The Princess of Prophecy

by Aria Cunningham

  He was not alone in his concern. Glaucus' eyes were alert, although his stance reflected a man at ease. He engaged the general in light conversation, the two grizzled veterans taking an instant liking to one another. "I am not certain we are fully welcome. There were some who seemed displeased to host foreign guests. Who is this Chancellor Bay?"

  Setnakhte grimaced, a guttural growl escaping his lips. "Irsu." He spat onto the floor.

  Paris blinked back his confusion. "I'm sorry, General. I'm not familiar with that word."

  Setnakhte flushed an angry red. "Forgive me, Your Highness, but that carrion feeder boils my blood. Irsu are self-made men, graspers and schemers. They can't be trusted. Pharaoh has not been well for some time, and where death is nearby, the vultures do gather."

  They turned toward another courtyard, this one twice the size of the smaller annex halls. Benches lined a garden setting where small fountains trickled. The far side of the court was set up for arms practice, complete with a set of targets for knife tossing and archery. The Egyptian guards marched ahead of them and took positions along each opening into the central court.

  Before stepping out into the open, Setnakhte halted. He grabbed Paris by the elbow and pulled him aside, speaking with a lowered voice. "Egypt is not as vast as it once was," the general offered with slight hesitation. "Our frontier once spread to the very boarders of Anatolia. Thutmose the Great had outposts as far as Carchemish to the north and the Euphrates river to the east." His eyes burned with the shade of that lost greatness. "But we dwindle now. Bay was an administrator at a Mitanni post. When it was lost, he wormed his way in here with nobles sympathetic to the plight of peoples from the North."

  He didn't have to say another word. Sympathizers with the North. Mitanni was a border kingdom between the empire of Hatti and the coastal regions of Canaan. If Bay lived in close proximity with such a powerful neighbor, Paris was certain the chancellor compromised more than just his post. He suddenly understood why he detested the man.

  "Need I be concerned?"

  Setnakhte shook his head. "His power comes from others. So long as you support our true king and heir apparent, you are safe from his webs." He straightened himself, his dark eyes watching every corner as though expecting something—or someone—to emerge. Paris quickly stepped out into the courtyard, also feeling they had dallied too long in the shadows.

  "And what of Helen?" Glaucus asked the general, expressing the concern Paris knew better than to espouse. After his foolish display with Bay, Paris was determined not to draw further attention to her with any of his ill-begotten actions. "The welfare of the princess is our primary concern. Any man in my company would lay his life down for her."

  Setnakhte cast a quick glance to Paris, a dozen unspoken questions in those observant eyes. "She is the chosen of the Mnevis. The Gods protect their own."

  Paris steeled his face. He trusted the Gods' favor as much as he would a starving thief.

  "You need not worry, Your Highness," the general continued. "My son commands the guard protecting the royal harem."

  "I do not question the honor of your son, General." Paris met the man's firm stance with one of his own. "But I would rest easier if I had one of my own in his ranks."

  Setnakhte tensed, but when Paris held his ground, he nodded his consent. The general turned to Glaucus. "Name your man. I will see it done."

  They continued into the courtyard and Paris took a moment to reflect on the events that had unfolded. From the moment they had stepped on Egyptian soil, all of his fears had come true. Pirates, corrupt officials, quarreling nobility... Each obstacle increased the odds they would not escape the Two Lands before news from Greece followed after them. It was his cursed luck working against them. He had led Helen into this mess and was unsure if he had the ability to pull her out of the quagmire if events unravelled.

  On the surface, they were welcome guests in a proud and majestic realm. As the longest lasting Old World Empire, Egypt's accomplishments were unmatched throughout the world, and that legacy made them arrogant. They truly believed they were Gods amongst lesser men.

  As a diplomat, Paris had learned to walk carefully around his Egyptian hosts. Now that his royal status was known, his every action represented the honor of Troy to Egypt. Any mistake on his behalf would dishonor his father and cause serious damage between their two lands. He could not offend his hosts, no matter how much he wanted a swift exodus from the Two Lands. Teeming with frustration, Paris shook his head. Their future departure would be determined by the crown, and that lack of freedom made his skin crawl.

  "Your quarters are directly ahead of you. Barracks for your guards are to the left." Setnakhte gestured, moving toward the practice area that feed into the main portico.

  Before the general took a second step, half a dozen men spilled out of the guest chambers and filled the remaining space in the courtyard. Dressed like Egyptian servants, these men were not of the Two Lands. Their skin was a paler hue and covered with numerous cuts and welts from their master's whip. They dropped to the ground before Paris, foreheads pressed to the soil.

  He inhaled sharply. These men were Greek.

  An Egyptian noble sauntered through their ranks. He had the look of the Hatti in his features and was so close in appearance to Twosret, he must surely be her brother. Paris resisted his natural urge to cringe.

  "Prince Amenmesse," Setnakhte dipped his head respectfully, "may I introduce our honored guest, Prince Paris of the royal house of Troy?"

  So this is Seti's rival. Paris smiled, recognizing the name from Seti's tirade in the throne room. This younger prince was at least a full hand shorter than an average Egyptian, and to Paris—who was tall even for a Trojan—the difference was immense. The prince came only to his chin. Amenmesse puffed up his chest, trying hard to negate that shorter stature.

  "Prince Paris," Amenmesse dipped his head with the formal greeting. "Did you have a lovely stroll through the palace?" He crossed over to where Paris and Setnakhte stood, lowering his heavily-painted eyes as he studied him.

  "Your Highness," Paris inclined his head, a gesture of respect but not deference. Egypt had many princes, but only one crown prince. Paris was only required to defer to Seti. Amenmesse held no more power than any of Paris' twenty illegitimate brothers. "To what do I owe this unexpected display?" He waved towards the men at his feet.

  Amenmesse gripped a decorated flail in his right hand. He snapped the whip, and the prostrated slaves began to tremble. The item was too pretty to be intended for real use, and Paris couldn't help but notice it seemed a pale shadow of the kingly regalia Seti bore. "A gift. To make you feel more at home." Though the prince spoke respectfully, Paris somehow doubted his sincerity. In diplomatic endeavors, gifts were never given without reason.

  "It must strain your stamina to speak in Egyptian all the time," the prince continued. "Pharaoh thought it best to give you servants of your own tongue." He barked an order at the Grecian men, kicking the sandy-haired man nearest to him. They jumped to their feet, their faces blank of expression.

  "Servants?" Paris toyed with the word, not believing for an instance these men were free-workers.

  "Meshwesh slaves." Setnakhte grimaced with disapproval. "The prince should not mingle with these pirate scum, Your Highness. I can make other arrangements."

  "You will not," Amenmesse snapped back. "Take your womanly concerns elsewhere, Setnakhte. Our guest has no fear of pirates. He vanquished a whole band of them just yesterday morn." Setnakhte stiffened from the insult, but did not budge.

  Amenmesse turned his back on the general, the simple move filled with dramatic flare as he put his full attention back on Paris. "This lot is tame. My father broke them himself, just as he broke their military lines when they attacked our borders. They belong to Egypt now."

  Paris studied the slaves, his gut twisting in disgust. Broken..., how aptly stated. The men were well cared for, their bodies clean despite their many wounds, but their eyes were vacant as t
hough the spark of life that made hope possible had long died out. He could not refuse this gift, however much it sickened him.

  "Are you what he says? Pirates and mercenaries?" He switched back to his native tongue. At the mention of 'pirate' all save one of the slaves dropped their eyes to the ground. The last, the man Amenmesse had kicked, had ice-blue eyes that showed no such broken spirit. Paris paused before him. "Are you men with no honor?"

  The slave flinched, his gaze darting to Amenmesse and the flail in his hand. "What honor we had was taken from us, Noble Prince. We live only to serve, now." He then dropped his eyes to the floor like his brothers.

  "What is your name?" Paris prodded.

  "He is a slave," Amenmesse scoffed. "He has no name."

  Paris ignored the prince. Lifting the Greek's chin, he forced the captive to meet his gaze, commanding him to answer.

  "J... Jason, Your Grace. I am from the western isles." He swallowed his words as though he questioned the wisdom of speaking even as the words left his lips.

  "And have you lived in Heliopolis long?"

  "Five years, Your Grace."

  Paris turned to Amenmesse, switching back to Egyptian, "These will do. Please thank Pharaoh for this kindness."

  "I am sure he will be pleased that you are pleased." Amenmesse brightened. "These pirate scum are a danger all nations must address. A threat to one sovereign is a threat to all." He stalked around the helpless men, tapping the flail in his left palm. "The peasant who takes up arms against his king is a pestilence that spreads like the desert winds. Egypt will not stomach it. Should Troy wish to pursue this enemy, She will find allies here. We must take a firm stance against those who mean to do us harm."

  Paris glanced over his shoulder to Setnakhte, the general bristling with unleashed tension. Amenmesse wasn't asking for Troy's support for Egypt, but for himself. Not once did he mention Pharaoh or Seti.

  "I see you have a military mind." Paris clasped his hands behind his back, making sure he appeared aloof and disinterested. "I wish you could speak with my brother, Hector. He, too, has an eye for defense. I am only a diplomat and am not destined to rule."

  "Neither am I," Amenmesse rose an eyebrow at the curious statement, "but that does not absolve us of our duties to protect." He held the flail out to Paris. The heavy object slid into his hand, as uncomfortable as the obligations it imparted.

  "Indeed, Your Highness."

  "Use it well, Trojan." Amenmesse switched back to the northern tongue. "Remind theses animals what happens when they fail to serve their masters." He spun on his heel and disappeared down the dark corridor.

  Paris watched him go, a knot of tension easing in his gut. These sorts of plots and intrigue were precisely why he wanted to avoid the Two Lands. His hand itched for his dagger. But, knowing Egyptians the way Paris did, the dangers he faced could not be quelled with metal.

  Fortunately, he knew to keep his guard up. Others in his party were not so lucky. He felt a raw tugging on his nerves as his thoughts strayed to Helen. He had left her alone in the viper's den. "Glaucus," he hailed his captain. "Send that guard to Helen immediately. She's never to be alone. Understood?"

  "Any preference who draws the lot?"

  Paris turned to inspect his royal guard and paused, surprised to discover Iamus amongst his brothers. Brygos, Dexios and Ariston locked eyes with Paris, each man seemingly eager to fulfill their prince's request. The disgraced soldier, however, stood apart, his hands tucked behind his back. Iamus did not try to elicit Paris' favor, and his eyes were downcast just like the slaves beside him.

  Paris stalked over to him. "Do you want your place back at my side?"

  "More than anything," the silver-kissed man answered fervently.

  "Then keep her safe. Protect her as you would me. Do that, Iamus, and all is forgiven between us."

  The soldier snapped a curt salute and followed Setnakhte out of the courtyard. After they departed, Glaucus turned to him, an amused twinkle in his eyes. "Curious," the captain mused, adjusting the balance of the sword on his hip.

  "What?"

  "After all our years together, you still have the ability to surprise me."

  Paris rolled his eyes. "I'm touched." He hoped his old friend was not going soft on him. Surrounded by enemies, he needed his Trojan guard in peak performance.

  He turned back to the Greek servants, the cowed men still awaiting his orders. With a flick of his wrist, he motioned them to lead on to his new apartments. They scurried like animals shying away from a cruel master. Paris grimaced at the scarcely human behavior. These men were a product of Egyptian justice, and a telling reminder of the lack of value his hosts placed on human life. Their presence here was more warning than gift.

  "Keep your eyes open, Glaucus," Paris warned. "I want to be the only thing that surprises you."

  Scylax scurried away with the other meshwesh slaves, careful not to study the prince too closely. He had played his role perfectly, adopting the broken mannerisms of a man in chains. He did not want to tip his hand with suspicious behavior.

  Grabbing an urn of fresh water, he lingered near the soldiers, ready to serve. His keen ears picked up the last bit of conversation between Paris and his men. The prince was clearly a man conflicted, and, as Scylax well knew, such men were easily manipulated.

  A sour grimace tugged at the corners of his mouth. The next portion of his plan would be tricky. The queen wanted the Trojan dead, and dead he would be, but Scylax was not going to start a war on her behalf. The deed would have to look like an accident.

  It was unfortunate the princess was being held in separate quarters. He could not move until he was certain he had access to her. But, with the right pressure, the Trojan would be Scylax' unwitting ally in that effort.

  He need only be patient. It took time to lull a prince into confidence.

  Twosret paced Seti's private chamber, twisting her hands as she waited. She grit her teeth against the mounting pain lacing through her head.

  Countless hours spent in the company of the vapid beauties in Pharaoh's harem were starting to get to her. Their mindless chatter and proclivity for laughter belonged in a menagerie, not beside the greatest seat of power in the world. Many days, she longed to wear her disdain for their behavior as openly as Shoteraja.

  Twosret leaned heavily against a colorful pillar as another wave of pain arced through her head. Her sister-wife was as clumsy as she was obvious. Shoteraja's brazen behavior made as many enemies as it quelled. She would never be a Great Wife. She would never lay claim to Nefertari's legacy. Only Twosret knew how to harness the power of beauty the Gods graced her with. The real power. And with Their blessing, she would restore Egypt to its former glory.

  She paused alongside Seti's medicine chest, pulling out several glass vials. Twosret had long ago memorized their contents by the markings etched along the rim of the glass vials. The powdered ingredients, so similar in grain and scent, could be deadly if mixed in the wrong combination. She plucked out a jar with an iridescent shine on its surface and measured a few heaping spoonfuls into a glass of water. The mixture instantly bubbled and she downed the tonic quickly. Wormwood left a bitter taste in her mouth, but it did wonders to quell a splitting skull.

  "What is taking him so long?"

  Time was running out. Soon her father would be dead and her fop of a husband would be crowned king. If such a weak man sat the throne, the realm would split into pieces. Already there was dissension in the Lower Kingdom. With each new pirate raid, their enemies were emboldened. In time, they might strike at the heart of Egypt itself.

  She spat on the ground, ruing the Fates that decreed she be born a woman. Amenmesse wasn't the only one to criticize Seti's reluctance to defend the realm. Had she a set of stones between her legs, she would raise her own army and meet the enemy in the field. These peasants turned mercenaries would tremble at the might of the Two Lands. She'd flay the flesh from their bones and display their rotting corpses along the Delta for any would-
be challengers to contemplate. No one would dare challenge Egypt again.

  Alas, it was not to be. Her precious husband, the infamous Crown Prince of Egypt, sat in his gilded palace, refusing to lift a finger. Her stomach rolled at the thought of her pampered prince. Seti lacked the spirit to rule. He'd rather indulge his selfish appetites than establish a legacy of strength worthy of the Two Lands. He didn't have half the courage of their brother, nor a quarter of Amenmesse's keen intellect.

  The chamber doors swung open and Bay marched in, his cream-colored robes swishing about his ankles as he walked. Twosret glanced irritably at the sun dial on the portico: a full mark past midday. The chancellor was well over an hour late.

  Bay took too many liberties. Even the way he walked smarted of insolence. He bowed low before her, his eyes caressing the body his fingers dared not touch. "Your Highness. You called for me?"

  "Leave us," she commanded to the guards at the entrance. They bowed sharply, closing the doors behind them as they left. "Where have you been?" She laced her words with all the aggression she had suppressed since the Mnevis ceremony.

  "I have been doing as you commanded," Bay stuttered, wisely sensing now was not the time to challenge their relationship again. "Watching over the marshlands and keeping our enemies near."

  "Shhhh." There was a time to talk of such things, but it was not at midday in the palace. The walls had ears, a fact she typically used to her advantage. "I meant this past hour, you imbecile. Why have you kept me waiting?"

  Bay took the insult in stride. He had suffered many a worse lashing from her tongue. The ambitious climber knew better than to bite at the hand that kept him fed. "Your brother had need of me. We were seeing to the Trojan." His face twisted with disgust. "I distrust the prince, Twosret. He is as slippery as an eel. I would not believe a word he says."