creature, nearly toppled off Khonsu as she instinctively pushed her new cloak aside and craned her neck to see why Set had choked.
An undignified minute followed in which Set dropped the reins in order to keep Kisara on the horse while Khonsu, objecting to all the squirming suddenly taking place atop him, tossed his head and turned in a sharp circle, hoping to dislodge one or both of his inconsiderate burdens. The whole debacle ended with Kisara holding the reins in a bemused grip and Set clinging to her in turn. Khonsu, thwarted, put back his ears and stomped his hoof.
"Yes, I know," Set snapped at him irritably.
In the beat of quiet that followed, the humor of the situation struck them. Kisara snorted; Set failed to suppress a smirk; and they both dissolved into relieved, incredulous laughter.
"That was fun," murmured Kisara as their giggles died away and Set unwound his arms from around her torso, "but I don't understand-what happened? Where are we?"
"We're on the road to the capitol. I carried you back to Berenit's house from the well, then we left town."
At the words 'the well,' Kisara froze. Her countenance drained of what little pallor it normally possessed.
"Then that monster...?" she rasped.
"It wasn't a dream. The white dragon is real," said Set. "But as I said before, it isn't a monster."
Kisara did not seem to hear him. She stared at the ground and made no reply. Looking at her, Set felt abruptly adrift, unsure of how to respond. He cleared his throat and asked,
"Are you... feeling all right?"
"Yes," she replied simply.
Set quashed his annoyance at Kisara's reserve. She probably just needs time to process everything, he thought. Rather than prod her any more, Set prodded Khonsu; the horse continued forward, Kisara grasping its mane to steady herself. When the silence between them grew too heavy, Set expounded on his departure from the village. He went backwards in the telling: first talking about obtaining Khonsu, then he informing Kisara of the manner in which he'd left Berenit.
"I don't know that I did the right thing, using the Rod on her," Set found himself admitting.
Kisara surfaced briefly from her own thoughts to murmur, "I think you were kind to give her a memory of her son."
Unaccountable pleasure filled Set at her approval. "I suppose I'll send someone from the palace to check on her after we arrive," he commented. "We'll probably need a surveyor to inspect the damage to the village's well also. Official action will go a long way towards preventing panic; the Pharaoh can't afford to have hysterical farmers on top of all our other problems..."
"Stop," Kisara whispered.
"What?"
"Could you please stop us for a moment?" Kisara asked, her voice strained.
Set did so, asking, "What's wrong?" but Khonsu had barely halted before Kisara was sliding feet-first off the horse's back. For a moment Set thought she had fainted and grabbed for her instinctively, but after Kisara hit the ground, she took off running into an adjacent field of barley, her cloak flaring behind her like wings.
Set grabbed the reins and dug his heels into Khonsu's sides. He rode into the grain after Kisara, calling, "What are you doing?! Wait!"
"Don't follow me! I'll hurt you!" Kisara cried over her shoulder.
Set spurred the horse into a faster gait. Overtaking Kisara, he cut in front of her, but she veered sharply to the left and kept running.
"Just stop for a second!" Set shouted as he followed.
Kisara put on an extra burst of speed. It wasn't enough; a more than capable horseman, Set steered his mount to intercept her again. This time, Kisara skidded to a halt and, cringing back, she put up her hands in surrender and warning.
"Please," she panted, "let me go."
"Go? What are you talking about?"
She looked at him, almost as frightened as she had been at the well, and cried, "I can't control it! If I stay with you, I'm going to end up hurting you, and I couldn't bear that!"
"No one knows how to control their ka from the start. You can learn. I'll teach you," Set asserted.
Kisara shook her head. "No, you can't." At Set's incredulous expression, she said miserably, "The dragon killed that man Khui. I'm a murderer; you punish murderers. You can't help me. You should execute me."
"You're no murderer. You and the dragon were protecting me!"
"I wasn't, though. I thought you were dead. The dragon almost killed you before I realized you weren't."
Set dismounted from Khonsu so he could speak with Kisara face-to-face. "I told you, the white dragon saved me when the slavers attacked my village. It defended me purposefully back then. Any damage it might have done to me this time would have been purely accidental."
"But it could hurt you still!"
"So could this blade!" Set drew his dagger from his shoulder bag and held it up demonstratively. "But just because something is dangerous doesn't mean it's not worth keeping."
Tears filled Kisara's blue eyes. "You don't understand," she choked out. "All my life, I've been called a witch, a bad omen, a bringer of evil. People hate me on sight. They hurt me or drive me away even though I've done nothing to them. I could endure it because I knew that they were wrong, that I wasn't a monster, no matter what I look like. But now..." The tears spilled down her cheeks. "They were right about me. All along, they were right...!"
Kisara sank to her knees, covering her face with her hands in despair. Staring at her, Set involuntarily thought back on his own life: all the snubs and sneers he'd endured for daring to rise above his station; all the resentment his successes had engendered; all the times he'd striven for power despite that resentment, out of little more than a desire to prove his enemies wrong. What would it cost him to see them proven right?
Set knew he was a creature of pride. After his mother's death, pride had given Set new purpose, had led him to defy the fate that evil men had thrust upon him. He saw now that though Kisara strove against her fate as well, her motives for doing so were rooted in different soil. Unlike Set, who wanted to prove his worth to the world, Kisara wanted acceptance and love. If Set failed to defy people's expectations of him, it would show he lacked strength or intelligence or some other merit, but if Kisara failed, it would prove she was fundamentally unlovable—a monster.
Returning the dagger to his bag, Set knelt down in front of the silently-weeping girl. Words of comfort generally eluded him, but authority never did:
"I do understand," he said, injecting as much confidence into his tone as he could muster. "I am a high priest of a Millennium Item. I know every kind of evil spirit the human heart can host, and every kind of human who can harbor them. Your ka is powerful, but it is no monster, and neither are you."
Kisara's hands slowly lowered. She looked afraid to believe him. "But-"
"Am I in the habit of making up falsehoods to spare people's feelings?" Set challenged. "I'm telling the truth. Anyway, evil spirits are ugly, and your dragon is the most beautiful ka I've ever seen."
Shock put an abrupt halt to Kisara's tears; the white-haired girl stared at Set as though no one had ever used the word 'beautiful' to describe any part of her before. Likely no one ever had. Set remembered what Kisara had told him back by the river: "I am very ugly." He'd been too distracted to think about it at the time, but now he could properly appreciate the ridiculousness of her statement. There was nothing ugly about Kisara. In fact, her odd coloration notwithstanding, she was quite...
Set stood, cleared his throat, and continued, "Anyway, if you're concerned about accidentally hurting someone with the dragon, the palace is the safest place you could be. My fellow priests and I can help train you to use your ka properly, and we can keep it contained if you lose control."
"You want me to stay in the palace?"
"Of course!" snapped Set. Belatedly, the priest realized they had never actually discussed what Kisara planned to do after they reached their destination, and for a split second, he panicked; what if she didn't want to remain by his side? Her ka was too powerful to let her roam untrained, yet the idea of keeping Kisara captive after all she had done for him turned Set's stomach. He added in a rush, "It would be safest that way."
Kisara wiped her cheeks dry with the sleeve of her dress. By the time she'd finished, her countenance was composed, if still a bit blotchy from crying. "Then I will stay," she decided.
Set hid his relief by turning to Khonsu. The horse had rewarded its own patience by snacking on some of the ripe barley stalks; Set readjusted his mount's saddle and bridle while Kisara stood and dusted herself off.
"I'm sorry I ran from you," she said quietly.
"The fact that you feel guilty about the destruction the dragon caused is further proof that you aren't a monster. Those who harbor evil ka don't tend to repent their actions," replied Set. He swung into the saddle and held out his hand to Kisara.
"I can walk."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"But I don't want to tire him," said Kisara, indicating Khonsu. "He's been carrying us both for a while."
"He can handle it; you aren't too heavy."
Kisara relented, but rather than going immediately to the horse's side, she approached Khonsu from the front, one hand extended palm-up. She moved deliberately but without fear or hesitation, Set noted, approving. As the horse lipped at her palm for nonexistent treats, Kisara smiled and scratched Khonsu's forehead.
"Khonsu," she said. "Thank you for helping us."
She moved around the horse and accepted Set's help getting onto its back. This time she rode behind Set, sitting astride Khonsu; Set tried not to think about the state of her short skirt under the circumstances.
"It'll be easier if you hold onto me," Set told her, and after a moment, Kisara put her arms around his middle, holding tightly enough to steady herself but loosely enough for Set to move and breathe. The nostalgia that came over Set then surprised him; should a position they'd only ever sat in once before have felt so familiar?
Presently an angry shout disrupted his thoughts: "Hey! Hey, you two! What in Osiris's name have you done to my crops?!"
Set and Kisara turned to see a bare-chested, middle-aged farmer running across the field towards them, brandishing a hoe.
"Oh, no," whispered Kisara.
"Of course something like this would happen," Set groused. He pressed his heels into the horse's ribs. Khonsu, reminded of its old master Hapu, needed little encouragement to gallop in the opposite direction of the man chasing them. The farmer hurled curses after Set and Kisara, but Khonsu's hoof beats and the wind in their ears drowned the words out, and soon the three travelers were far down the road, beyond the farmer's indignant reach.
An hour after nightfall, Set, Kisara, and Khonsu finally reached the main entrance to the capitol. The gates had long since closed, which Set had expected, but he'd also expected to find guards posted outside them; unfortunately, none were.
"They must have stationed all the available sentries closer the palace," Set snarled. He couldn't fault his fellow guardians for that decision, as soldiers would be more effective closer to where they knew Bakura was likely to strike. However, no men keeping watch outside the city meant that Set couldn't command anyone to admit him. The priest glared up at the looming, implacable gates. Crafted of Retenuian cedar and erected during the reign of Akhenamkanon's father, Selk, the doors featured carved and painted images of various major deities and exhortations proclaiming the former pharaoh's greatness. Set huffed out an annoyed sigh.
"We could go around through the desert," suggested Kisara.
Set shook his head, gesturing to the mud-brick walls that extended on either side of the gates, vanishing far in the distance. "We wouldn't reach the end of the walls until morning, anyway." He swung down off Khonsu's back. "There's nothing for it but to wait."
Luckily, they were not the only travelers who had arrived at the gates after hours: a small company of merchants huddled around a fire some distance from the road, their donkeys and oxen unharnessed for the night. Instructing Kisara to keep her cloak on and to wait with Khonsu, Set approached the group. He spoke to the traders in the language of Ashur after hearing their accented Kemetian, which so delighted the homesick men that they invited Set to join them without the priest having to flash any of his gold.
"Bring your horse and woman, too," they urged him. "There is plenty of food."
Set, who had not expected such generosity, beckoned Kisara and Khonsu over to the fire. The merchants gave Khonsu water and feed and insisted Set and Kisara break bread with them, even offering them wine from their home city. In return, when they asked Set about the state of trade in the capitol, he answered honestly and completely, filling them in to the best of his knowledge.
"You are well-informed for a simple traveler," commented one of the merchants, indicating Set's bedraggled state. Set knew his appearance contrasted sharply with his cognizant discussion of local economics.
"The gods are not always kind, even to the well-informed. I hope to change my fortunes soon," Set replied.
"Indeed, may all our fortunes improve," said another of the traders, raising his wine cup in a toast to the heavens.
Unable to resist his curiosity, Set asked, "May I inquire about what brought you to these lands? Kemet does not see much trade from beyond the eastern sea nowadays."
"Desperation, mostly. We deal in incense, and the markets closer to home are saturated. We had to take the risk in coming here."
Something in the merchant's tone indicated that said risk wasn't limited to a long journey. Set raised an eyebrow, silently prompting the man for more.
"Don't think us cowards," the trader continued, a frown creasing his bearded face, "but few of our countrymen would have made the decision to trade with Kemet even if they were in our financial position. There are many disturbing rumors about your kingdom—that it's overrun with monsters, that your priests use black magic."
"We mean no insult, particularly since we haven't seen evidence of any such things in all the time we've traveled here," interjected another merchant.
Away from the capitol, you wouldn't have, thought Set, though outwardly he sipped his wine and pointed out, "All priests use magic."
The youngest trader, who was probably the son or nephew of one of the other men, spoke up for the first time: "Yes. Our priests chant and say prayers and sacrifice the odd goat or two, and everyone leaves the temples feeling comforted. Sometimes a person recovers from an illness after buying a charm or an exorcism, and that serves as proof that the gods are listening, never mind that a hundred others who bought the same charms and exorcisms die. That is what passes for magic in most of the world."
One of the older merchants reached over and cuffed the young man on the back of the head. "Don't blaspheme," he admonished, but wearily, with the air of one who said the words often to little effect.
Recognizing a part of himself in the boy, Set smirked at him over the rim of his wine cup. "It's that way here, too, mostly."
"Is it? The stories people tell about your country are certainly unique. Spirits and demons, magicians who can tear out the souls of unjust men..."
"Perhaps you're worshiping the wrong deities," suggested Set, who had not had wine in a few days and whose tolerance for the drink had suffered a bit more than he realized. "Kemet's gods are powerful."
"It's odd, then, that one doesn't hear such tales out of Nubia or Ebla, where your gods are also revered."
"In all honesty, I try not to think too much about the gods. Better that men should confine themselves to that which they can see and feel," said Set with a nonchalant shrug.
Another merchant grinned at the youngest Ashurian. "Our new friend is right. Your clan may have taken the name of a goddess, boy, but She won't protect you if you keep poking at the divine."
"Which goddess?" Set asked, curious.
"Our Queen of Heaven, the Lady of Date Clusters. My name is Sharru-Ishtar. Pleased to meet you...?"
"Set."
Sharru's violet eyes lit with recognition. "Set is also a god, yes?"
"A minor one," Set answered, surprised that a foreigner even knew about the deity, "of the sky." Suddenly ill at ease with the subject, Set motioned to the girl sitting beside him. "This is Kisara."
Hearing her name and guessing the context, Kisara nodded politely to the gathered Ashurians from beneath her hood.
"Kemetian women don't generally cover themselves to that extent. Is she Bedu, then?" asked a trader.
"Just because she's all bundled up doesn't mean she's one of the desert nomads. Her husband may just want to stop other men from staring at her," laughed a different merchant.
Set played along with the Ashurians' good-natured ribbing about jealous newlyweds. When he could, he explained to Kisara in quiet Kemetian, "They're assuming I'm keeping you covered with that cloak because I want you all to myself."
Even shadowed by the cloak and tinged with firelight, Kisara's pale face betrayed her blush. She ducked her head to conceal it too late-Set noticed, just as he'd noticed the reddening of her cheeks in Berenit's courtyard that morning. Like then, Set couldn't help blushing himself. He turned away from Kisara to find Sharru-Ishtar studying the two of them over the flames. Set sent the young man a warning scowl, but Sharru just smirked enigmatically. Nosy brat, thought Set.
The evening was cold and tinder was almost nonexistent near the city walls, so Set accepted the Ashurians' invitation to spend the night in their camp. The merchants lent Set a couple thick woolen blankets. He and Kisara lay one on the ground and used the other as a cover; he kept his back to her, his shoulder bag hidden near his feet. Wine and general exhaustion should have put Set to sleep in minutes, yet he remained awake for a long time after everyone else had retired, listening to Kisara breathe. The soft push and pull of air into and out of her lungs both soothed his nerves and demanded all of his attention. He focused it to the exclusion of the crackling fire, the distant, moaning desert winds, and even the shuffling of men and animals around the camp.
Presently Kisara drew a deeper breath than normal, gathering herself to rasp, "Lord Set?"
Instinct kept Set quiet. After a moment's hesitation, Kisara reached out and traced the shallow cut and deep bruise that Khui had inflicted at the top of Set's spine. Her cool, butterfly-light touch took away much of the injury's ache, replacing it with something worse. Insistent longing radiated from where her fingers brushed his flesh. It wasn't just lust she awakened in Set, though that was a large part of it. Something closer to loneliness, hunger, or fearful desperation intermingled with the heat pooling in his groin-emotion and sensation together, too much of both.
"What do you want?" Set ground out, squeezing his eyes closed as though doing so could block out everything he felt. Coward, whispered a voice inside him.
Kisara pulled back her fingers with a gasp. "Forgive me. I only—your wound..."
"I'm fine."
"I didn't wake you?"
"I wasn't asleep."
"If you're cold, I could heat some rocks in the fire and put them under the blanket," she offered.
"That's not necessary," Set told her. Then, frowning, he asked, "Are you cold?"
"Oh, no, not at all. These blankets are very warm."
"They smell like sheep," grumbled Set.
He got the feeling Kisara smiled at that. The tightness in his chest eased somewhat. He tried to put the longing out of his mind.
"Don't worry about me. Just go to sleep," he said.
"First, could you tell me about the palace?"
"You'll see it yourself soon enough."
"I meant, how should I behave there? I don't want to shame you."
"You won't," Set told her immediately. "The Pharaoh and the other priests don't judge people for lacking etiquette, and the other courtiers hate me already, so there's nothing you could do to sully my reputation any further."
"They hate you? Why?"
"I'm a commoner; the aristocracy was never going to be happy about my being part of the Pharaoh's inner circle. I suppose if I'd sought their favor, I could have limited their dislike, but it never seemed worth the trouble." Uncomfortably, Set found himself questioning his ambivalence for the first time since he'd come to the palace. As a high priest, he was untouchable; none of the machinations or power plays that so often dictated courtly standing outweighed the importance of being a Millennium Item wielder. Kisara didn't have that protection, however. "We'll have to ask Lord Siamun and Lord Akhnadin about the best way to present you at court. They may advise that we keep our connection secret, or sequester you in the inner palace, or take other measures to ensure that no one will try and use you to harm me."
"Who are Lord Siamun and Lord Akhnadin?"
"Lord Siamun is the Pharaoh's chief vizier. Lord Akhnadin holds the Millennium Eye. He's my mentor, the one who recognized my potential as a mage and raised me up to the priesthood. He changed my life almost as much as you and the white dragon did."
"He sounds like a good man."
"He's one of the best I know," said Set. "He's also a keen strategist; he'll know what to do."
After a long moment of silence, Kisara said, "I don't want to be a weakness to you, Lord Set. I don't want anyone to hurt you because of me."
Set rolled over. Lying on her side facing him, Kisara looked far more at home in this dark, mysterious hour than in the harsh glare of daylight. Her hair and skin reflected the moon and stars' silvery radiance; her wide eyes glimmered, bright with emotion. Set wanted to tell her that he saw the hand of the gods in their reunion despite his usual lack of religious conviction. He wanted to impress upon her how extraordinary and valuable her white dragon ka really was. He wanted to tell her that he'd break the minds of anyone who dared to hurt her. Instead, acting on a strange, childish impulse, he took her hand, saying,
"I'm not afraid of a few pampered nobles, and neither should you be. We'll manage."
The last thing he remembered before sleep claimed him was the shy but sincere curve of her answering smile.