.

8. Hard Truths

Jono was troubled. His conversation with Maibe had left a bad taste in his mouth. He waited for Téana and Seren to return only because his conscience wouldn't let him leave until he saw them walking along the street towards the house. It wasn't that he didn't trust Téana to look after his sister; more than he didn't want to go inside yet.

He had learned to trust others with Seren's welfare. It had been surprisingly easy. Téana and Maibe each demanded respect in their own way – through thought, action and the impression of trustworthiness around them that said without words they could be trusted with his little sister's life; and it was Seren's life he was gambling with. It was all their lives, each and every day they stayed here. Jono was a true member of the Wandering People – the name all nomads called themselves, no matter their tribe. His feet itched without travel and his mind itched without new places to see and explore. Yet more than that, he was convinced that staying put made them better targets for Usi, Makalani and Hondo.

Someday he would be able to think Hondo's name without flinching; but not today.

The city gave them shelter and ways to hide that Wandering People never used. They were counting on that to buy them enough time that the hunting party would leave them alone. They were as vulnerable here as they were safe, however. Between them, Hopki and Téana had cobbled together enough information that they could try and pass for citizens of a distant province while the city filled up with visitors for the Pharaoh's coronation. Still, each day risked their lives. If they were discovered as illegal foreigners by guards, or true Egyptians took against them, it could spell disaster – punishment, slavery, even death. The idea of any of the three women in his life being hurt made Jono's hands tighten into fists. He even feared for the wrath against Hopki if it came out he was harbouring suspicious 'barbarians' from the tribes not even the great Egyptian empire could subjugate.

It had crossed Jono's mind that they could be mistaken for assassins sent to murder the new ruler before he could try to conquer the true Wandering People – not his merchants or his caravans and traders, who also crossed the deserts, but those who were born, lived and died in the wilderness, away from his taxes and laws. Previous pharaohs had tried it. Jono saw no reason why this new one would be any different. Likewise, previous tribes had tried to revenge themselves on Egypt's king. Their position was precarious in these circumstances, and Jono knew they were walking a knife-edge, even if Seren smiled and laughed like knives were only for decoration, not for cutting and killing.

She babbled happily when she arrived home, tapping her stick of wood in front of her. She talked about the people around the well and their gossip about the huge celebrations that were coming to honour the new pharaoh. The city was buzzing with excitement and, unused to such things, she had caught a little of its fever. Something unrelated to the celebrations caught Jono's attention. Seren blithely mentioned that Téana had talked to someone while Seren filled her jug, and Jono looked quizzically at Téana, who shrugged.

"A friend from market. He stopped to speak to me. It would've been rude to ignore him."

"He had a nice voice," Seren said. "He talked like the nobles we sometimes see being carried on their litters. They have so many slaves I can hear their footsteps when they're practically on the other side of the city!" She giggled and took her waterjug to the cellar, which would keep the water cool for the hottest part of the day.

Jono frowned at Téana. "A noble talked to you?"

She shrugged again. "An apprentice scribe."

"Téana, it's dangerous to give away our secrets to anyone who could use them against us -"

"It was a conversation that lasted a few heartbeats," she snapped, startling him. "Hardly enough time to tell him our life story. Do I scold you when you nod hello to the field workers, or the market stallholders? There's no malice in him and I've had no Visions of misfortune for us."

Jono remembered what Maibe had said about Téana being under a lot of pressure. Deliberately, he softened his voice as much as he was able. "Just be careful. We can't afford to take unnecessary risks."

"I know that!" She stalked past him into the house. Her movements were stiff, like a cat trying to walk with back arched and hackles raised. She kept her eyes fixed forward as though trying to see to the back wall through all the other walls and rooms.

Strangely, her prickliness didn't irk Jono. Instead it calmed him, as if she had taken his worries into herself as she passed.

This is real, he thought. Not a game. Maybe we are pretending to be something we're not, but if we fail, we're dead.

He thought of his spear, made with his own hands, and the scimitar sword fashioned for his father's father, which had passed down to Jono when his father died. It had been the only thing pulled out of the river's bloody waters, still as sharp as when Jono's father used it to slice open the neck of the hippo that fatally wounded him so it died alongside him. Jono was a warrior at heart, even if he hadn't taken the Warrior Test. He was part of the Wandering People and always would be, even if he wasn't a true tribesman anymore.

I'm Jono Black Dragon, he thought, using his tribal name even though he had forsaken the tribe. He still felt the pulse of the ancient beast he was named for, deep in the bloodline of his ancestors, all warriors themselves and all willing to fight to protect their loved ones. I'm a match for anyone, anywhere, anytime.

And if anyone tried to harm those precious to him, he would treat them to the sharp edge of his sword as swiftly and easily as Maibe treated him to the sharp edge of her tongue.

Téana paused in the cellar to collect her thoughts. She had not expected to see Ammon at the well. It had panicked her, especially with Seren so close. Ammon had not seemed surprised to find her there; as though he had been waiting for her, though he couldn't have known she would fetch water today. She had not known it was her turn until Seren pushed a jug into her hands and announced she was going with her.

Her reaction to seeing him had been unexpected, too. After her conversation with Maibe she had been wary of her feelings for the young scribe, knowing how heavily they weighed on her task of guiding Jono, Maibe and Seren out of reach of the tribe's grasp. She'd mostly convinced herself that whatever she felt was a result of stress and anxiety about the future. You couldn't care so deeply for someone after two meetings – especially not with the various gulfs that lay between Ammon and herself. It wasn't possible, and even if it had been, it was ridiculous for her to even entertain it becoming more than infatuation. Maibe was right; she needed to keep her thoughts clear and focussed on survival and escape. There was no room for anything more than that until the threats set against them had passed.

Except that then she'd seen Ammon again – felt the touch of his hand as she watched Seren laugh with the other girls at the well like she was as Egyptian as them. In her headscarf and kohl, Seren certainly looked the part, and her voice was so soft you could barely make out her accent. Anzu had just been marvelling at her ability to blend in when someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she'd spun around the meet Ammon's extraordinary eyes. At her shocked expression his mouth had quirked a little into a half-smile, and in that moment all Téana's carefully constructed arguments fell like a tent made of papyrus in a sandstorm.

She could not put her finger on why he inspired so much in her. She knew precious little about him, had never even seen his whole face, but still … something about being with Ammon unlocked a secret part of her. She felt it uncoil whenever he was near, making her act in ways she never would have before. Talking with him made her feel like she was his equal – and, moreover, that he saw her that way and valued her as a person, as just Téana, not a seer, and not for what she could do for him.

And then there was the physical reaction he stirred. When he smiled the roots of her hair prickled. When he touched her, however briefly, every sensation in her body was cut off except for the tiny portion where his skin met hers. Even then, by the well, with layers of cloth between her shoulder and his hand, the skin there still felt his hand as clearly as if he was still resting it there. She'd never experienced anything like it before. She could better understand why the tribe ended up with babies even during times of scarcity. Téana wasn't stupid – she knew the difference between love and lust, but to feel both at the same time, and each more potently than she'd ever thought possible …

When she spotted him at the weel, she was lost before he even said a word. So when she said she couldn't stay, conscious of Seren behind her, and he suggested a meeting the next day instead, she agreed without hesitation.

"I shall look forward to it," he said sincerely. "And to you, Téana."

She spent the whole walk back deep in thought, letting Seren prattle but not listening to a word until they reached Hopki's house. There she learned Seren had been paying more attention than first appeared. Jono had been suspicious – of course he had. He was as charged with keeping them safe as she was, though his weapons could be held in his hands and hers … could not.

He knows now, she thought as she straightened and began climbing back up the roughly hewn steps to the upper level of the house. Maibe knows everything and Jono and Seren know a little. It will all have to come out sometime. I can't keep them in the dark – not when they're trusting me with their lives. I can't keep lying to Ammon, either. If I tell him about my obligations, that'll leave him free to decide whether he wants to see me anymore. I'll hand the decision over to him, since apparently I never actually had a choice in the matter anyway.

Love. Such an unfamiliar concept. She understood it so very little thanks to her upbringing. She understood familial love after witnessing the bond between Jono and Seren, and the way Hopki talked about his family. She understood loving someone who wasn't blood-related as if they were – facing adversity together, as the four runaways had done, forged strong bonds of friendship that were a kind of love all their own. She understood loving to create children, too. After all, tents were only made of cloth and the camp huddled together when they pitched in unprotected places.

Falling in love, however? That was the stuff of a Storyteller's fireside tales. Fantasy. Nobody actually fell in love in real life; they just fell into contentment, companionship and, sometimes, tolerance. If you loved the wife or husband you had been paired with, then so much for the better, but that was luck. More often 'love' was a self-perpetuating lie you told to keep yourself sane – you forced yourself to love someone, or told yourself you loved them, because the union was inevitable and it was easier to share your body with someone you at least didn't loathe. Falling in love just for the sake of falling in love was a naive myth that had no place in the real world.

Except that somehow, against her better judgement, Téana was fairly sure she had done just that – and it was even more terrifying than being caught by Usi and taken back to face the Elders.

Hopki caught Seren as she came up out of the cellar. "I have something for you."

"For me?" Seren was surprised. She thought it might be food, or perhaps a message, until he removed a pendant from around his neck.

"I want you to have this talisman, my dear."

"Oh, but I couldn't –"

"Nonsense. It's a gift. I daresay it's as rude to refuse a gift in your tribe as it is here. Hm?" He held it out to her, and when she was slow to find it with her fingers he lifted her hand and pressed it into her palm. "This stone came from the Eastern Desert mines of the goddess Hathor, mother of love and the protection of loved ones. It will protect you as it has protected me since my own mother gave it to me. Wear it always."

"But what about you?" Seren asked, tracing its outline with her fingertips and bringing it closer so she could see it. A magnificent chunk of turquoise had been drilled through at one end and a chain passed through the hole. It was simple by Egyptian standards of jewellery, yet even with her weak eyesight Seren could tell that to decorate the stone further would have tarnished its natural beauty.

Hopki laughed. "At my age evil spirits no longer have any want of me; and I want you to have it. You have become … quite precious to me, my dear. You and your companions. You have brought life and laughter back into my home when I thought there would never be any here again."

"Hopki, I don't know what to say."

"Then say nothing. Your face tells me enough." His voice was warm. He released her hand but did not step away. Seren found she didn't want him to. Hopki had never been anything but kind to her; never asked for more than her time to listen to his stories about his family. Her eyes welled at this fresh act of generosity. "That pendant was mine throughout my boyhood, but its power grows when you pass it on. It was my daughter's after me, and Bekah's after her. Now I'm giving it to you. It seems to me you need it more than my old bones do."

"Thank you."

"I should be thanking you. Since you and your family arrived I've felt younger than I have in years." He coughed into his fist, suddenly awkward. "Now then, about dinner …"

Seren allowed him to guide her away from the stairs, but at that moment Téana appeared and Seren couldn't help showing her the gift. Hopki left them to admire it together, thinking they'd be like twittering birds over a pile of fresh seed. Téana smiled distractedly and offered to help Seren put on the pendant, but Seren could tell her mind was elsewhere and wondered what was bothering her.

"Are you all right? You've been acting strange since we went to the well. Is something wrong?"

"No," Téana said, a little quicker and sharper than necessary. Seren flinched. "I'm sorry, Seren, I didn't mean to … it's nothing, really. It's nothing."

"Téana," Seren said carefully. "If you had a Vision that was … not very nice … about what will … what might … happen to us … um …" She bit her lip, unable to make herself clear because the thoughts were so dark and unpleasant. "You would tell me, wouldn't you?" If you Saw that any of us were destined to die, you wouldn't lie to protect our feelings, would you?

"Of course," Téana said without hesitation.

Seren had no reason to disbelieve her; yet somehow she did just that. She wrapped her hand around her new pendant. The turquoise was cool to the touch. Even though Jono would probably be upset at her wearing something connected with one of the Egyptian gods, Seren took comfort in it.

Priest Seto stood firm against Atem. It was both a heroic and a risky thing to do. Then again, that was what Priest Seto was famous for – along with a terrible temper, an ego the size of Thebes and the wherewithal to back up both of these.

"My Pharaoh, you are needed in the throne room. The representatives from - " He named a province Atem vaguely remembered from one of Kalim's maps, though he had little idea what it was famous for or how big it was. " – await an audience with you."

"They do?" He caught the slight widening of Priest Seto's eyes and cursed his mistake. "Then I shall attend them immediately. Of what matter do they wish to speak to me?"

Another slight widening of the eyes. Priest Seto's face always moved in increments. "Your coronation, my Pharaoh." His eyebrows twitched. "My Pharaoh, are you quite well?"

"Hm? Why shouldn't I be well?"

"You are acting very … imprecisely." He was choosing his words carefully. To offend the Pharaoh was to tempt punishment. Though Priest Seto was adept at offending anything with a pulse, he was also adept at staying alive.

You mean I'm being careless, Atem translated. He wasn't offended in the slightest; though he was irritated that someone as close to him as a sacred priest still felt he had to be so submissive. He was the same person he had been all his life and Priest Seto had known him for a good deal of that. Seto knew that Atem was the boy who once got his head caught between the branches of an olive tree and had to be cut free like an ordinary peasant. He knew Atem dreamed of creating a world of equal opportunity where deeds counted more than blood. He knew how Mana talked to Atem, and how Atem often talked back. And yet, despite all this, Priest Seto still treated him like he'd cut off his hands for speaking out of turn. He wasn't timid, but his respectfulness did skim fear. The moment he stopped calling Atem 'my Prince' his entire attitude changed. It was a nuisance.

Atem wasn't like many of his forefathers, who ruled by might and cruelty and who executed their advisors as easily as their enemies. After a childhood spent with Mana, Atem was enlightened enough to value people who were willing to tell him the truth without sycophancy. He appreciated it, which was how Mana had been able to stay in the palace and keep her lackadaisical attitude despite its impropriety as they grew into their roles of prince and apprentice spell-caster – and, soon, Pharaoh and magician. Atem didn't want her to change. He had been forced by cirsumatcne to do enough of that on his own, curbing his old childish impulses and channelling his energies into becoming a king instead of a prince.

His father was not supposed to have died. It was a thought he'd had over and over. His father had been a strong man; he'd survived the war, several uprisings in far-flung provinces and even more attempts on his life by assassins from those provinces. He'd once been poisoned, yet risen from his bed three days later to attend a meeting with his six priests about grain reserves for his people. Everyone agreed that Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen had been the finest ruler in over a millennia, as bright and shining as the stars themselves.

Yet like all bright stars he had fallen to earth and proved his mortality. Unlike a falling star, however, Akhenamkhanen had ended his life in a sickbed, weak and enfeebled by the mysterious illness that sapped his strength and left him a haggard shell of his former glory. Nobody could understand it, and no healer could cure whatever had taken hold of him after he returned from a mysterious trip with his son – a trip about which Atem was sworn to secrecy, which involved some kind of repentance and begging with the gods for Atem's life. Atem's recollection of his father's decline after that was hazy, riddled with pockets of un-princely melancholy and the knowledge that his father was repenting for a crime he hadn't shared the details of with anyone. Mostly Atem remembered the gut-wrenching horror when Siamun came to him with an expression that told him the worst.

My father was not supposed to die, Atem thought every day from then on. He sacrificed himself for another. He took on their sins as his own. But why? Who made the Millennium Items he died for? Why were the gods so vengeful about them?

The Millennium Pyramid was not yet a heavy weight against Atem's chest, but it was still a weight on his heart and mind. It and the other Millennium Items were the reason Egypt had survived the Great War, but somehow they had still cost the country its king. Were its people really worth such a sacrifice? Atem had begun to doubt the fairness of the exchange, and so started his trips into the city to remind himself of what his father had died for – the ordinary people who needed protecting.

"There are two types of people in this world, Atem," Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen had said when Atem was still a small child and thought adults could fix anything. "The strong and the weak. What defines us is not which of these we fit into, but how we conduct ourselves within them. The weak man who shows courage is stronger than the strong man who shows cowardice. The man who protects the weak is stronger than the man who saves only himself. Remember, my son: the king is for the people, and their sins are his sins, just as his sins are theirs. Each pays for the other's in blood and tears. One day, when you become Pharaoh, you will understand what it means to be the recipient of your people's sins and the protector of their innocence and wellbeing. For now, however, you should know that whatever decision a Pharaoh makes, it is the people who ultimately make it a reality, and so it is his responsibility to defend them just as they defend Egypt in battle. If you are to be a good ruler, you must always remember that you are both more and less than the people."

His father's advice had rung in Atem's ears since the man's death. The 'someday' Akhenamkhanen spoke of had come far too soon, when Atem was still only sixteen. He wanted to be the great ruler his father had been, or at least not disgrace Akhenamkhanen's name through his own failures as Pharaoh, but this kind of lofty goal brought with it doubt and uncertainty.

"If you are to be a good ruler, you must always remember that you are both more and less than the people."

So he had set off to find out the meaning behind Akhenamkhanen's wisdom, and to reassure himself that he could be the kind of Pharaoh who wasn't swallowed up by the shadows cast inside his father's giant footprints.

What Atem found instead was a nomad girl who made him question so much about himself that it was no wonder he'd been a little distracted lately.

Atem wasn't naïve. He knew his marriage would be political when it came, probably to seal peace relations with neighbouring countries, or to secure trading routes through one of their more ferocious borderlands. It was possible he may even have to endure several wives to achieve these things, though only one would be entitled to the role of Queen. He'd been aware of this since childhood, since he had no cousins to preserve the bloodline, and so had always looked on marriage as a necessity to be endured more than enjoyed. He had even begun to dread the prospect of fastening himself to some unknown princess, imagining all sorts of terrible scenarios. The one that occurred most often was one in which her father foisted his spoiled, rich daughter onto Atem, who would spend the rest of his days lumbered with a queen who knew nothing more than courtly life and the status quo. She would be demanding and lazy, caring only about trivial things like banquets and the size of her palanquin. Compared to Mana's fire and Priest Isis's wisdom, this nightmare scenario princess had the same effect on Atem as being buried up to his neck in sand and then having a basket of fire ants dumped on his head, so they would slowly eat away at his flesh until there was nothing left of him except bare bone.

Téana wasn't anything like his nightmare princess. True, she wasn't a princess at all, but she didn't talk like a peasant. She had passion and opinions she wasn't afraid to voice. She spoke with insight, and she had the gall to not only disagree with him, but to argue her viewpoint. True, she didn't know he was pharaoh, but she'd figured out he was more than a commoner and still treated him the same way. After the way the court had been changing around him, Atem found her blunt sincerity invigorating, and the fact she was a foreigner didn't deter him at all. Many would probably have seen the new Pharaoh's fondness for a 'filthy nomad' as a betrayal of everything he was supposed to stand for, but not even that was enough to make him forget Téana's soft curves and blue eyes. She fascinated him in ways he couldn't put names to, and he wondered whether it was normal to want to spend time with one person and one person only – especially in light of his coronation. He was supposed to be concentrating on that, but instead he sat watching his courtiers' mouths move while replaying every word Téana had ever said, memorising them until he felt dizzy.

"You are both more and less than the people."

He was besotted like any commoner and it was a wonderful feeling.

The only dark cloud on the horizon was 'Ammon'. Téana knew the apprentice scribe, not the pharaoh. She treated Ammon as an equal, but king of all Egypt was as far above a scribe as the sun is above a campfire. Could she act the same way around Atem? Was it even worth finding out? She would eventually leave the city and he would never see her again. He should just enjoy the time he had left with her and not spoil it or risk cutting short her desire to see him. He fought with himself over whether to reveal his true name to her, to have her know him for him. It could end any affection she had for him – he had lied to her, and the lie was not a small one. He might not be her king, but he was still a king – or would be as soon as the crowning ceremony was over.

"My Pharaoh?"

Not that Priest Seto let such things stand in the way of already calling Atem by his new title.

Atem gritted his teeth. "I am distracted by matters of state," he said simply. "But my mind is only focussed on the twigs of branches from the same tree from which your own thoughts grow. Rest assured, Seto, I will not falter in this, nor in any other task set before me."

Priest Seto nodded once, a quick jerk of his head that said so much more for him than a speech. He was willing to believe Atem's explanation for now, and would abide by it – even if he disliked the fact that Atem had not using his full title. "I shall make the representatives ready for your arrival, my Pharaoh." He bowed and backed away.

Atem waited until he was out of sight before sighing. All this bowing and scraping made him long to be back with Téana. He hadn't realised how much it all exhausted him until he spent time with someone who didn't do it. But such was the way of things. He had the duties of a ruler now, and one of those was entertaining boring diplomats and making them feel welcome when you wanted to drop-kick them onto a chariot out of the city.

Movement caught his eye. He turned his head and saw a figure lurking in the shadows of a nearby corridor. Instantly on the alert, he straightened his back and instinctively cupped the Millennium Puzzle in his hands. It was a far more potent weapon than any sword or dagger.

"Who's there?"

"Someone waiting for Priest Seto to go away."

Atem blinked. "Mana?" The figure was so large it hadn't even occurred to him it might be her. "What do you want? Shouldn't you be at lessons with Mahaad?"

"Yes and no. I should be, and I will be, just as soon as I fix my current situation."

"Current …?" Atem narrowed his eyes. "Come into the light where I can see you."

"No."

"Mana-"

"I know, Atem."

Her statement startling him, as did her tone. There was no playfulness in it. She sounded deadly serious.

"You know what?"

"I know why you've been going into the city alone."

Atem cast around, but there seemed nobody listening. Still, the walls had ears. He drew closer, but she stopped him with a sharp command.

"Stop where you are!"

He halted. "Mana, what is the matter with you? You sound hardly like yourself and have yet to accost me with one of your embraces."

"I followed you into the city, Atem," Mana said in that same sober voice. It sounded so wrong coming from her.

"I did not see you."

"You wouldn't have. I was in disguise." Finally she moved, stepping out into the main corridor. Atem gasped involuntarily. "I know, I'm hideous. I cast the enchantment well enough; I just can't make it go away!" She spoke with her own voice, but the face that looked back at Atem was wrinkled and fat. Her clothes strained across an enormous bosom, stomach and backside, and from her head tumbled ratty black twists of hair shot through with grey. Her eyes were dull with frustration. She gripped her baton tightly in one wizened hand.

"Mana …"

"I'll fix it eventually. I always do. I just don't want to talk about it. I want to talk about you and that girl I saw you with at the well."

"You were at the well?"

"I even fetched my own urn of water for authenticity." She fixed him with a penetrating stare. "Who is she? I knew there had to be a reason why you were suddenly in such good spirits despite the coronation getting closer. She's not noble. Judging by her accent, I'd say she'd not even Egyptian. Am I wrong?"

Atem met her stare. He had known Mana all his life. She was almost impossible to lie to unless by omission. "You are not wrong."

Mana threw up her hands. "Atem! Do you know how much trouble this will cause? This is worse than anything I've ever done – and I've done some really messy things when my magic goes wrong."

"Like trapping yourself in the body of an old woman?"

She glared at him. "We're not discussing that right now. We're discussing this … whatever her name is."

"Téana," he said softly.

"Téana? What kind of name is that?"

"A tribal name. She's one of the Wandering People."

"What?" Mana blinked. "You mean she's a nomad?"

"I mean what I said; otherwise I would not have said it."

"Wandering People, nomads, it's all the same thing."

"No, it is not."

Mana stared at him for a long moment. "How long?"

"Enough time."

"Enough for what?"

He said nothing.

Mana shut her eyes. "Ohhhh … this is all my fault. If I hadn't covered for you and helped you sneak out … this is so, so awful. Priest Seto is going to have my head on a platter! Not to mention Priest Akhnadin. He'll probably use the Millennium Eye to make me see waking nightmares for the rest of my days. And Mahaad – Mahaad! He'll probably strip me of all my magic before I have chance to explain."

"You're overreacting –"

"Am I? Am I?" Mana's voice was shrill. It was such a strange counterpoint to her appearance that it actually silenced Atem. "I saw the way you looked at her today. I saw the way she looked at you, too. You don't look the way you two did unless there's something beneath the surface. Atem, she's a nomad. There's no way you'd ever be allowed to -"

"I know," Atem interrupted sharply. "You think that I don't? I am fully aware of the situation. Painfully aware," he added, because this was Mana and he could say things to her that he couldn't to other people.

His outburst silenced Mana. When she spoke again her voice was not so strident. "Do you care for her?"

Atem dropped his eyes, focussing on his own soft calfskin slippers. "Very much."

"How much is 'very much'?"

"More than I ever expected to. As you say, she's not Egyptian. By rights, I should pay her as little mind as anyone I pass on the street when out walking secretly. And yet …" He searched for the words. He was trained in speech-making, but nothing would come that pleased him enough to say out loud. Eventually he just made a frustrated noise and clenched a fist. "I am aware of my own foolishness, Mana. There's no need to point it out."

"You've been so much happier lately," Mana said quietly. "I thought you were just getting used to the idea of being Pharaoh, but it was her, wasn't it?"

He nodded.

"I like you better happy. You're boring when you're sad." She gave a weak laugh. Not even she believed in it enough to maintain it more than a handful of seconds. "You make me sad when you're sad," she amended, soft and a little hesitant. "After your father's illness … I've wanted to put a smile back on your face for so long. I thought you were going to do something drastic after he died. It was why I helped you when you wanted to do this crazy scheme in the first place. I hate seeing you that way, Atem, but this ... this is more than I bargained for. You and some nobody off the street … you're going to be the pharaoh. Pharaohs don't marry commoners. Or …" Her eyes widened. "Or are you thinking about her as a concubine instead of a wife?"

"No," he said emphatically.

"Are you thinking about her as a wife?

"I … don't know."

He had, several times actually, but any daydreams inevitably ran up against two facts: the myth of 'Ammon' and Téana's impending flight from the city. He was Pharaoh – or as near as made little difference. He could try to force the issue; oppose tradition and raise a peasant up to the level of royalty. It would certainly be a decisive gesture in support of his new world equality. How could he ask the people to believe in his ideas if he wasn't willing to put them into practise himself? Yet there was more at stake than simple tradition. The sacred court, his own tenure as king, the various factions looking to find chinks in his armour so they could pour their poison into his reign … It was a lot more complicated than it first seemed. Yet despite all this, all he had to do was think of Téana's face and his mind became focussed on one thing: He didn't want to give her up.

"Atem," Mana sighed, "this is beyond anything I can think about. You're talking about breaking consecrated laws. That's heresy. You'd be challenging practically the whole court before you even got as far as speaking to her again – because you know they wouldn't agree to you marrying a nomad. It would give too much power to tribes that feel they don't owe any allegiance to Egypt. There'd be no gain in it, as far as the priests can see."

"Since when did you become so politically-minded?"

"Since you decided not to be."

"There wouldn't be any connection with the Wandering People. Téana is a fugitive seer. She ran away from her tribe and has been hiding in the city until it's safe to go back into the wilderness. She's not fond of the city."

"She's leaving?" Before she could stop it, relief washed across Mana's face. Her wrinkles and the hairs protruding from her many moles and warts couldn't conceal the shift in her expression. "It's probably for the best. That way you don't have to deal with any tricky political situations and everybody can be happy."

"Except that I wouldn't be."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't want her to leave."

Mana stared anxiously at him. "What are you saying?"

"I am saying that I … don't want her to leave." He hadn't even known that was what he truly wanted until he said it. Now, however, it stayed in the middle of his thoughts like a horse that had sat down and refused to walk anymore. It was true. More than anything at this moment, Atem wanted Téana to stay. He wanted to go on meeting with her, talking to her, learning all about her. He wanted to take all she told him and make it a part of himself, as though by doing so he could make her a part of him too.

Mana watched him carefully. She raised a hand and slapped it against her forehead, dragging her palm down the middle of her face. "You're smitten."

"Perhaps I am."

"Being smitten only lasts a little while. When it wears off you get all the problems of reality that were creeping up on you while you were busy being smitten."

"How on earth would you know something like that?"

"You don't go down to the kitchen much, do you?" She scratched her chin. "No, that's a stupid question. You can sneak into the city without being caught but you can't get down to the lower levels of your own palace without some attendant waylaying you. I only went because I was practising my invisibility enactment. The servants never knew I was there, but it was very interesting listening to them talk when they thought none of the nobility were around."

Atem's expression darkened. "I cannot help the idle chitchat of others. I am beholden to no-one."

Mana didn't invest much confidence in her expression. "Does she know who you are?"

"No," he admitted. "She thinks I am an apprentice scribe called Ammon."

"Ammon? Hidden?" Mana laughed. "And you, a measly scribe?"

"The learning and intelligence of the scribes is hardly 'measly'."

"Maybe, but your intelligence is cause for question. It won't work, Atem. It can't."

Instead of answering, or even acknowledging the things he'd already thought about a dozen times, Atem gave in to the foolishness that afflicted the young, the impetuous and those in love – none of whom had more than a fingernail scraping of good sense. Something had occurred to him.

"We shall see."

Neither of them noticed the dark figure as it slid away down the corridor, all but invisible in the gloom caused by Mana self-consciously dousing the torches.

To Be Continued ...