Awoken, page 20
“Surrender,” the short red-haired man shouts. “Or you leave us no choice.”
“You’ve already left me no choice,” I growl.
“Let’s all take a step back. That was an accident.” Duncan turns toward the red-haired man and shakes his head. “We had an agreement.”
“You have no authority here.”
A tiny corner of my heart swells, knowing that my father hadn’t agreed to this—not to actually killing them. He probably just assumed that I’d surrender for the innocents, and a part of me wants to do just that. But he doesn’t know me well enough. He hasn’t spent enough time with me.
And he has no idea what I’m capable of.
“Do it.” The British leader of Isis waves his hand through the air, and his men all fire at once, hundreds of innocent people suddenly crying out and slumping all around the square.
Rosalinde screams next to me, equal parts terror and fury. No matter how quickly my Healers work, they can’t save them all. They can’t save more than a handful of these poor people. People whom I’m desperate to save on Rra. People I want to protect.
Fury, hot, quick, and consuming floods my body, for all the times I’ve been unable to stop the injustices in my life. For all the blows I took as a child, curling inward helplessly. For each time I was called a name—excluded, insulted, and ignored. For the way my parents, and then my aunt, and then the system let me down. For the brutal murder of my brother Jesse who had never done anything but help other people. For the rage inside of me that, even with all my power, I’m unable to repair the damage that was dealt to him and all of these people trapped against their wills and used by those more powerful.
For my helpless rage at the thought of watching Jesse die again—any day, any moment, any second—from an injury I created in my desperation to save him. And now for this horrible travesty that they’re blaming me for. I’m sick to death of running. I’m finished with curling inward. I’m about done being calm and level-headed and talking things through.
Instead, I reach outward, sensing each and every pulsing light facing me.
Shots fire again, this time at the troops blocking me, the ones waiting for my command. My eyes flare to life, halting every single bullet in mid-air. I spread my hands in front of me and flip my palms down, dropping the inert bullets. The square is filled with the sound of bullets clinking against the pavement. And the sound of moans and whimpers as innocent people suffer and die from violence done against them in my name. I should have stopped them before. I should have been better, stronger, faster.
I failed many of them just as I failed Jesse.
Never again.
I don’t try to weigh and measure the weight or goodness in each soul—there’s not enough time for that. No, I reach for all the soldiers who were willing to use innocent people to stand against me, for every last one—except my own father. I can’t quite bring myself to take him, not yet. Once I sense them all, the life force of every last one, I pull. Hard. Long. Desperate.
It’s as easy as riding a bike. It’s as simple as swimming across a pool. It’s as refreshing as splashing water against my face. Their life forces evacuate their bodies and flood into mine—swirling around without much purpose other than buoying me up, lifting me to the power of an actual god. As the hundreds of soldiers around me wither and die, their blackened bodies collapsing in the same moment, I understand why Ra was worshipped as a deity.
They weren’t entirely wrong.
This power is too great for anyone to wield, control over life and death. Unlimited magic at the expense of others.
I extend my senses again, reaching for the innocent people, the children, the women, their fathers and brothers and uncles, and I focus on those who aren’t yet gone. One hundred. A hundred and forty. A hundred and sixty-five. A hundred and sixty-seven. And then I can’t identify any more. I shove the power I’ve taken into them, mending and repairing, shoring up major damage. It’s not elegant. It’s not efficient. It’s not clean. But I restore the parts of their bodies that don’t work, that are injured, that are broken, and I make them as whole as I can.
Even still, a vast well of power remains, and it beats against me. It clouds my mind, it floods my soul with light and heat and pleasure, and I hate it. Reaching back to my memories, I focus on what I did with the well on my belt, and the one in my ring and I shove all the energy into a bucket—first one, and then another, until the stones inside Ra’s collar pulse with bright white magic—magic ripped from the bodies of men who would shoot children.
And then, once it’s done, I sink to my knees and begin to sob.
I can’t seem to stop.
“It’s over.” Jesse wraps me in his arms and carries me away. I’m not sure where. I don’t even care. I just can’t see it anymore—the slumped bodies of the bad men I withered and the innocent people I couldn’t save. The sounds of their cries reverberate in my skull until it feels like my brain has turned to mush. Jesse never releases me—he holds me against him, rubbing my back softly until I finally drift into darkness.
18
Ancient Egypt
Every single time I go to sleep, I dream of icy blue eyes and shining golden hair. I dream of broad shoulders and a commanding voice. Savage movements and powerful strokes . . . Alexander. Even when I daydream, my mind drifts to him.
It’s become a real distraction.
“—don’t think we should wait until he arrives,” Am-Heh is saying. “We should take the fight to him.”
“I’m tired of fighting,” Dad says, just as we rehearsed.
“Then let Sekhmet lead the army,” Anat says. “She can give you the break you need, but easily keep our people and lands safe.”
“Or if she has no taste for it, send me.” Am-Heh flexes his muscles and they push at the leather vest and vambraces he wears. He’s always so eager to destroy things. Impatient. Brash. Eager. So typically Fire Called.
“Agreed,” Mehen says. “It’s time we stop letting him roll over the country around us. We have to stop this madness. They’re calling him Alexander the Great, as if he is anything to Ra!”
“As if Ra didn’t make him who he is,” Ptah says. “Without Ra, he’d just be another Assimilator, like his mother. He’d be nothing.”
“Maybe not nothing.” Anat arches one perfectly manicured eyebrow.
“They’re calling him the All-Called,” Aha says. “The All-Called, as if he was somehow endowed with these powers as a gift from heaven, as if he’s the embodiment of all that is good, sent here to free them all from your unjust rule. It’s infuriating. Especially when his only real claim to fame is being the child of the worst woman ever to live.”
“Lifting powerfully and wielding all four elements is no small feat. He’s a force to be reckoned with, and Isis has valid grievances against me,” Dad says. “Just complaints, even. As you know, what I did to her and her child was unthinkable. I won’t stand in their way if expanding their borders will finally bring her a feeling of security or comfort. And if they come here, we’ll see what happens.”
None of Dad’s Lieutenants will argue with him, but they don’t agree. It’s clear in the set of their twisted mouths, in the way they clench their hands on their tables and plates, and in the glint in their eyes.
“What I don’t understand,” Dad says, “is who is this Fire Called woman ‘Neser,’ whom Alexander is doggedly searching for? He’s offering more and more as a reward for any information and no one seems to know a single thing about her. Does he love her or hate her? And why won’t he say what he wants with her?”
I can’t let him think about that much more. Either Dad or Am-Heh is sure to recall that when I first began my training to Call Fire, I razed an entire geographical region to the ground, and the people of Nubia called me Neser for miles and miles around. It means ‘flame,’ and they didn’t mean it as a compliment. Shu arranged for a group of Earth Called to go and repair the damage I’d caused, but I still feel guilty.
“I think it’s time we tell them,” I say softly, in part to distract Dad and in part because it’s time. The Lieutenants are asking too many questions.
“Tell us what?” Anubis nearly growls. He’s maintaining his human shape, which is rare, frankly, but his canines look far too long. I’m a little concerned he’s spent too much time as a wolf and he’ll be unable to maintain human form for more than brief periods. I hear that can happen with Renders who too heavily embrace their animal form.
“Dad?”
His head snaps toward me.
“They won’t let it go,” I say, “and we should offer to take them with us in any case.”
Normally I’d have brought this up with him in private, but I can’t have him connecting the dots with Alexander and Neser. The best way to deflect is to attack. He taught me that.
“You’re still set on this course?” Dad’s eyes are steady on my face.
I nod. “Aren’t you?”
He shrugs. “I’ll do whatever will bring you joy.”
Whatever will bring me joy? What if that’s spending time with the son of his worst enemy? I don’t even dare ask for that. Besides, it’s not like dreaming about someone means that they’d bring me happiness in real life. I’m sure the version of Alexander who lives in my head is nothing like the real Apophis, son of Isis.
Horus stands up. “If you’re going to tell us something, then do it.” A brisk wind whips through my hair. He always loses control when he’s agitated.
I look around the room slowly, taking in all the familiar faces of my childhood, the faces of those who have trained me, protected me, and revered me. Dad trusts them all, and that confidence and faith has been passed along to me—not just because he feels it, but because like Dad, I’ve seen it. These people love him and would do anything to keep us safe.
Anat, Dad’s strongest and most gifted Assimilator, and my dear friend. She has taught me everything that Dad couldn’t, and when Mother left, she stepped right into that void. She held my hand and braided my hair. Her features have changed slightly over the years with her own personal opinions of beauty, her nose becoming more prominent, and her hair changing color with her whims, her body shape shifting with changing fashion, but her eyes have remained constant. Liquid, dark, caring, and completely confident.
Ammit, with his snapping eyes, jutting jaw, and dark, thick skin may not be super reliable with times and meetings, but he’s fiercely loyal. Even if I didn’t know he turned into a crocodile, I’d know he was a Render by his sharp, almost feral movements. But in all the time I’ve known him, I’ve never once felt the push from him that gives away a supra trying to force my actions. Not one single time. He possesses great strength, amazing power, and he never tries to assert it without Dad’s go-ahead.
Mehen’s always quiet, always calm, and always watching. He’s been beside my father in almost every situation as long as I can recall. He’s unassuming, he’s tough, and he’s doggedly true. His arms rest patiently on the table, fingers not tapping, hands not gripping anything. No matter what I tell them, he’ll be behind us, utterly and completely.
Imhotep, with his nearly black skin, the strongest Healer ever to live. Like Dad and me with our assimilation, he can Heal from a distance, making him an invaluable personal physician. He’s worked tirelessly to perfect his skill, and he has even transformed the day-to-day practices that keep our people healthy and strong.
Aha, now using the name Bastet again, has rejoined Dad’s Lieutenants with a vengeance. I’ve never seen someone so delighted to rejoin military applications in my life. Acting as my nursemaid and my personal guard was probably the hardest thing Dad could ever have asked of her, and yet she trained and guarded me perfectly, constantly, without any complaint. She taught me to control my inner animal, releasing my lion only when I’m scared or need the extra speed, agility, or more powerful senses. She taught me to find peace through being more closely aligned with ma’at, with the purpose and call of nature itself.
Am-Heh’s the most volatile, which I should expect given that he’s Fire Called. His eyes smolder, his hands smoke where they grip the table. He hates not knowing all the things that can be known, but he also surrenders to Dad and to me at all times. In all places. In all ways. He told me once that it was freeing to him, knowing that in the end, he’s accountable to someone else. It helps him douse the fire that rages inside of him, threatening to melt the whole earth.
Ptah didn’t take my refusal of his proposal very well, and he asked for my hand in marriage a dozen more times, even inscribing proposals into temples, pyramids, and the newly constructed walls of the palace. I realized, finally, that Dad favored him because he’s not destructive like the others. He’s stable. He’s steady, and he looks to the future while honoring the past. He’s angry only when threatened, and that makes him someone Dad would trust to be with his daughter at all times. But he’s also boring. He’s predictable, and thankfully, he finally let his dreams for our never-going-to-happen future go.
Tefnut, who I didn’t realize was my own half-sister until a few years ago, is quiet, reserved, and unpredictable. But she’s always there when we need her, and she has never once resented the time or attention Dad pays me. In some ways, I wonder whether she pities me. True to her Ice Called powers, she’s cold and calculating, but time and time again she’s used that quality to protect and serve.
And of course, there’s Horus, the friendliest of Dad’s men, the most amicable, and the Lieutenant who played with me most as a child. He would whisk me up into the air and then drop me, buoying me back up at the very last minute. He’s exciting and fun and he leads a horrifying band of shock troops just like him. They’ve hacked other, much larger battalions, to bits just for fun. I struggle sometimes to reconcile the part of him that plays with a toddler with total abandon, and the part of him that turns humans into chunks.
Anubis leads the largest single force of soldiers in our entire land. It took time for Dad to win over the Prince of Nubia, but his wolf pack is the most terrifying force in all of Asia, and he would turn them on anyone who challenged us in a hot second.
They have very little in common, these warriors, other than a love for my father, and I suppose their love for me by extension.
Except for Shu, who knows more than Dad, but has kept quiet about it to keep Dad from knowing he joined me in Gordion and that I met Alexander. In many ways, he’s the only member of Dad’s inner circle who loves me more, who cares for me more, who would turn on even my father, if it was what I needed.
He’s the only person here who is mine.
“Dad and I have decided it’s time to move on, at least for now. We’re tired of ruling, tired of judging and weighing and measuring, and protecting, and mostly, tired of fighting. Isis has grievances against my father that are, as you know, legitimate. She was wronged, and her son Alexander—”
“Apophis,” Dad says softly.
I clear my throat. “Her son Apophis has been gathering troops and amassing allies to come and take us down. It has been his mother’s greatest wish ever since she left.”
“She’s not even mad about what Ra did,” Anat says. “She’s angry he didn’t love her. She’s angry he cast her out. If that wasn’t true, she’d never have tried so hard to separate him from Hathor.”
Which she only accomplished by convincing my own mother that I’m an abomination. I try not to dwell on that part. “Regardless of her motivations or her feelings,” I say, “we have decided to let them conquer us and take everything.”
Jaws drop. Eyes widen. They gasp. They murmur. I expected all of this and more, including the blackening of the wooden table under Am-Heh’s hands and the whipping wind in my hair that reveals Horus’ shock.
“Sekhmet is tired of ruling and she’s only just begun,” Dad says. “It’s no way to start a life, exhausted with your role from the outset. I promised her that we could see the world together. It has always been her greatest joy, to see new places and meet new people. We can travel, we can live as we choose, once we’ve parted from this region, and we can return here if or when she ever desires to resume her rightful place as queen.”
Am-Heh’s eyes snap. “But you fought so hard to create—”
“I wanted to make something for my family.” Dad gestures at Shu, and then at me. “A family who doesn’t care about having an empire. A family that wants the freedom not to be worshipped and watched at all times. It’s a desire I understand entirely.”
“What will you do with us?” Horus asks. “Are we to be disbanded?”
“Not at all,” Dad says. “You may choose your own future. You’re welcome to accompany us—after all, even once we’ve vacated the palace, once our ruse has been completed, we’ll want friends, allies, and supporters.”
He doesn’t say it, but he’ll want bodyguards. Everyone sleeps sometimes.
“But if you love what you do, if you love keeping the peace and fighting off threats, I’m sure Apophis will find a place for you here, aiding him in subduing those who will not welcome his rule. He has ambitions, that one. He’ll spread his control far and wide, and I think he’ll do an admirable job governing. His mother can keep you young in the same way that I do.”
“She’s nothing like you.” Tefnut’s eyes are intense, but there’s no anger in them, no reproach when she looks at me. She understands—of course she does. She’s kept it quiet that she’s Ra’s daughter for a reason, distancing herself from his legacy of her own volition. Either to avoid the shadow he casts, or because, like me, she finds it tiring.
“What if he won’t accept us?” Am-Heh asks.
I’m surprised he’s considering staying, but perhaps I shouldn’t be. He’s not built for traipsing around the world or living a quiet life in seclusion. He’s made to raze enemy forces to the ground.
“Unlike me, Alexander wants to govern. He wants to rule. He wants to judge and weigh and provide peace and prosperity.” Sometimes I wonder whether my failure to have that drive disappoints Dad. He’s never said, but . . .
“You’ve already left me no choice,” I growl.
“Let’s all take a step back. That was an accident.” Duncan turns toward the red-haired man and shakes his head. “We had an agreement.”
“You have no authority here.”
A tiny corner of my heart swells, knowing that my father hadn’t agreed to this—not to actually killing them. He probably just assumed that I’d surrender for the innocents, and a part of me wants to do just that. But he doesn’t know me well enough. He hasn’t spent enough time with me.
And he has no idea what I’m capable of.
“Do it.” The British leader of Isis waves his hand through the air, and his men all fire at once, hundreds of innocent people suddenly crying out and slumping all around the square.
Rosalinde screams next to me, equal parts terror and fury. No matter how quickly my Healers work, they can’t save them all. They can’t save more than a handful of these poor people. People whom I’m desperate to save on Rra. People I want to protect.
Fury, hot, quick, and consuming floods my body, for all the times I’ve been unable to stop the injustices in my life. For all the blows I took as a child, curling inward helplessly. For each time I was called a name—excluded, insulted, and ignored. For the way my parents, and then my aunt, and then the system let me down. For the brutal murder of my brother Jesse who had never done anything but help other people. For the rage inside of me that, even with all my power, I’m unable to repair the damage that was dealt to him and all of these people trapped against their wills and used by those more powerful.
For my helpless rage at the thought of watching Jesse die again—any day, any moment, any second—from an injury I created in my desperation to save him. And now for this horrible travesty that they’re blaming me for. I’m sick to death of running. I’m finished with curling inward. I’m about done being calm and level-headed and talking things through.
Instead, I reach outward, sensing each and every pulsing light facing me.
Shots fire again, this time at the troops blocking me, the ones waiting for my command. My eyes flare to life, halting every single bullet in mid-air. I spread my hands in front of me and flip my palms down, dropping the inert bullets. The square is filled with the sound of bullets clinking against the pavement. And the sound of moans and whimpers as innocent people suffer and die from violence done against them in my name. I should have stopped them before. I should have been better, stronger, faster.
I failed many of them just as I failed Jesse.
Never again.
I don’t try to weigh and measure the weight or goodness in each soul—there’s not enough time for that. No, I reach for all the soldiers who were willing to use innocent people to stand against me, for every last one—except my own father. I can’t quite bring myself to take him, not yet. Once I sense them all, the life force of every last one, I pull. Hard. Long. Desperate.
It’s as easy as riding a bike. It’s as simple as swimming across a pool. It’s as refreshing as splashing water against my face. Their life forces evacuate their bodies and flood into mine—swirling around without much purpose other than buoying me up, lifting me to the power of an actual god. As the hundreds of soldiers around me wither and die, their blackened bodies collapsing in the same moment, I understand why Ra was worshipped as a deity.
They weren’t entirely wrong.
This power is too great for anyone to wield, control over life and death. Unlimited magic at the expense of others.
I extend my senses again, reaching for the innocent people, the children, the women, their fathers and brothers and uncles, and I focus on those who aren’t yet gone. One hundred. A hundred and forty. A hundred and sixty-five. A hundred and sixty-seven. And then I can’t identify any more. I shove the power I’ve taken into them, mending and repairing, shoring up major damage. It’s not elegant. It’s not efficient. It’s not clean. But I restore the parts of their bodies that don’t work, that are injured, that are broken, and I make them as whole as I can.
Even still, a vast well of power remains, and it beats against me. It clouds my mind, it floods my soul with light and heat and pleasure, and I hate it. Reaching back to my memories, I focus on what I did with the well on my belt, and the one in my ring and I shove all the energy into a bucket—first one, and then another, until the stones inside Ra’s collar pulse with bright white magic—magic ripped from the bodies of men who would shoot children.
And then, once it’s done, I sink to my knees and begin to sob.
I can’t seem to stop.
“It’s over.” Jesse wraps me in his arms and carries me away. I’m not sure where. I don’t even care. I just can’t see it anymore—the slumped bodies of the bad men I withered and the innocent people I couldn’t save. The sounds of their cries reverberate in my skull until it feels like my brain has turned to mush. Jesse never releases me—he holds me against him, rubbing my back softly until I finally drift into darkness.
18
Ancient Egypt
Every single time I go to sleep, I dream of icy blue eyes and shining golden hair. I dream of broad shoulders and a commanding voice. Savage movements and powerful strokes . . . Alexander. Even when I daydream, my mind drifts to him.
It’s become a real distraction.
“—don’t think we should wait until he arrives,” Am-Heh is saying. “We should take the fight to him.”
“I’m tired of fighting,” Dad says, just as we rehearsed.
“Then let Sekhmet lead the army,” Anat says. “She can give you the break you need, but easily keep our people and lands safe.”
“Or if she has no taste for it, send me.” Am-Heh flexes his muscles and they push at the leather vest and vambraces he wears. He’s always so eager to destroy things. Impatient. Brash. Eager. So typically Fire Called.
“Agreed,” Mehen says. “It’s time we stop letting him roll over the country around us. We have to stop this madness. They’re calling him Alexander the Great, as if he is anything to Ra!”
“As if Ra didn’t make him who he is,” Ptah says. “Without Ra, he’d just be another Assimilator, like his mother. He’d be nothing.”
“Maybe not nothing.” Anat arches one perfectly manicured eyebrow.
“They’re calling him the All-Called,” Aha says. “The All-Called, as if he was somehow endowed with these powers as a gift from heaven, as if he’s the embodiment of all that is good, sent here to free them all from your unjust rule. It’s infuriating. Especially when his only real claim to fame is being the child of the worst woman ever to live.”
“Lifting powerfully and wielding all four elements is no small feat. He’s a force to be reckoned with, and Isis has valid grievances against me,” Dad says. “Just complaints, even. As you know, what I did to her and her child was unthinkable. I won’t stand in their way if expanding their borders will finally bring her a feeling of security or comfort. And if they come here, we’ll see what happens.”
None of Dad’s Lieutenants will argue with him, but they don’t agree. It’s clear in the set of their twisted mouths, in the way they clench their hands on their tables and plates, and in the glint in their eyes.
“What I don’t understand,” Dad says, “is who is this Fire Called woman ‘Neser,’ whom Alexander is doggedly searching for? He’s offering more and more as a reward for any information and no one seems to know a single thing about her. Does he love her or hate her? And why won’t he say what he wants with her?”
I can’t let him think about that much more. Either Dad or Am-Heh is sure to recall that when I first began my training to Call Fire, I razed an entire geographical region to the ground, and the people of Nubia called me Neser for miles and miles around. It means ‘flame,’ and they didn’t mean it as a compliment. Shu arranged for a group of Earth Called to go and repair the damage I’d caused, but I still feel guilty.
“I think it’s time we tell them,” I say softly, in part to distract Dad and in part because it’s time. The Lieutenants are asking too many questions.
“Tell us what?” Anubis nearly growls. He’s maintaining his human shape, which is rare, frankly, but his canines look far too long. I’m a little concerned he’s spent too much time as a wolf and he’ll be unable to maintain human form for more than brief periods. I hear that can happen with Renders who too heavily embrace their animal form.
“Dad?”
His head snaps toward me.
“They won’t let it go,” I say, “and we should offer to take them with us in any case.”
Normally I’d have brought this up with him in private, but I can’t have him connecting the dots with Alexander and Neser. The best way to deflect is to attack. He taught me that.
“You’re still set on this course?” Dad’s eyes are steady on my face.
I nod. “Aren’t you?”
He shrugs. “I’ll do whatever will bring you joy.”
Whatever will bring me joy? What if that’s spending time with the son of his worst enemy? I don’t even dare ask for that. Besides, it’s not like dreaming about someone means that they’d bring me happiness in real life. I’m sure the version of Alexander who lives in my head is nothing like the real Apophis, son of Isis.
Horus stands up. “If you’re going to tell us something, then do it.” A brisk wind whips through my hair. He always loses control when he’s agitated.
I look around the room slowly, taking in all the familiar faces of my childhood, the faces of those who have trained me, protected me, and revered me. Dad trusts them all, and that confidence and faith has been passed along to me—not just because he feels it, but because like Dad, I’ve seen it. These people love him and would do anything to keep us safe.
Anat, Dad’s strongest and most gifted Assimilator, and my dear friend. She has taught me everything that Dad couldn’t, and when Mother left, she stepped right into that void. She held my hand and braided my hair. Her features have changed slightly over the years with her own personal opinions of beauty, her nose becoming more prominent, and her hair changing color with her whims, her body shape shifting with changing fashion, but her eyes have remained constant. Liquid, dark, caring, and completely confident.
Ammit, with his snapping eyes, jutting jaw, and dark, thick skin may not be super reliable with times and meetings, but he’s fiercely loyal. Even if I didn’t know he turned into a crocodile, I’d know he was a Render by his sharp, almost feral movements. But in all the time I’ve known him, I’ve never once felt the push from him that gives away a supra trying to force my actions. Not one single time. He possesses great strength, amazing power, and he never tries to assert it without Dad’s go-ahead.
Mehen’s always quiet, always calm, and always watching. He’s been beside my father in almost every situation as long as I can recall. He’s unassuming, he’s tough, and he’s doggedly true. His arms rest patiently on the table, fingers not tapping, hands not gripping anything. No matter what I tell them, he’ll be behind us, utterly and completely.
Imhotep, with his nearly black skin, the strongest Healer ever to live. Like Dad and me with our assimilation, he can Heal from a distance, making him an invaluable personal physician. He’s worked tirelessly to perfect his skill, and he has even transformed the day-to-day practices that keep our people healthy and strong.
Aha, now using the name Bastet again, has rejoined Dad’s Lieutenants with a vengeance. I’ve never seen someone so delighted to rejoin military applications in my life. Acting as my nursemaid and my personal guard was probably the hardest thing Dad could ever have asked of her, and yet she trained and guarded me perfectly, constantly, without any complaint. She taught me to control my inner animal, releasing my lion only when I’m scared or need the extra speed, agility, or more powerful senses. She taught me to find peace through being more closely aligned with ma’at, with the purpose and call of nature itself.
Am-Heh’s the most volatile, which I should expect given that he’s Fire Called. His eyes smolder, his hands smoke where they grip the table. He hates not knowing all the things that can be known, but he also surrenders to Dad and to me at all times. In all places. In all ways. He told me once that it was freeing to him, knowing that in the end, he’s accountable to someone else. It helps him douse the fire that rages inside of him, threatening to melt the whole earth.
Ptah didn’t take my refusal of his proposal very well, and he asked for my hand in marriage a dozen more times, even inscribing proposals into temples, pyramids, and the newly constructed walls of the palace. I realized, finally, that Dad favored him because he’s not destructive like the others. He’s stable. He’s steady, and he looks to the future while honoring the past. He’s angry only when threatened, and that makes him someone Dad would trust to be with his daughter at all times. But he’s also boring. He’s predictable, and thankfully, he finally let his dreams for our never-going-to-happen future go.
Tefnut, who I didn’t realize was my own half-sister until a few years ago, is quiet, reserved, and unpredictable. But she’s always there when we need her, and she has never once resented the time or attention Dad pays me. In some ways, I wonder whether she pities me. True to her Ice Called powers, she’s cold and calculating, but time and time again she’s used that quality to protect and serve.
And of course, there’s Horus, the friendliest of Dad’s men, the most amicable, and the Lieutenant who played with me most as a child. He would whisk me up into the air and then drop me, buoying me back up at the very last minute. He’s exciting and fun and he leads a horrifying band of shock troops just like him. They’ve hacked other, much larger battalions, to bits just for fun. I struggle sometimes to reconcile the part of him that plays with a toddler with total abandon, and the part of him that turns humans into chunks.
Anubis leads the largest single force of soldiers in our entire land. It took time for Dad to win over the Prince of Nubia, but his wolf pack is the most terrifying force in all of Asia, and he would turn them on anyone who challenged us in a hot second.
They have very little in common, these warriors, other than a love for my father, and I suppose their love for me by extension.
Except for Shu, who knows more than Dad, but has kept quiet about it to keep Dad from knowing he joined me in Gordion and that I met Alexander. In many ways, he’s the only member of Dad’s inner circle who loves me more, who cares for me more, who would turn on even my father, if it was what I needed.
He’s the only person here who is mine.
“Dad and I have decided it’s time to move on, at least for now. We’re tired of ruling, tired of judging and weighing and measuring, and protecting, and mostly, tired of fighting. Isis has grievances against my father that are, as you know, legitimate. She was wronged, and her son Alexander—”
“Apophis,” Dad says softly.
I clear my throat. “Her son Apophis has been gathering troops and amassing allies to come and take us down. It has been his mother’s greatest wish ever since she left.”
“She’s not even mad about what Ra did,” Anat says. “She’s angry he didn’t love her. She’s angry he cast her out. If that wasn’t true, she’d never have tried so hard to separate him from Hathor.”
Which she only accomplished by convincing my own mother that I’m an abomination. I try not to dwell on that part. “Regardless of her motivations or her feelings,” I say, “we have decided to let them conquer us and take everything.”
Jaws drop. Eyes widen. They gasp. They murmur. I expected all of this and more, including the blackening of the wooden table under Am-Heh’s hands and the whipping wind in my hair that reveals Horus’ shock.
“Sekhmet is tired of ruling and she’s only just begun,” Dad says. “It’s no way to start a life, exhausted with your role from the outset. I promised her that we could see the world together. It has always been her greatest joy, to see new places and meet new people. We can travel, we can live as we choose, once we’ve parted from this region, and we can return here if or when she ever desires to resume her rightful place as queen.”
Am-Heh’s eyes snap. “But you fought so hard to create—”
“I wanted to make something for my family.” Dad gestures at Shu, and then at me. “A family who doesn’t care about having an empire. A family that wants the freedom not to be worshipped and watched at all times. It’s a desire I understand entirely.”
“What will you do with us?” Horus asks. “Are we to be disbanded?”
“Not at all,” Dad says. “You may choose your own future. You’re welcome to accompany us—after all, even once we’ve vacated the palace, once our ruse has been completed, we’ll want friends, allies, and supporters.”
He doesn’t say it, but he’ll want bodyguards. Everyone sleeps sometimes.
“But if you love what you do, if you love keeping the peace and fighting off threats, I’m sure Apophis will find a place for you here, aiding him in subduing those who will not welcome his rule. He has ambitions, that one. He’ll spread his control far and wide, and I think he’ll do an admirable job governing. His mother can keep you young in the same way that I do.”
“She’s nothing like you.” Tefnut’s eyes are intense, but there’s no anger in them, no reproach when she looks at me. She understands—of course she does. She’s kept it quiet that she’s Ra’s daughter for a reason, distancing herself from his legacy of her own volition. Either to avoid the shadow he casts, or because, like me, she finds it tiring.
“What if he won’t accept us?” Am-Heh asks.
I’m surprised he’s considering staying, but perhaps I shouldn’t be. He’s not built for traipsing around the world or living a quiet life in seclusion. He’s made to raze enemy forces to the ground.
“Unlike me, Alexander wants to govern. He wants to rule. He wants to judge and weigh and provide peace and prosperity.” Sometimes I wonder whether my failure to have that drive disappoints Dad. He’s never said, but . . .
