The Princess of Prophecy

by Aria Cunningham

  "Please, don't." She shied away from his touch, knowing he would deny it, but the awful truth of their flight from Greece could not be denied. It was a dark cloud that hung over any future they tried to forge. Paris was prince of Troy, a proud and mighty empire. He deserved more than the love of another man's wife. He deserved something pure. The Gods owed him that.

  Helen steeled her nerves. The Gods owe us both that. "If Meryatum agrees, will you wait for me?" she asked again, her resolve building.

  Paris stared deeply into Helen's eyes, amazed again at her courage. She risked her life to be with him. He could do no less. "Of course I will." He tightened his arms around her, pressing his forehead to hers. "For you, I'd wait through eternity."

  They had dallied for too long. With a few more words of caution, he urged Helen to return to the safety of the harem. It pained him to leave her, but he trusted Iamus to keep her safe. For now, anyway.

  After she disappeared behind the curtains, he stepped back into the brush, a new determination lengthening his stride. Ritual or no ritual, he was going to spend the rest of his life with Helen. He only prayed they could escape Egypt before the next arrow flew.

  Chapter 25

  The Heifer or the Lioness

  HELEN RETURNED TO the harem, concealing herself in the long curtains along the portico as Iamus conducted a perimeter check. She steadied herself against a pillar, her head still woozy from her encounter with Paris. Two days. She had two days to persuade Meryatum to her cause, a man so entrenched in his dogma she doubted even Zeus could force him toward a verdict he was disinclined to follow. But the priest had never stood between a Spartan and her intended target. She crossed her arms beneath her breast, a surge of stubbornness fortifying her spirits.

  He will listen to me.

  Iamus waved to her from across the hall, and she stepped out of hiding, a nagging sense of caution tensing her nerves. The harem had gone silent. It was unusual not to hear the soft moans of women coupling even at this late hour.

  "Having trouble sleeping?" Nefertari stepped out from behind a pillar, her arms folded across her chest.

  "Your Grace." Helen spun to face the queen, her words falling awkwardly from her tongue. "You startled me." What was Nefertari doing up at this hour? Helen tried to collect herself, masking her fears behind a weak smile. "Did I wake you?"

  "In a fashion." The queen seemed mildly amused by that statement. Her amusement did not pass her lips, however, and when she spoke again it was with the tone of command. "Come with me, child."

  She led Helen to the far corner of the harem, to the wall facing the Nile and the garden beyond. When there was no further they could go, the queen pulled back the thick curtains lining the wall and revealed a false door built into the rock. She waved Helen through first, and slid the door shut, the thick stone moving soundlessly on well-oiled hinges.

  The secret chamber was nothing more than a small bedroom lit by oil lamps. Helen had suspected Nefertari had her own quarters. The space was snug but cozy. A small brazier at the center of the room radiated warmth, its orange-red coals banked low. Two dozen glass vials and jars sat atop a long table against the far wall, holding—Helen supposed—the medicine the queen required for the frequent aches and pains of her aging body. Her bed was made, the first indicator the queen had not slept this night, and an empty decanter of tea sat beside two used glasses.

  Helen swallowed hard, wondering who the queen's guest had been. She turned to ask, and saw the wall facing the gardens for the first time, the question dying on her lips.

  Large folding doors lay open to the night breeze. Tall lengths of papyrus hid the door from the gardens, but Helen was more than sure the queen had an excellent view of the spot where Helen had just met with Paris. A cold knot of dread settled into her stomach.

  Nefertari crossed the room, the sly smile on her face suggesting she knew what Helen feared. She took a seat beside the table and motioned her to do the same.

  "It seems our time is running short. Before the Fates separate us, there is one more lesson you must learn."

  There was a difference between learning a lesson and being taught one. If Nefertari suspected she had lied to her... Helen's gaze dropped to her lap, a wave of guilt silencing her tongue.

  "Thus far, you have been an apt pupil, learning the ways of Gentle Hathor, but beauty such as yours can destroy as easily as it inspires." The queen's dark eyes bore into her, as though that sentiment were an accusation. "A weak woman denies that power. She clings to innocence, ignorant of her other half, ignorant of the dual nature of the Goddess herself. And in doing, she becomes its victim."

  Helen trembled, too afraid to speak, afraid she would reveal herself. She had heard those words before, a long time ago. Nefertari spoke of the shadow faces of Aphrodite, of lust and jealousy and all the foul deeds they inspired. If this was the lesson the Egyptian mysteries wished to impart, then Helen wanted no part of it.

  "Beauty is inherently dangerous." The queen twisted in her stool and began to sort through the vials on the table. "Men will always see you as a prize and try to possess you. There is only one way to protect yourself." She pulled out a clear bottle with a seal of black wax and gave its liquid contents a swirl. "You must become Sekhmet, the fierce lion goddess, She of terrifying beauty, whose thirst for blood is only matched by Her thirst for justice. You must embrace your dual nature. That is the only way you can become its master."

  The change in Nefertari's behavior frightened Helen. There had been hints of a metal core beneath the queen's graceful exterior, but witnessing the shift filled Helen with unease. This was a monarch whom others would dare not cross.

  "Nefertari... what is in the vial?"

  "An equalizer." The queen frowned. "The Gods saw fit to grant men strength of arms. We women must rely on beauty and charm. As I'm sure you already know, beauty is sometimes not enough. There are times when that beauty must bite. For that, Isis granted us the wisdom of poison."

  A chill flooded through her. Glaucus had been poisoned this very day, by an arrow, Paris said, that was possibly meant for him. She studied the contents of the queen's table with dark foreboding. Why would Nefertari reveal she had a plethora of the toxins herself? What was the queen trying to tell her? Had she taken part in that crime?

  "This one here is made by distilling the leaves of a laurel tree." Nefertari swirled the vial again. "In small quantities, it can produce confusion in an enemy and drive them mad. Much more than a drop would paralyze the strongest of men, inducing coma and death."

  She handed the vial to her, and Helen held the glass between two fingers, reluctant to place even that amount of flesh in its proximity.

  "This one," the queen continued, pulling forth a blue tinted bottle with a glass flower for a stopper, "quells all sorrows with forgetfulness. Useful for an aching heart or if one wishes to erase a single act from a person's memory." That, too, went in Helen's hands.

  "Your Grace—"

  "Here we are." Nefertari picked up a gold band, a thick bracelet forged in the shape of a serpent with a head on each end: one with fangs bared, the other at rest. She secured the bauble to the table with a vice clamp and twisted off the ends, revealing a hollow center down each side.

  "Do you know why I vouched for you that day in the throne room?" She plucked the opaque bottle from Helen's hand and proceeded to break the wax with a small knife.

  "Because the Mnevis had chosen me?" Helen answered, feeling more unsure of her safety than ever. She watched as the queen measured out a lethal dose of the poison. "You said Amun-Re had spoken."

  "Don't be stupid." Nefertari poured the liquid into the hollow end of the bracelet and replaced the cap. "The Mnevis is nothing but a scared calf. It sought comfort in the arms of the one person not fawning all over it. That is not why I chose to help you, nor why I continue to help you." She reached for the other vial. "Now speak the truth. I'll know if you lie."

  It was one 'lesson' too many for Helen, and she blurted
out the first answer she could think of. "Paris. You are helping me because of Paris. You love him."

  That was not what the queen expected to hear. She froze, a stopper filled with serum poised above the bracelet. "What makes you say that?"

  "The way you speak of him, with such esteem and regard. No one speaks that way of Paris." She squirmed back in her stool, inching away from that dreadful substance. Would Nefertari dare to use it on her?

  The queen laughed, the musical sound doing little to put Helen at ease. "I do care for him, but not in the way you think, you lovesick girl." She finished her doctoring of the bracelet and gave Helen her full attention. "I was once very much like you, a beautiful little creature thrust into a cruel world. Young and naive, and unable to see my true potential. I made many mistakes, ones I hope you do not replicate."

  Helen shook her head, wary to trust. "But why do you care? I'm a complete stranger to you, a nobody. I'll never be a queen." In Egypt, status meant everything, and Nefertari had given no indication that she thought differently.

  The queen rose gracefully to her feet, her unblinking eyes making Helen feel ignorant as well as foolish. "You have the potential to be great, Helen of Sparta," the matriarch towered over her, "but not until you wise to the ways of the world."

  Helen shirked back in her stool. To hear one speak so blatantly... it was as rare as it was uncomfortable. No one spoke to her like that, save for Aethra and her father.

  Nefertari removed the bracelet from the clamp and crossed the room to the patio doors. She spread the reeds apart and moonlight flooded into the room, cascading down her face. She seemed to bathe in it, as though the celestial orb imbued her with a strength beyond her years. Lifting the jewel, she began a soft incantation in Egyptian that Helen could not follow.

  "Turn your face to me, My Lady Isis. I know thee, I know thy name. The power of your magic flows through my veins. Make me your vessel of ma'at."

  Perhaps it was an illusion, but the golden bauble gleamed white as Nefertari whispered her spell. It was a harsh light, imbued with the silver power of the moon, an illumination devoid of life.

  Nefertari released the reeds and the magical light vanished, taking with it Helen's breath. The queen glided back to her. Lifting her arm, Nefertari slid the bracelet onto Helen's wrist. It hung there with dire purpose, with the power of life or death. It was a priceless gift, and Helen gaped at it with wonder.

  Why me?

  "I was very young when I was taken from my mother." Nefertari retook her seat beside the brazier, staring into the coals as though reliving that fateful day. "I lived in a village outside Thebes, a child of a poor farmer. A temple overseer took a fancy to me and insisted I be raised in the purity of Isis." She gave Helen a telling glance. "He had other plans for me, I was soon to learn."

  A wave of sympathy rushed over Helen. The unbidden memory of her own abduction rushed to her, the terror of the night raid on their camp, of being snatched away from her sister. She trembled with the force of that long distant fear. Now was not the time for such distractions. She steadfastly ignored that memory, locking it away in a corner of her mind.

  "It almost destroyed me," the queen continued, watching Helen's tiny reactions with observant eyes, "but I always had more hope than fear, even when there was no cause to believe anything would change. Until one day, it did.

  "When Rameses came to the temple he was already a king. I was nobody, a peasant servant in the House of Isis, yet when I saw him I knew. My soul would not be at rest unless I was at his side. His presence struck me like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky. I was powerless in his gaze. What I didn't know, what I could not know, was that my presence struck him as well." Her eyes shone with love as though the specter of her late husband walked before them.

  "'My Nefertari', he called me, 'The One for Whom the Sun Shines', and for me he would do anything, including marrying a commoner just to keep me safe." A single tear rolled down her cheek.

  "My sister-wives were not pleased. Many whispered that I seduced Pharaoh, charmed him with my 'unnatural' good looks. Phaw." Nefertari laughed softly at the foolish thought. "I did seduce him. Not with promises of the flesh, but by inspiring the valiant spirit within him. I loved him the way a great man deserved to be loved. Others sought to use him, or gain power through his favor. I thought only of Rameses, and in doing, I became his Great Wife."

  Helen marveled at the tale. It seemed impossible Nefertari had known such tragedy and blossomed into the graceful queen before her. Yet, the queen had found her salvation in love. Helen prayed she had half of Nefertari's fortitude moving forward with her own journey.

  "When Rameses died," the queen choked on the words, her eyes swelling with unshed tears, "I lost half my soul. Half the light of the world vanished." She seemed to sink into herself, the formidable Great Wife exposing her vulnerable core. She was simply an elderly woman whose body was failing, a collection of bones whose vital life-force was as much an illusion as the paints on her face.

  "Part of me died with him," another tear ran down her cheek, "and there were none who recognized my sorrow. Save one. A young prince of Troy, who, unlike the vultures swarming over my dead king, cared naught about who next sat the throne. He comforted a grieving wife and pulled me back from joining my love in the afterlife."

  Helen studied the queen with new understanding. Nefertari did love Paris, but not as a lover. She owed him a debt of kindness. Helen cursed her stupid pride. The queen was not a danger to her. If there was one person in Heliopolis she was sure she could trust, it was Nefertari.

  "I... I love him," Helen confessed, some part of her needing to proclaim that fact with pride. "Paris was born for me. And I for him. We belong together. I will marry him, if the Gods allow it." She paused, taking a heavy breath. The queen deserved to hear it all. "But there are many people standing in our way."

  Nefertari took her hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. The look on her face said it all. This news was no surprise to her. "If you love him, then you must defend him." She let her fingers trace over the golden band.

  Helen looked up to the queen with surprise. Was she suggesting...?

  "Great men always need protection," the queen continued. "While Rameses lived, I vowed no one would do him harm. Men are short-sighted. Always in search of a hidden blade, they fail to hear whisper and rumor, the shadow powers that wait silently for a person to relax their defenses. That is the world of women, and I excelled at keeping those powers at bay." She gripped Helen's hands, helping her rise from her seat.

  Can I do the same? Helen eyed the golden band on her wrist, a gilded shackle if anyone discovered what was inside. Will I kill for Paris? As much as she didn't want to face that dark truth, she knew the answer was yes.

  A shadow crossed over Nefertari's face as the queen guided her back to the false door. "A reckoning is coming. The high priest is not the only one who sees it. There are signs of it everywhere. I fear we will need more men like Alexandros before long." She tightened her grip on Helen's arm almost to the point of pain. "You must keep him safe, Helen." She leaned in to kiss her on her brow. "By any means possible."

  Helen nodded, understanding the heart of this last lesson. Hathor or Sekhmet, the heifer or the lioness, the virtuous beauty or the bloodthirsty seductress... She had to embrace her abilities, all her abilities, to keep Paris safe.

  By any means possible. She bid Nefertari goodnight, and returned to her bed, the power of that vow coursing through her veins.

  Amenmesse stalked the dark corridors of the palace back to his private rooms. For the second time that night he tried to visit his brother in the House of Ails, and for the second time that prat of a general had turned him aside. If Seti was on his death bed, then his next of kin deserved to know!

  It frustrated him to no end that the laws of their kingdom did not honor the status of his birth. There was room for only one God-King, and the remaining royal children were but sad reminders of the mortality of man. They lived
in Pharaoh's giant shadow, and soon Amenmesse would live in his brother Seti's as well.

  He entered his darkened chamber, kicking the doors shut behind him. His frustrations bled into his moves as he tore the golden breastplate from his chest, tossing it to the ground. He fumbled for the leather guard underneath, stripping down to the waist, nearly colliding with a small table holding a half-empty decanter of wine.

  Why was the room so cursedly dark? He'd have the house staff whipped for this oversight. Of course, he should have suspected the truth. He was not alone.

  "I thought you'd never return."

  Twosret stretched out on his bed, the luscious curves of her naked body catching the moonlight. His earlier frustrations vanished in an instant.

  His sister, his sultry, mesmerizing sister, whom every Egyptian secretly desired but Seti had claimed as his second wife, was his to savor. Twosret, the cool dram of water to a man dying of thirst. After the exertions of this day, Amenmesse was incredibly thirsty.

  "Come here," he growled.

  She flipped over onto all fours, crawling to him like a cat in heat. "Yes, My Lord." She pressed her lips to his flesh, looking up to him under her kohl-black lashes, her hands roaming over the taut muscles of his abdomen. Her eyes, so similar to his own, were like pools of green fire, commanding him to ravish her. He ran his hands over her backside, slipping his fingers into every crevasse.

  Suddenly she was everywhere, pulling at the ties of his belt, pushing up the fabric of his kilt. He groaned as her delicate fingers encircled his phallus and began to stroke. He had to brace himself against the post of the bed as she rose to kiss him, the force of her pounce stealing his breath away.

  "I love when you come to me from the field." She pulled his lip between her clenched teeth. "You smell the way a man should, of sweat and blood."

  Dirty words from a dirty mind. Twosret had the habit of saying the most inappropriate things, making him desire her all the more. She was wild, untamable.