by Nina Bruhns
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, Shahin?” Rhys ground out, realizing he’d been set up.
Seth waved an 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.”
“Perhaps it would be best that way,” Rhys shot back.
“You don’t mean that. Sit down. Now. Before I decide 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 hoarsely, 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 28
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.
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.
“Thank you,” she said, wondering if Rhys would agree with the assessment.
She frowned at the thought of him. The news that he had routinely used sex to entice women to join the per netjer had been a real shock. And his friend the sheikh—what a despicable character! How could he have said those awful things about her mother?
Gillian should probably reexamine her feelings for Rhys. Perhaps he wasn’t the man she’d assumed him to be. Maybe he had lied about bespelling her, and her feelings weren’t real, after all.
But she didn’t believe that. Yes, he might have left out some pertinent facts, but he had never actually lied to her.
“It’s time,” Nephtys told her, sweeping into the room and giving Gillian’s dazzling outfit a critical examination.
“Will Rhys be there?” Gillian asked Nephtys striving to sound neutral.
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 Gillian 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.”
Gillian 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 hor
ror, her breath stalling in her lungs. Banishment? But that meant... “They’re friends. He wouldn’t do that.”
“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 felt her eyes widen. “How did you—”
Nephtys tutted. “Don’t be naïve. 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 monster. 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?”
Chapter 29
The grand hall was amazing. It felt as if Gillian had been transported to the center of the Milky Way.
Unlike the grand 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, with 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 her doubts about him were right. Maybe he really 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 refused to think that way. It wasn’t true! It couldn’t be.
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 fill the air around them. 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 cost. 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 really did know 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 handsome 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.
Chapter 30
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 is 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 bare
ly resisted rolling his eyes at the performance. “A woman with a heart?” he muttered at the blatant lie. Apparently, she’d also received strict instructions.
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-cold 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. Rhys 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. Seth 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.
