by Nina Bruhns
“Perhaps it would be best that way.”
“You don’t mean that. Sit down. Now. Before I decide that you did mean it.”
Rhys took a deep, steadying breath and reluctantly lowered himself back into his chair. He had to be smart about this. Shahin was right. Eternity was a long time, and losing his head was the coward’s way out. Rhys’s moment would come, when he could take her back, and the intervening days—or centuries—would be just an ugly splotch on their eventual happiness. He had to believe that. But in the meantime, he had to endure.
“Good,” Seth said. “Now. Before I make the announcement, I want you to tell her that your feelings for her were all a ruse to get her here. That you have no personal interest in her, and wish her to go through with the full ceremony and later become my consort.”
Rhys stared at the man who had been his best friend and mentor since he’d come to Khepesh, pain slicing through his heart as surely as if Shahin’s sword were cleaving it in two. As of this moment, they were friends no longer.
“Very well,” Rhys said, and turned his gaze upon the immortals gathering at the long rows of tables and benches that filled the grand hall to overflowing. People were laughing and hugging and making merry, because today a bright new star would be added to the galaxy of Set-Sutekh. A new initiate—the high priest’s future consort, a woman who was as wise as she was beautiful.
Everyone had cause for levity and celebration.
Everyone except Rhys.
Chapter 15
Where gone, o loving man?
Why gone from her whose love
Can pace you, step by step, to your desire?
—Cairo Ostracon 25218
“You look stunning, my lady.”
Gillian gazed at herself in the mirror and had to agree. The two young shemats who’d dressed her must have used some kind of magical spell, because she had never looked this good before in all her days. Not even close.
“Thank you,” she said, wondering if Rhys would agree with the assessment. Not that she cared, she reminded herself.
“It’s time,” Nephtys told her, sweeping into the room and giving Gillian’s dazzling outfit one last critical examination. A transparent film of knife-pleated, body-hugging silk in the shimmering blue-green-purple colors of abalone lay over a satin-smooth shell of delicate pink. Her breasts were high and plump in the tight, revealing bodice, her stomach flat, her legs endlessly long in the slim, floor-length gown. Except for her blond hair, she looked like a temple dancer from one of the most exquisite tomb paintings of ancient times. She supposed that was the whole idea.
“Will Rhys be there?” she asked Nephtys. Not that she cared, she reminded herself yet again. The news that he had routinely used sex to entice women to join the per netjer had been a shock. And his friend the sheikh—what a despicable character! How could he have said those things about her mother?
Nephtys caught her eyes in the mirror. “Yes, Lord Kilpatrick will be at the feast. Indeed, sitting next to you. But you must forget about him. He is not your destiny.”
The other woman’s penetrating gaze was meant to be intimidating, but she refused to back down. “I think that’s for me to decide.” She might be angry with him at the moment, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t forgive him. Eventually.
“No. It’s not up to you,” Nephtys stated. “You have no say in the matter whatsoever. Accept that you now belong to Seth-Aziz, and things will go far easier for you.”
She didn’t think so. Time may have stood still here at Khepesh, but she was from the twenty-first century, where women made their own decisions. “Sorry, I can’t do that.”
“A shame. For it won’t be you who suffers, but the man you profess to care about. If you persist in this useless infatuation, Seth will have no choice but to banish Lord Kilpatrick from Khepesh.”
Gillian stared at the other woman’s reflection in horror, her breath stalling in her lungs. Banishment? But that meant… “He wouldn’t.”
“Oh, but he would. I’m actually surprised he hasn’t yet done so, considering how far the pair of you have taken things.”
Gillian’s eyes widened. “How did you—”
Nephtys tutted. “Don’t be naive. A blind man could see what’s going on, and I am a seer. I know everything.” She turned to glare at her face-to-face. “You must tell Rhys you’ve changed your mind about him. That you instead want the power and security being consort will bring you. Do it tonight, Gillian. Or lose him to the savage desert and the sands of time, never to be seen or heard from again.”
No! Gillian felt hot, stunned tears fill her eyes. It wasn’t fair. None of it!
She’d found Rhys Kilpatrick’s grave only to lose the opportunity to inform her clients of her find; she’d found her dear lost mother alive only to lose her to mindless, hopeless captivity by a ruthless enemy; and she’d found the love of her life and a chance to be immortal only to be forced to spend eternity with a man she didn’t love.
“It’s not fair,” she said in bleak misery.
Nephtys gave her a sad smile. “Habibi, who said life, even an everlasting one, is fair?”
The grand hall was amazing. It was like Gillian had been transported to the center of the Milky Way. Unlike the hypostyle hall in the temple, the interior of this festival hall was dark as the blackest night, pierced only by the sparkle of ten thousand tiny candles on the tables and, like the temple’s inner sanctum, a million diamonds glittering from the ceiling overhead. Set-Sutekh was the Lord of the Night Sky, Guardian of the Dark, and this was clearly his kingdom.
But it was all lost on Gillian.
Her knees shook as she waited for the small procession to begin that would escort her down the jasmine-strewn center aisle of the room, ending at the dais where she would join the man she was to take forever as her husband. Lit up from above by the glow of magical moonbeams, Nephtys would lead, followed by Gillian, the two young shemats bringing up the rear.
Almost like a wedding procession.
Gillian’s heart screamed in protest over what she must do. The lie she must tell Rhys.
She could see him sitting up at the head table, silver goblet in hand, gazing moodily out over the room like he’d rather be anywhere but there. Her stomach squeezed. Maybe she was wrong about him. Maybe he didn’t return her feelings. Maybe it had been all about the sex and he was glad to be rid of her, happy to go back to his task of seducing innocent women for the sake of the per netjer, relieved to leave her to the tender loving care of his vampire lord.
No! She mustn’t think that way. It wasn’t true!
Oh, what did it matter, anyway? Better he not care, so he’d be spared this howling pain that ate at the core of her own being at the thought of losing him.
Chords of strange, ethereal music started to play. Nephtys nodded and stepped forward, and Gillian floated down the aisle after her, fiercely holding back her tears. She would not cry. If she did, Rhys would never believe her change of heart. Which he must believe at all costs. She would not be responsible for his banishment and death.
The speech of welcome Seth made to her barely registered in her consciousness; nor did the crowd’s applause, nor her ascent to the dais and his kiss on her cheek. She did shiver though, briefly, thinking of the fangs that lay tucked behind his smiling lips, and the bloody ordeal that awaited her all too soon. To be fair, the man seemed nice. Certainly, he was handsome. And he was being extraordinarily polite and solicitous. Not to mention damn forgiving… if he knew about her and Rhys, as Nephtys had hinted.
He must have noticed the trembling of her fingers on his arm as he helped her to her seat. He cocked his head. “Are you afraid of me?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “Nothing personal,” she quickly added. “I’m just not used to being around… demigods and vampire priests.”
“Nor being forced to marry one,” he ventured, though judging by his matter-of-fact tone, the idea didn’t seem to make a dent of guilt in his conscience.
“Right,” she said, sitting down nervously in a bejeweled silver throne next to him. “That, too.”
“You do know,” he said conversationally, “that being with me will bring you incredible physical pleasure?”
She didn’t even want to think about that part of things. “Nephtys mentioned it.”
“And you’re not the least bit…curious?”
She let out a breath. “Honestly? I’d prefer to remain blissfully ignorant.”
He smiled teasingly. “That will change. I have yet to receive a complaint from any woman I’ve touched.”
Who would dare? “Unwilling pleasure is still unwilling, even if it feels good,” she pointed out. Possibly foolishly.
The smile disappeared and his eyes went cold. “Now you sound like Lord Kilpatrick.”
She was treading in dangerous waters, but she couldn’t help herself. “Ever think he might be right?”
“No.” Seth drew himself up to his full, impressive height. Even seated, he commanded uncompromising authority. “This is how things have been done for five thousand years, and so they shall remain,” he decreed.
“But wouldn’t you be happier spending the next five thousand years with a woman who truly loves you?” she persisted.
“Love?” Seth gazed out at the tables filled with his joyful, celebrating subjects. “Love does not enter into it. I am the god’s high priest and leader of my people. Earthly concerns and pleasures are fleeting, but my duty is enduring. Nothing else matters.”
Wow. “That sounds fun,” she said under her breath. She met his gaze. “And where do I fit into all this?”
He looked down at her, unmoved, and said without hesitation, “Duty.”
She didn’t know whether to feel sorry for him—and herself—or vastly relieved.
But all her concerns fell away into a void of oblivion when she turned to find Lord Rhys Kilpatrick sitting next to her, an intense glower marring the features of his face.
And she recalled with a painful start what she’d been told to do, and the dire consequences that he would suffer if she didn’t comply.
Slowly, deliberately and a bit unsteadily, Rhys rose to his feet and raised his goblet in a toast he hoped would not appear too mocking. “My lady, I for one hope you shall be very happy in this union,” he slurred, then dropped back into his seat, turned his head away and proceeded to ignore her for the rest of the festivities.
At least that was the plan. But he had little success.
Rhys found himself eavesdropping on every strained word she and Seth spoke to each other, gritting his teeth at every smile she gave the other man—false and uncertain though they may have been. He actually snorted when Seth rewarded her acquiescence by promising her a life of unending happiness and contentment by his side.
At the rude noise, Gillian turned. “Do you doubt it, Lord Kilpatrick?” she asked him.
“Hell, no,” Rhys drawled. “If your idea of happiness is wealth beyond avarice and your vision of contentment empty erotic pleasures in a marriage devoid of emotion.”
She blinked. But quickly recovered. “What’s wrong with being rich? And you’ve forgotten something even more important. As chosen consort to the most powerful immortal in the world, I will also be granted incredible powers when I become immortal myself. I could squash a man like you with a single thought.”
He threw back a gulp of his wine for fortitude. “It’s true. If that’s the sort of thing that appeals.”
Her chin inched up. “What woman wouldn’t want such immense power and influence?”
Her. He barely resisted rolling his eyes at the performance. “A woman with a heart?” he muttered at the blatant lie.
Her throat convulsed. “Hearts are fickle,” she said with a perfectly straight face. “I certainly hope you didn’t take our meaningless affair seriously, Lord Kilpatrick.” She laughed, a weak, almost choking sound. “For my heart truly belongs to another now.” She tossed an all-white smile at Seth, then leveled her gaze back at Rhys. “Any tendre you and I may have shared was just a passing fancy. It is in the past, over and done now.”
If she hadn’t tried to be so damned convincing—a sure sign she’d been threatened as he had—he would have laughed out loud.
As it was, he suppressed his instinctive retort, took another swallow of wine and did his best to appear indifferent.
“How fortuitous,” he drawled, playing his assigned part loud enough for those concerned to hear, and striving not to let the sarcasm bleed through. “For I, too, have come to my senses about our little dalliance. You understand it was just a strategy to get you here to Khepesh, into the bed of our lord and leader. All in a day’s work.”
She winced. “Okay. Well, that’s good.”
He raised his goblet again and she turned resolutely away. But a few heartbeats later he felt the brush of her fingers against his trouser leg. Was she mad? After a second of shock and suddenly stone sober, he dropped his hand to his lap and wove her seeking fingers with his. Telling her with his gentle touch of the despair and longing in his breaking heart.
She was indeed a brave woman to defy Seth in this blatant manner. He yearned to lift her fingers to his lips and press a kiss to them—and warn her of the terrible danger she was putting herself in by refusing to bend to Seth-Aziz’s command. He might have been tolerant of her rebellion thus far, but he’d soon put a swift and decisive stop to it.
Rhys rubbed along the length of her thumb and squeezed her fingers with his. All too soon she slipped her hand away.
But several minutes later she caught his eye while sipping her wine. “I didn’t mean it,” she mouthed.
He dabbed his lips with his napkin. “You think I don’t know that? What did they threaten you with?”
“Your banishment.” She reached for a sweetmeat. “You?”
“My severed head.”
She dropped her spoon with a clatter. A trio of shabtis rushed to her aid and the exchange was ended when Seth glared at him suspiciously. Rhys leaned lazily back in his chair and pretended drunken indifference. But what he really felt was fury. Fury and helplessness.
One word kept echoing in his mind.
Duty. Seth saw taking Gillian as his goddamn duty. When Rhys longed to love and cherish her forever…
It wasn’t right. Serving the god was supposed to bring an eternity of pleasure and contentment. Up until now it had. At least he’d thought so. But he realized that somewhere along the way things had gotten twisted around. He feared Khepesh was going the way of Petru—bright in appearance but dark of spirit.
Too bad there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
Unbidden, Seth’s earlier words returned to Rhys. Haru-Re has tried for ages to recruit you. Why not let him? He blinked, then slowly an idea began to form in his mind.
On second thought, maybe there was…
Chapter 16
Eat! Drink! Be merry!
For tomorrow we shall die!
—Imhotep, Third Dynasty architect
It took Gillian two days of feigned resignation, lying through her teeth and carefully planned subterfuge to find what she was looking for. A way out.
At last! Triumphant, she gazed at the yellowed-parchment floor plan of Khepesh that she’d managed to excavate from a long-untouched shelf in the stacks of the library.
She hadn’t had much time for searching because Nephtys kept her busy for hours studying the ritual she’d be performing in two days, memorizing the ancient words of magic spells she’d need for her life in Khepesh, then each evening testing her memory on what she’d learned. Worse, the library was arranged in a totally foreign system handed down since the dawn of writing, based on the hieroglyphic alphabet—which of course wasn’t really an alphabet at all, but ideograms. Good grief. Who would have thought those impromptu childhood lessons by the precocious ten-year-old Josslyn, conducted in sidewalk chalk in front of their Hyde Park Chicago home, would pay off in such unexpected and lifesaving ways? Her sister
would be pleased.
A pang of homesickness stabbed through Gillian, and she wondered what her sisters were doing now. Did they miss her terribly? Or had Rhys really put a spell on them so they’d never questioned her disappearance? She almost hoped he had. She didn’t like to think of the sorrow she might be putting them through.
Which was exactly why she was doing this.
Of course, she’d been shouldering her own share of sorrow these last two days. Rhys had avoided her completely since the welcome feast. Which was a good thing. Really, it was. If he hadn’t been making sure their paths didn’t cross, she’d have been the one doing it. As much as she longed to see him, his death or banishment was too high a price to pay for continuing a relationship doomed to end in grief.
Brushing aside forlorn thoughts of those she loved, she concentrated hard and studied the parchment floor plan, looking for remnants of the traditional Old Kingdom tomb architecture that had to be hidden somewhere within the rabbit warren of Khepesh’s rooms. The yellowed-parchment plan was so old, even she recognized that big bits of the current palace were missing from the drawing. No doubt, the palace had been expanded and remodeled countless times over the millennia of its existence.
She just needed to find the original tomb of Seth-Aziz. The one she’d discovered in the side of the cliff that day with Mehmet and Dawar. A day that seemed a lifetime ago.
She knew there was no possible way she could escape through the monumental silver double doors of the Great Western Gate, which she’d come through with Rhys. But if she found the inside of the old, abandoned tomb, maybe, just maybe, she could find the hidden sliding-stone passageway and slip out through it unnoticed.
She had to try.
Her eye caught on something the drawing revealed that she hadn’t expected. “Oh, wow,” she exclaimed softly. “Secret passages!”
She’d had enough experience as a child traipsing after her father on his digs and surveys that she had no doubt about what she was seeing. Like the hidden sliding-block mechanism she’d discovered, secret passageways were also a rare but telling architectural feature during the Ptolemaic period. Eagerly she sought out the revealing narrow lines that marked their routes through the palace. Khepesh seemed to have its fair share, connecting the various wings in a concealed network that hinted at clandestine meetings and illicit affairs. There were even two passages that ended inside the temple compound close to her rooms. But her excitement deflated as she realized not one of the hidden passageways led to the outside world. She’d have to stick to her original plan. The old tomb with its sliding-stone entrance was her only chance.
