Totally proud of Anissa this week, as we managed to get this guy closed out about four hours earlier this week than we usually do. And trust me, it makes a difference! Here's hoping this guy is worth the wait. Enjoy!
Kal-El dropped Jason off and hustled back to Lois. Something was certainly going on; turning his hearing in that direction revealed angry voices and Lois doing her best to simper meekly. He was unsurprised to locate her in the bank they'd been investigating, and his x-ray vision showed two security guards shouting at her.
Instead of arguing, though, Lois was cringing apologetically—not her style at all. The behavior and the glasses she was wearing told Kal-El she was using her alias, Sadie Blodgett, who was not at all a Pulitzer-prize winning reporter for the Daily Planet.
If Superman came bursting in to her rescue, though, her cover would be blown. So he hovered, fuming. Right now Lois had the situation under control, but if it looked dangerous, then he'd do whatever he had to.
The guards dumped her purse out, finding some documents, and that occasioned still more yelling and threats of having her arrested for breaking and entering. In his present mood, Kal-El considered just letting that happen. Lois would be safe, and she might even rethink her methods at last.
To his amazement, she managed to talk her way out of it, pointing out that they had the documents she'd tried to take, and their superiors would be furious upon finding out an intruder had gotten this far in. The two men went silent at that, and then manhandled Lois out of the office they'd caught her in, into the elevator, and out the door unceremoniously, warning her all the way of the consequences of another attempt.
Her glasses flew off when they shoved her, and Lois staggered, cursing under her breath as she grabbed up the disguise and her rifled-through purse. Kal-El landed the moment she was out of sight. "Back to square one?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral.
Lois grinned at him, that old devil-may-care smile that preceded some of her craziest—and most successful—stunts. Such as shooting him to make him admit his identity. "Not hardly. Fly me out of here, I've got a story to write."
"But … you didn't get the documents," Kal-El replied, confused. Some things were automatic, though, and he caught Lois around the waist to take off.
She laughed wickedly. "Those? Random handful of memos I grabbed when I realized I was about to get busted. The real info is all right here." With that, Lois reached down the front of her shirt, retrieving a flash drive she'd evidently dropped into the most convenient hiding spot.
Somehow, he wasn't surprised. "You hacked someone's computer?"
Lois snickered. "Worse. I didn't have to. The VP keeps his password written on a sticky note on the underside of his desk. Kal-El, the whole bank is a front. They're laundering money for the crime syndicate at incredible amounts. And you know what the best part is?"
Her hazel eyes gleamed with triumph, and Kal-El found himself swept up with her. "What's that?"
"I've got digital copies of emails between the VP, Suen, and Joeung. We've got the sonofabitch. He's not weaseling out of this one." Lois gave a full-throated, wild laugh of triumph, and Kal-El's heart skipped a beat. Oh yes, despite the fact that she drove him crazy with the risks she took, this was why he'd married her.
"I love you," he said, and kissed her impulsively.
"I love you too. I'm not sharing the byline, though."
Kal-El stared in disbelief. "What? Lois, we collaborated on this story!"
"But I got the goods." She grinned at him, and he couldn't quite tell if she was serious or giving him hell.
He brought his flight to a complete halt. "And just who was hanging out overhead in case you got into more trouble than you could talk your way out of? Worrying myself sick, just so you know. These people are dangerous."
Lois sighed. "The banker's people aren't into heavy intimidation. Those security guards are way too complacent; it's all white-collar there. The dirty business goes along with the massage parlors and the gambling."
"Massage parlors?" Kal-El asked, not liking the sound of that.
"Oh yeah. Girls all over China and Southeast Asia promised jobs here, and it's not 'til they're already in the country illegally that they find out what those jobs are. I've got deposit records from four big massage parlors doing way more cash flow than just soothing tired muscles. And with 'hiring bonuses' that pay to … wanna guess?"
"Not Lei. Not the ambassador's brother. He couldn't be that stupid, could he?"
"Of course not. To Joeung. But he's in deep with Lei, who has a ton of money tied up in the bank. We can at least get the three of them with this." Lois' eyes blazed, and Kal-El remembered that Richard liked to compare her to a falcon. 'Sight, swoop, strike,' that was how he'd described the particular bird's hunting style, a bundle of predatory intent wrapped in feathers.
His news-hawk might be wrapped in a suit by L. Lang, but Kal-El understood the comparison and appreciated it. "Let's get back to the Planet then," he said, smiling.
Lois' gaze was distracted, already planning out the first paragraphs of her story. "And I've got to drop by Maggie's after all this is written up and hand her the data. She'll be on those guys before the issue hits the stands, so they won't have any warning."
"Teamwork," Kal-El said.
That got Lois' full attention. "Speaking of which, what kind of teamwork kept you busy? Just so I can look knowing when I see it in my own damn paper."
"Oh, that…" He had volunteered to tell Lois about the situation with Jason losing his powers, and finding her in the custody of security had distracted him.
Might as well just go ahead and tell her plainly. Lois was not going to be happy, but at least her baby boy wasn't actually hurt. "It wasn't League business this time. There was a problem with the Titans…."
Kal-El flew high enough over the city that no one heard Lois' outraged intention of kicking the crap out of the sorcerer who'd de-powered her son.
…
Zatanna got back to them within the day, giving a time and place for Jason and his father to meet her. As it turned out, Kala was working that night and no one could cover her shift, so couldn't be there to lend moral support to her brother. Jason found himself both disappointed and a tiny bit relieved; he'd worried that Kala actually would ask about the fishnets.
He was nervous, though, and showing it, getting sympathetic looks from Dad. Even more so when they landed on a two-lane road outside Gotham, far enough from the city lights that both of them could clearly hear an owl calling out in the woods somewhere. "Are you sure this is the spot, Dad?"
Kal-El checked his phone's GPS function. "These are the coordinates she sent me. Just give it a minute, Jason. We're early."
The younger man fidgeted nervously. Exactly on time, they both heard a whispery noise, like a faint breeze, and suddenly Zatanna was standing a little distance away. "You could have just called, you know," she told Kal-El remonstratively.
"I don't have your direct number," he replied with a shrug.
She chuckled at that. "I'm sure Oracle would give it to you. You are Superman, you know."
He shook his head. "And that would be abusing my position as well as presuming on you. No, I'll go through channels like everyone else. That way it's fair."
Zatanna shrugged. "This is why they call you the Big Blue Boy Scout, you know."
He just grinned. "I happen to like that nickname. It sure beats some others I've heard. Anyway, I don't think you've met my son, Jason."
"No, but everyone knows Superboy." Zatanna held out a white-gloved hand, and Jason shook with her.
He wasn't terribly enthused about all this, considering his recent experience of magic, and hoped she couldn't tell. "Pleased to meet you," Jason said politely.
"But not under these circumstances, I imagine," Zatanna replied, with a winning smile. "Well, gentlemen, all I have left to say is … welcome to Shadowcrest."
With that she stepped back and swept her arm out in a grand gesture, as the empty field behind her disappeared to be replaced by an imposing Gothic mansion. Jason startled a bit at that, clearly confused. "That was not there a second ago!"
"Technically it's not there now," Zatanna informed him. At his puzzled expression, she continued, "Unless you want to spend the next year learning magical theory, I can't give you an explanation that's not going to sound either impossible or like gibberish."
Kal-El just smiled. "In my experience it's best not to worry about how or why, and just trust the expert."
Just then, Jason's phone chirruped, and he grimaced as he checked the text message he'd just been sent. He couldn't help groaning. "It's Kala," he said by way of explanation, but did not forward her request to Zatanna to turn him into a giant iguana. Just once. Quickly, he texted back, You're insane. ILU anyway lil sister.
This must have been her idea of providing moral support, because the reply came back before he even put the phone away. ILU2. Don't forget to ask about the fishnets for me. Jason just scoffed and left that unanswered, shaking his head—but finally smiling.
With that taken care of, they proceeded up the path to the front doors, which opened just before they arrived. Jason was reassured to see two servants in black tie just behind them, glad that magic wasn't so casual as to merely open doors.
At least until he realized neither of the servants had heartbeats. "Um…" he trailed off, staring as the two men closed the doors in perfect, inhuman unison.
"They're not exactly real," Zatanna explained. "Just magical constructs. I'm the only one living here at present."
Jason shivered. "But why?" he couldn't help asking, even though Dad darted him a glance as if to warn against questioning people in their own homes.
Zatanna only shrugged. "Makes the place a little less lonely. And a little less creepy for visitors, at least the ones who can't tell they're constructs."
"Sorry," Jason said, abashed. "I'm a little freaked out by magic right now."
"Understandably," she replied with a smile. "Look, now that we're inside the estate's wards, let me try the easy way, okay?"
Not sure what the easy way was, but wanting to get this over with, Jason nodded. "All right. Go ahead."
He expected more dramatics, perhaps a crackle of thunder or flashes of light. But Zatanna only looked at him intently and said, "Erotser srewop." It took him a moment to work out that she'd said 'restore powers'.
Wild hope rose; nothing felt different, but that didn't mean anything. Not yet. He needed to test it. He stared down at the checkerboard-pattern tiles, focusing his gaze and seeing … nothing but tiles. All right, x-ray vision didn't work, but Jason couldn't give up just yet. He reached for the earliest of his powers to appear, hoping it would be the first to return.
The foyer opened out into a long hallway, and Jason turned to attempt a leap. Nothing like his usual jumps that rose thousands of feet in the air, just a little hop of thirty feet or so. Something easy for him but humanly impossible, from a standing start at least.
He landed about six feet away, not stumbling that time because he'd halfway expected it. "No such luck?" Zatanna asked. Jason shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. The magician shrugged. "I really didn't think it'd be that simple. Raven sent those gauntlets on to me; the spell that's on them shouldn't have been capable of what it actually did."
"What does that mean?" Kal-El said, a worry line creasing his brow.
"It means there's some other factor involved. The man you were fighting isn't a terribly experienced sorcerer, so maybe he has a wild talent that cropped up just in time to save him. Or maybe something else was going on." Zatanna shrugged, meeting both sets of worried blue eyes.
"But you can reverse it, right?" Jason asked.
"We'll figure it out. It might just take some time. First I need to find out exactly what happened to cause this, and then I can unravel it. Have a little faith, Superboy. I am pretty much top of my field." As if to prove it, Zatanna tapped the brim of her top hat, and a brief burst of sparks rose from it.
"Don't tell me magic really sparkles when you use it," Jason said, deadpan.
That won him a laugh. "No, but flash powder does. I'm actually at the top of both my fields, stage magic and the real thing. Anyway, since you're both here and we have the time, there's a few more things I want to try while I can compare how you react to magic to how your dad does. Follow me to the workroom, gents." With that she made a showy turn on her heels and lead them down a side corridor.
Jason just looked up at his father mournfully. "So we're both going to be guinea pigs?"
"No, if you get on my nerves I'll turn you into a rabbit and put you in the stage show popping out of a hat," Zatanna said.
"I was told you have to have a sense of humor to work with magic," Kal-El explained when Jason just rolled his eyes at the joke.
"Which is why Batman has the magical aptitude of a brick," Zatanna shot back.
"I've seen him laugh," Jason put in.
"Really?" Zatanna turned around and walked backwards. "Who was bleeding at the time?"
"I … well … uh…" Jason fumbled for an instance of Bruce smiling that hadn't been at a criminal's comeuppance, or personally embarrassing.
"Still angry with him?" Kal-El asked gently.
"It does get irritated to have someone so consistently disbelieve in what you do. Even when you prove it right in front of him, even when you use it on him. He just doesn't believe in anything he can't decipher." Zatanna took a deep breath. "Yes, it is possible to make someone hallucinate a lot of the things I can do, but at some point you really do just have to give in and believe the evidence."
"Giving in is the one thing he never does," Kal-El said, and even Jason had to nod. He'd seen that the summer he spent in Gotham, and ever since. Iron—no, titanium resolve was a Bat-trait that Tim was cultivating, too.
Zatanna shrugged. "I know he's your friend, and we have business to take care of, anyway." And with that, they reached her magical workroom, where a number of books were sitting on a table, slips of paper stuck between the pages at places Zatanna wanted to reference quickly.
Jason took a deep breath. He still wasn't comfortable with being experimented on, with or without his father there. But if this was the only way to regain his powers…
…Bats weren't the only ones with stubborn determination. That was a Lane trait, too.
…
Kala texted Dustin and Sebast, telling them she was working late. The lie grated on her, but she had little choice. It wasn't as if she could tell either of them she was flying to Baltimore without even buying a plane ticket.
She'd gotten Jason's message a little while earlier saying he was back from the meeting with Zatanna. Ha ha. No luck yet, going back later. Kala could feel the misery behind her twin's short message, and simply had to see him for herself.
Campus security wasn't prepared to deal with anything as fast as she was, so she knocked on his door just a few minutes after leaving work. "It's open," Jason called out from inside the room.
"Were you expecting someone?" Kala replied, walking in.
"Nope." Jase was lying on his bed, looking morose, with Gazeera sprawling on his chest. The lizard's tail dangled off the side of the bed; from nose to tail-tip, he was nearly as long as Jason was tall. In his old age, some of the iguana's spikes had gotten bent or broken, and his skin was a duller olive than the bright green of his youth, but his burly jaw and throat-wattles were as magnificent as ever.
"Well, hello there, handsome," Kala said, and tipped her head back, jerking her chin up repeatedly. Gazeera, dozing under Jason's petting, woke up and turned toward her, returning the gesture.
"You know that's how territorial males compete for females," Jason informed her for at least the hundredth time. She was having some success at least; his tone had lightened and a hint of a smile played around his mouth.
Kala sat down beside her brother, petting Gazeera's head with one hand, and patting Jason's shoulder with the other. "Yeah, but he never read the book. It just how I greet my favorite lizards."
When he looked up at her, Kala made the same gesture at him, and Jason finally laughed. "You're nuts."
"I'm not the one who wanted be Godzilla when I grew up," she pointed out.
"No, you wanted to be Mothra. But you settled for rock star." Jason grinned a little at that.
Kala smirked. "It was a letdown, you know, but I had to take fame and fortune over becoming a giant telepathic moth of possibly divine origin. Since I can't read your mind, though, tell me the whole story."
Jason sighed heavily. "Basically, this was just the diagnostic visit. Zatanna thinks she has an idea what happened, but it's going to be a pain to figure out how to reverse it. The actual problem seems to be that my body is convinced that the lack of powers is normal now, so that's why I'm not recharging. She's gonna take apart the gauntlets the guy was wearing and see if there are any other enchantments on them, because that shouldn't have happened. But apparently magic breaks its own rules whenever it wants."
"Magic's a rebel," Kala opined.
"Not the good kind, either," Jason replied morosely. "Kal, I don't know what I'm gonna do. What if I never get my powers back?"
"Oh, we're gonna get them back, no matter what has to be done," she responded instantly.
"Yeah, but … if I have to drop out of the uniform, that means you could drop in." Jason looked at her steadily when he said it, knowing his twin better than anyone else knew her.
And yes, there was a part of her that ached at not being able to wear the family crest. A part of her that bled at being called the Blur, at being thought of as just his accessory, a part that just knew she could rock a crimson cape trailing behind her.
The larger part of Kala's soul said, No. She shook her head slowly. "I'm not ready for it, Jase. I don't think I ever will be. It's all right to pitch in and save your bacon now and then, but…. I'd step in if I had to. And not for very long, either."
Her brother paused, still petting the sleepy iguana. "No matter what you think, Kal, General Zod didn't screw you up for all time. You're not anywhere near as broken as you think you are."
She had to laugh. "No, Jase, you're right. Dru-Zod didn't break me. The cracks were always there; he just showed me where the faults lay."
At that, Jason sat up, his eyes stormy, dumping a lapful of startled lizard onto her. He grabbed her shoulders and tugged her close, staring into her eyes. "You are not a fuck-up, Kal. You're my sister. I know you. You can be a great big cheese toast sometimes, but you're not messed up like that. You're just as much a Super as I am."
Kala looked at him with love and sorrow in her eyes; his belief in her always got her choked up. "I love you, Jase. But I know who I am, all the Empress of Earth jokes aside. I won't take the risk of cracking under pressure."
Jason growled and shook her with a mixture of exasperation and affection. "I'm gonna crack your head if you don't stop thinking you're some kind of colossal loser, Kal. Quit talking smack about my twin, you hear?"
She started laughing at last, and that was the moment two things happened simultaneously. Gazeera had had enough being tumbled about, and clambered away from both of them. And one of Jason's roommates opened the door, standing stock-still and staring at the spectacle of Jason Kent—who carried a picture of a blonde named Cassie in his wallet—nose to nose with a dark-haired girl. "Um … sorry, you shoulda put a sock on the doorknob or something," the guy said.
"What?! Gross! She's my sister you freak!" Jason yelped, and Kala cackled.
Gazeera saw the door standing open, and made a break for freedom, scuttling off the bed and towards the unfortunate roommate. "Shut the door!" Kala and Jason yelled.
The guy saw a six-foot-long lizard with heavy jaws and long claws coming at him at high speed, and jumped out of the way. The twins both tried to jump off the bed at once and tripped over each other. Kala managed to get her feet under her first and caught Gazeera just at the doorway, scooping him up in both hands and tucking his tail under her arm. "Uh-unh, no sir, we are not having Gazeera versus the Johns-Hopkins student body tonight," she scolded, rubbing his chin until he stopped flailing.
"Kal, you freakin' stepped on me," Jason protested.
"Dude, I told you to keep that thing in its cage!" the roommate complained.
"Don't be such a chicken," Kala said, glaring.
"Hey, I didn't know I was gonna room with a guy who kept a damn dinosaur by his bed," the guy shot back.
Kala lifted Gazeera up and kissed his head. "And he's a precious dinosaur, yes he is. Seriously, man, this iguana is fourteen years old. Have some respect."
By then Jason had gotten up and dusted himself off. "By the way, Kala, this is Howard. Howard, this is my twin sister, Kala."
Still eyeballing the iguana, Howard said, "Yeah, now I believe she's your sister. She's just as weird as you."
"Excuse you?!" Kala snapped, whirling on him. Gazeera hissed with the sudden movement. "I'll have you know I am much, much weirder than Jase."
Jason just dropped his head into his hands with a long-suffering sigh, and Kala laughed. On that note Howard picked up the book he'd come looking for and left. "Well, that was fun," Kala remarked, sitting back down with a firm hold on the struggling lizard.
Her brother plopped down beside her. "Yeah, sure. Fun like a roller coaster right after dinner. Seriously, though, what are we gonna do?"
She shrugged, thinking. "Well … you were the one who wanted a normal life. Maybe now's the time to take a shot at it."
He gnawed the inside of his lip, an old habit whenever he was thoughtful and worried at the same time. "Maybe. You know, spring break's coming up. And Grandpa Ben invited me out to the farmhouse any time I have time. It wouldn't be a bad idea to take a week and just chill."
Kala nodded. The paperwork had been finalized shortly after Martha's passing. The Kent family home in Smallville was held in a living trust for Jason and Kala jointly, with Ben Hubbard guaranteed residence there as long as he lived. "I miss Smallville, and I know Dustin does, too. Maybe I can carve out a couple days and come join you."
Jason looped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her. "I'd like that, Kal."
"Consider it done, brother mine," she said, and his quiet smile was worth more than the cheers of a thousand fans.
…
Each day for the heir to both Wayne and al Ghul was full—and fully scheduled. Damian had little experience of other children, however, and could not have known how different his life was from theirs. The physical training alone would've drawn complaints from many adults, and that wasn't all of it. Ra's al Ghul would not allow an heir of his bloodline to let the mind atrophy while honing the body to perfection, so Damian was already several years ahead of the normal learning curve for his age.
Mornings were for physical training, mostly. Martial arts to develop his muscles and endurance, and weapons practice as well to familiarize him with the tools of his trade. He ran, biked, swum, practiced katas, did strength training, and of course sparred with his tutors, on a schedule that alternated activities based on the day.
Lunch was his largest meal, and his mother's chefs ensured that he got all of the nutrition he needed. Damian probably had twice the caloric intake of an ordinary child, but he was lean, without barely a trace of 'baby fat' except in the roundness of his cheeks. He had never tasted refined sugar and had no conception of junk food. He did have a young boy's craving for sweets; one chef in particular indulged him with desserts sweetened with honey, or iced fruit juices.
Fortified by lunch, his studies resumed. Mathematics, history, philosophy, chemistry, biology, physics, and languages occupied his afternoons, with a rest break in the middle of it all. As the only student, Damian had his instructors' undivided attention. Most of his learning was hands-on and interactive, though he was also expected to complete assignments such as translations in his free time. That free time came only one day a week and in the evenings, unless a teacher was indisposed.
If he had done well during the day, Damian might be invited to dine with his grandfather and mother. He looked upon that as a special privilege, as he was meant to. No child of his bloodline would sit down to dinner with servants, so if he were not allowed at the family table he had to eat alone. Breakfast and lunch by himself weren't so bad, giving him time to catch up on his reading for his studies, but he preferred the exalted company of the formal table.
He was nearly always out of his depth in the majority of the discussions over dinner, but both of them made a point of including him by asking about his day. His grandfather paid close attention, but his mother listened with more concern. They both knew, of course. Damian was not so naïve even at his tender age as to think his teachers didn't report to those who paid them. Ra's al Ghul was rarely impressed by his progress, but the days when he was not dismissive were victories for Damian.
Talia, however, was another matter entirely. In some ways she was the strictest individual in Damian's life; if she suspected he was not performing to the best of his capability, one sharp look from her withered him more than all the exhortations of his tutors. Sometimes when he thought he was doing his best, that look and the warning arch of her brow would lead him to discover another notch of strength or brilliance. Damian dreaded disappointing her, and lived for her praise. He was not being raised with any particular direction on the matter of religion, Ra's al Ghul preferring to manipulate doctrine rather than subscribe to it, so for all practical purposes he worshipped his mother.
The late evenings were his favorite times. Dinner over, assignments complete, perhaps a little recreation aside, he was always thoroughly tired. But he delayed going to bed as long as he could, taking the time to bathe and brush his teeth and perhaps even neaten up his room. All so that he would still be awake when his mother came in to wish him goodnight.
Perhaps she'd caught on, because Talia arrived as early as she could, prolonging the moments she could spend with her son in quiet reflection. They talked about his day—not the more formal and dutiful progress reports over dinner, but a leisurely conversation that allowed him to ramble about the things that interested him, and her to enlighten him further with examples from her own knowledge and experience. Damian believed his mother knew everything.
Sometimes there were stories. Damian remembered, when he was little and couldn't yet handle the full regimen of mental and physical training, she told him tales to help him drift off to sleep or to occupy his restless mind. Talia told the best stories; even the boring bits of history came alive when she spoke them.
So it was no surprise when, after the last delaying tactic was defeated and Damian was in bed, he looked up at her and asked, "Ommi, tell me a story?" They practiced his languages even now, speaking English tonight, but he always called her by her title in Arabic. It was the first language for both of them and the most personal, no matter how many others they knew.
"What kind of story, habibi?" The endearment was only between them; in front of others she called him by his name.
"Tell me about Alexander," Damian said, his eyes bright. He loved hearing of the ancient Greek king. It was fortunate for him that Ra's al Ghul owned only well-trained horses, for if there had been a fractious black stallion in his stable, Damian might have tried to tame his own Bucephalus.
"I told you how Alexander conquered the Persians last night," Talia chided.
He did not pout; it had never won him his way. Talia was implacable. "Then you choose," Damian said. He almost hoped for one of the old stories, more than half mythical, of Arabian princes and thieves in disguise and treacherous djinn. But those fairytales seemed to belong more to his early childhood, with his mother preferring real stories now.
Talia smoothed his blanket thoughtfully, and then smiled. Damian loved that smile; he would do anything to earn it. "I will tell you of another man called 'the Great', then. A prince who was a warrior, a diplomat, a leader, and an architect. He reigned longer than any of his people before or since and is regarded as the greatest of all his kind. The monuments he raised are still regarded with awe to this day. Can you guess his name, habibi?"
There were a couple of possibilities, and trying to figure out which she meant was part of the fun. "Was his kingdom cold most of the year?" Damian asked, thinking perhaps Peter the Great, Tsar of Russia.
"Quite the opposite," she replied.
A tropical part of the world, then. "Ramesses II?" Damian guessed.
Talia ruffled his hair. "My wise little one," she murmured, obviously quite pleased, and Damian preened under the praise. As his mother told him of the life of the pharaoh, he began to doze, his mind drifting to a land ruled by the desert wind and the annual flooding of the Nile. Damian felt the unrelenting Egyptian sun on his skin, heard the rattle of palm leaves in the breeze, saw in his mind's eye the great statues and obelisks. He rode in the pharaoh's chariot to battle, re-conquering lands that had belonged to Egypt of old and adding new territories. Though he warred against the Hittites, Ramesses had eventually made peace with them, taking the Hittite king's eldest daughter as one of his wives.
It was as fantastic a tale as any fairy-story, even better for being true. Damian's eyelids drooped as Talia wound down the tale. "In the end, Ramesses the Great lived into his nineties, having ruled the greatest kingdom of that age for more than sixty years, and leaving a legacy of wealth and architecture behind him. In his life he had two hundred wives, a hundred sons, and sixty daughters, and upon his death at that extraordinary age, his thirteenth son Merneptah—himself already in his fifth decade—succeeded him. Many pharaohs took his name in an attempt to recall his glory, but none came close to accomplishing that goal."
"I want to go to the temples of Abu Simbel," Damian murmured, more than half asleep.
"They are very beautiful," Talia told him, and then added musingly, "Perhaps I shall take you with me to see them."
That woke Damian up again, his eyes as bright as any child told they were going to an amusement park. For him, the attraction was as much time with his mother as it was seeing the legendary temples. Still, he knew to behave with decorum no matter how exciting the prospect was. "I would like that very much."
"We shall see. Sleep now, my little prince," Talia murmured, and kissed him good night.