Lord of the Desert

by Nina Bruhns

  They’d entered what seemed to be a quiet residential wing. He remained silent until after they’d arrived at a patterned silver door, he’d opened it and hustled her inside. “Gillian, what if she chose to join the per netjer of Re-Horakhti?”

  “I’ve told you before. She wouldn’t have.”

  “All right, fine. Say that’s true, and for argument’s sake, let’s also say by some miracle you are able to escape Khepesh without bringing down the wrath of the high priest upon yourself. So you show up at the doorstep of Petru and—” he put his palm to his forehead “—except, oh, wait, you have no idea where it is.”

  Hurt brushed along the fringes of her heart. “But you do. You could tell me. You could show me.”

  His lips thinned. “Do you have any idea what Haru-Re would do to you?”

  Nothing pleasant, she knew, because he’d intimated as much yesterday when they’d met at Rhys’s house. “Not if you’re with me,” she reasoned.

  His gaze was even. “Now you want me to betray Seth?”

  “You already have,” she reminded him.

  A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Yes, and he’s been my best friend for a hundred twenty-five years. What makes you think your mother any less perfidious than I?”

  “I just know it,” she said unhappily, and turned away to escape his angry regard. She suddenly noticed they were standing in the drawing room of a private residence. It was furnished much like the one in Rhys’s house aboveground. “Are these your apartments?” she asked in surprise.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Is that wise? Should we even be here?” she asked.

  “Hell, no. But I couldn’t have you talking treason out in the open hallways. Remember what I said happened to the last person who defected to the enemy?”

  A twist of fear wound through her. “What am I supposed to do then? What if they’ve turned my mother into a zombie because she wouldn’t join willingly? Do I just—”

  “Shabti,” he interrupted, his mouth turned down in distaste.

  “What?”

  “We call them shabtis, human servants, not zombies. That implies death, and they are very much alive.”

  “In body, anyway. You saw her face in the photo, Rhys. Did she look like a normal, happy woman to you?”

  He pushed out a breath. “It was a split second in time, Gillian. Maybe her shoes were pinching her.”

  She scowled. “You don’t really believe that.”

  “Even if I don’t, there’s nothing we can do to help her. Not from here. Not right now.” He sighed. “Perhaps in time we can arrange a trade.”

  “In time?”

  “Darling, remember your own current position here at Khepesh is tenuous at best. Until things are…decided, you shouldn’t rock the boat with talk of haring off to Petru.” His tone carried more than a shade of rebuke.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the hot sting of tears behind the lids. She knew he was right. But that didn’t make it any easier to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  With a curse, he opened his arms. “By the stars. Come here.”

  She went into them gratefully, needing the comfort of his nearness. He lowered his lips to hers, and she met them, shuddering out a sigh of need, holding him close.

  Her body recognized him immediately as her lover, the man who’d spent hours last night worshipping her with untold pleasures. She wanted that feeling back again. The emotional closeness. The incredible sense of belonging. She opened to him, inviting him in. Their mouths melded in a drowning kiss.

  Swearing an oath, a few seconds later Rhys tore his lips from hers and stepped back. “No, my love. We mustn’t do this. Not until I’ve spoken with Seth.”

  “And that, my friend,” came a rough and angry male voice from behind her, “is the first intelligent thing I’ve heard you utter.”

  Chapter 14

  Let not my heart be fashioned anew

  according to all the evil things said against me.

  —The Book of the Dead

  Sheikh Shahin Aswadi stood in the wide passage to Rhys’s kitchen, brandishing his scimitar.

  Gillian spun around and let out a cry of fear as Rhys froze in shock. He reached out and tucked her protectively behind his back.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked his friend—hell, he hoped Shahin was still his friend after what the man had just witnessed.

  “Trying to save your pathetic hide,” Shahin responded with a look of fury and disgust. “When Nephtys told me what you were up to with this woman, I didn’t want to believe her. I had to see for myself that you are a traitor.”

  “I am no traitor,” Rhys growled. He planted his fists on his hips. “Yesterday at my house you saw how things were between us. You made no such accusations then.”

  “Because it wasn’t the first time you’d used sex to entice a female to become Seth’s sacrifice,” Shahin reminded him pointedly. He ignored Gillian’s scandalized gasp and continued with narrowed eyes. “How was I to know this one would ensnare your wits as well as your cock?”

  “She has not,” Rhys snapped. “I simply wish her for myself. I deserve my choice of bedmate after playing pied piper to our master for so long.”

  This time Gillian’s gasp was of outrage. She jerked away from his protective shield. “Excuse me?”

  Shahin’s gaze strayed to her. “It seems the lady has a different perception of your relationship.”

  Rhys resisted the urge to throw a spell of oblivion over her to prevent her hearing the argument. Shahin would just reverse it. “There’s nothing wrong with her perception. But I know where my duty lies. I’ve made her no promises I cannot keep.”

  She made a distressed sound, but he didn’t dare turn. Shahin would not hesitate to strike.

  “She spoke of seeking Petru,” Shahin said, holding his weapon steady, his expression still hard with suspicion. “Why?”

  “Her mother was taken by Haru-Re,” Rhys said evenly. “She wants to rescue her.”

  Shahin’s face barely registered a reaction. But Rhys saw it, swift and violent, chase through his eyes. Shahin’s own family—his parents and sister—had been captured nearly three hundred years ago. And Haru-Re did not have the scruples of Seth-Aziz. Shahin’s young, innocent sister had become Haru-Re’s more-than-blood sacrifice, then had taken her own life rather than face the shame of her ordeal; his father had died trying to avenge her honor. His mother was still living as a shabti in Petru. They were the reason Shahin had joined forces with Seth-Aziz and risen to the post of commander of all the guards of Khepesh—for revenge. There was no fiercer warrior in all of Egypt than Sheikh Shahin, the legendary Black Hawk. But he never, ever spoke of his mother.

  Abruptly, Shahin lowered his weapon and sheathed it. He stalked over to where Gillian stood and bent over her, nose to nose. “Forget your mother,” he growled. “She is as good as dead to the world.”

  “Shahin!” Rhys admonished sharply. But it was too late. Gillian slapped her hands over her mouth and burst into tears. He pushed Shahin aside and reached out to comfort her, but she shrank away.

  “Don’t touch me!” she cried, and ran for the door.

  He went to give chase, but Shahin stepped in front of him. “Let her go. She won’t get far.”

  “That was cruel. And unnecessary.” He slashed his fingers through his hair. “And now she doesn’t trust me.”

  “As well she shouldn’t. Your promises are like dust in the wind, my friend. You forget to whom she belongs.”

  “Her heart belongs to me. And I aim to keep the rest of her, as well.”

  Shahin paced away from him. “Don’t be a fool! You’ve heard the vision of her future Nephtys has received. This woman is not for you!” He looked like he wanted to say more, but just shook his head. “Forget her, Rhys. She’ll bring you only pain and dishonor, but Seth needs her.”

  His gut wrenched. Jealousy surged through his body, crushing his heart in a vise. “Nephtys is wrong! Gi
llian loves me. She’ll never accept Seth as her true lover.”

  “Never is a long time, my friend.”

  Christ. He thought of eternity stretched out endlessly before him, without Gillian at his side, forced to see her living with Seth, kissing him, making love to him….

  “No!” he gritted out. “No. Seth is my friend. He’ll understand my feelings for her.”

  “Will he?” Shahin retorted. “How many lovers and consorts has he gone through under your stewardship? And when they passed, how many did he mourn for more than a few months? Do you really think he’ll credit you with any deeper sentiment?”

  “Then he’ll surely honor Gillian’s.”

  Shahin laughed. “Seth-Aziz is a demigod, an immortal vampire who rules his kingdom with an iron hand. Do not deceive yourself that he cares a whit for the feelings of a girl.”

  “You make him sound heartless.”

  “No. Just prudent when it comes to useless emotions. And you, Rhys, have been an unflagging moral compass against unwilling victims for these past hundred years. But you were always careful to stay aloof, even from your most eager of charges. Frankly, I’m surprised you’ve let yourself fall under the spell of any woman.”

  “This is no spell, my friend. Gillian is different.”

  “How so? Does she not have satin skin and tempting, soft curves like all the others?” he asked contemptuously. “And does she not have the capacity for disruption and betrayal so prevalent among her sex?”

  Rhys did not need to ask how Shahin had ended up so cynical; it had been his sister’s friend, his own lover, who had betrayed his family to Haru-Re for a fat purse of gold coins. The fact that Shahin himself had escaped, and that the lover had not lived past their next meeting, had not assuaged Shahin’s craving for revenge. The whole fair sex had suffered his mistrust as a consequence.

  “There will be no betrayal. You may trust my word on that,” Rhys said, feeling a brief sting of guilt at his half lie. “Now, why have you really come to see me?”

  The sheikh studied him for a long moment, then apparently decided to accept his sincerity. “Nephtys sent me,” he said, “to fetch Miss Haliday for the welcome feast in her honor in the grand hall. I understand Seth plans to announce his intention to take her as consort.”

  Dismay buzzed through Rhys at the news. Apparently Seth had discarded his advice to take it slow with Gillian. “Indeed. That was quick decided.”

  “After Nephtys’s vision, no decision was required. Merely acceptance of what is written.”

  Rhys clamped his jaw. “You’re saying my losing her is God’s will?”

  Shahin shrugged. “God, gods. Fate. The universe. Call it what you like, Englishman. Our paths are decided long before we are born.”

  “So you say.” It was a discussion they’d had many times before, and never come to agreement. “I believe we humans have more self-determination than that,” Rhys stated.

  “A dangerous notion, my friend.”

  “Not if one’s life is to have any meaning.”

  Shahin’s face relaxed, not quite in a smile, but almost. “Life’s meaning lies in following one’s path with honor.”

  Well. It all depended on what one saw as one’s path, didn’t it? “No matter the obstacles?” Rhys asked tightly as they left his rooms and headed toward the grand hall.

  “And to the bitter end,” Shahin confirmed, grasping his shoulder and giving it a brotherly squeeze.

  “Well,” Rhys allowed, “on that, at least, we can agree.”

  As far as Rhys was concerned, his path led straight to Gillian. And one way or another, he planned to follow that path regardless of the dangers. Provided he lived long enough…

  They rounded a corner and he spotted her being escorted by Nephtys’s two shemats back to the temple to be prepared for the feast. He took a stride toward them, but felt Shahin’s hand on his shoulder again, this time heavier.

  “Take care, my friend,” Shahin warned. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

  He ground his jaw and forced himself to halt. “What specifically did Nephtys say about us? To make you think I’m a traitor?” he asked. Shahin was silent for a heartbeat too long, and he uttered a curse. “Another of her damned prophecies?”

  “Yes,” Shahin said. “As well as a vision of the more…earthly variety.”

  Rhys darted him a stunned look. “What?”

  “She saw the two of you.”

  “Where? At the temple?”

  Shahin’s eyebrows shot up. “You took her in the temple?” He barked out a laugh. “You are not shy about your heresy, Lord Kilpatrick.”

  “Seth isn’t the only one who can honor the god with his sacrifice,” he muttered defensively.

  His friend shook his head with a pitying grin. “Ah, Rhys. I shall miss you greatly when you’ve been drained of your lifeblood.”

  “Thanks,” he said drily. “But I’m not dead yet. Did she tell Seth about us?”

  “I know not.”

  “In that case, come. Let us find our lord and master. It is time to put this matter to rest once and for all.”

  Rhys ducked back into his suite and quickly changed into his formal robes, spun of the finest midnight-blue silk, shot through with silver threads. He might as well look his best when he presented his case to the high priest.

  He and Shahin cut splendid figures as they strode to the festival hall, he in his blue and Shahin in robes of bloodred, drawing the eye of every female they passed. It suddenly occurred to him to wonder why neither of them had chosen women to settle down with before now. Shahin was easily explained; he did not trust women further than the bedroom—preferably hers. But what of Rhys himself?

  Rhys had never wanted for female companionship. But none of the women he’d known over the years had captured his interest or imagination the way Gillian did. He wasn’t sure why, either. She was beautiful but not overly so, intelligent but no genius, capable and brave but not above fear of the unknown. Perhaps what spoke to him was her loyalty to her family, or the look of adoration in her eyes when their gazes met, or the way she held him tight when they embraced.

  She loved him. And he loved her.

  Maybe it was just as simple as that. Except it wasn’t simple. Because right now she belonged to another. Someone Rhys owed his loyalty to, and must choose before her if it came down to one or the other.

  A choice that would kill him either way.

  They found Seth in his private dressing room behind the grand hall, cared for as always by his sister as well as a half dozen attendants.

  Rhys and Shahin bowed in greeting. “My lord.”

  “Ah! Just the two men I wanted to see,” Seth said, shooing away the attendants. “Rhys—” he beckoned him closer as though to put an arm around his shoulders “—Nephtys tells me she has had a vision of you being welcomed with open arms at Petru.”

  Rhys halted in shock, his back going rigid. “What?” He glanced behind him at Shahin, who was standing at the ready with his hand on the hilt of his scimitar. “Et tu, brute?” Rhys ground out, realizing he’d been set up.

  Seth waved am impatient hand. “It got me thinking that it might not be such a bad idea. To deal with this latest ultimatum of Haru-Re’s, I mean. Sekhmet’s blood, he’s tried for ages to recruit you, Rhys. So why not let him? What do you think?”

  Rhys swallowed, still uneasy. This was clearly a trap. “Surely, you don’t think I would ever betray Khepesh.”

  “By Osiris’s member, no,” Seth reassured him. “I do not doubt your loyalty. But—”

  “I’m glad of that,” Rhys broke in, “because there is something else Nephtys has certainly brought up, which I’ve tried to speak with you about. It cannot wait any longer.”

  Seth cut him a level look, obviously annoyed at the change of topic. “This is about the woman, I assume.”

  “Gillian, yes,” Rhys said. “I—”

  “I’m sorry. You can’t have her.” Seth adjusted his formal headdress
in front of a silver-framed mirror. “Normally I wouldn’t mind stepping aside after the transformation ceremony, but Nephtys’s vision of our future—”

  “Is wrong,” Rhys cut in emphatically. “Or it means something other than it appears to mean.”

  Seth turned to regard him sternly, every inch the ruling authority. “I’m sorry, Lord Kilpatrick. I don’t agree. She will be my consort and that’s all there is to it.”

  Panic seeped through Rhys’s veins. He couldn’t believe he was really losing her! “Miss Haliday has the highest regard for you, my lord, but she loves me. And I her. As your friend, I beg of you—”

  Seth held up a hand. “This is not about my wishes or our personal friendship. You must see I’ve no choice but to do what is best for Khepesh. I truly am sorry.”

  Stunned and heartsick, Rhys followed Seth with leaden feet as he led them into the grand hall. They took their places with the rest of the council at the head table, which sat on a raised dais at the front of the huge hall.

  Once seated, Rhys swiped up his goblet of wine and drained it in a single draught, then held it up. A pretty little shabti appeared at his side and refilled it. As she withdrew, he put a hand on the arm that carried the carafe. “Leave it.”

  She bowed mutely and set it down, then padded silently away. He watched her go, and muttered to himself, “Perhaps it would not be such a terrible fate, after all, to be without a will of one’s own.” He drained the second goblet and reached for the carafe.

  Which was when he noticed the empty chair between him and Seth. By all the gods. He lurched to his feet, swaying slightly, seeking someone, anyone, with whom to exchange seats.

  Instead, he caught the somber gaze of his leader and best friend. “Lord Kilpatrick, take your place,” Seth said in a low command.

  “I cannot sit next to her as you inform the world of her upcoming public rape,” he ground out.

  At Seth’s other elbow, Sheikh Shahin leaped up, reaching for his weapon.

  Seth shot out a hand, gesturing him back down. “Strong words, Englishman. If we weren’t such good friends you would be minus your head right now.”