Crescent Moon (2 page)

“You are beautiful, Mistress,” Tawaret said, giving Khepri a proud smile.

Khepri glowed under her approval. Everything she was, everything she
stood for, was a reflection of those around her. All took pride in her status
and her beauty. When Amun was pleased, a good harvest and wealthy visitors
followed.

Shouts sounded from outside the window.

Tawaret hurried over and lifted a woven papyrus mat covering the small
window. “The boat is pulling up to the quay. Any last instructions?”

Khepri shook her head. “Just help me with my wig.”

The handmaiden scraped Khepri’s brown hair into a bundle and tied it, and
then settled the raven black wig over her head. Although made of human hair
rather than horse, the tightly woven wig was hot and made her scalp itch. Those
inside the temple walls knew of her odd preference to wear her own hair, but
after she’d been wed to Amun, they no longer teased her. While they gossiped
freely inside the walls, they were careful to preserve secrets from spreading
to the outside. Those who lived and worked inside the temple coveted their jobs
and would do nothing to risk them.

Their loyalty was something Khepri never doubted—and one of the reasons
she hated leaving her sanctuary. The servants protected each other as a family
would. Today, they couldn’t protect her as she ventured to the river and
greeted a royal visitor.

Her stomach tightened. She wasn’t ready, even though she’d prepared for
this visit for years. She’d serve Pharaoh in the sanctuary, call upon the gods
for their blessings, and hope the king wouldn’t request more. The thought this
was the one living man who was entitled to command her body made her stomach
revolt. Having a stranger touch her, even a living god, left her feeling
breathless and little nauseated.

She’d been spared so many hardships since the previous God’s Wife,
Nephthys, spotted her in the fields that she ought to feel ashamed of her
unruly thoughts. And she truly was grateful for her education and for being spared
a harsher sort of life.

But even though she’d been raised to submit to Amun’s will, she wasn’t a
submissive person by nature. She was willful, stubborn, and always questioning,
qualities Nephthys had ignored but which others had found appalling when she’d
been named Nephthys’s successor. How she’d come to be here, a girl from such
lowly beginnings, was just as unlikely.

While still a young girl, The God’s Wife had discovered her while she
played with butterflies. The insects had swarmed, lighting on her hands and
lips. No doubt they’d been lured by the honey she’d eaten and left smeared on
herself. The beautiful lady carried on a litter on the road beside the fields
viewed the butterflies as a sign and had purchased her from her beaming mother
that very hour.

From that moment, Khepri’s life had changed forever. Why she thought of
that now, she wasn’t sure. But she didn’t have time to wonder whether she was
receiving some sort of premonition. Aware now of the many faces turned her way,
Khepri strode with more confidence than she felt through the gates of the
temple and down the stone-paved road to the quay beside the river.

The barge was exactly as she’d envisioned it—a red-painted hull with gold
symbols surrounding the prow, calling to the gods of the river and the
creatures who inhabited it. Ropes were flung over the side. Dockworkers
scrambled to tie off the barge. The usual jovial shouts and coarse language
were absent. All were on their best behavior, taking their cues from her quiet
demeanor.

As the plank was raised and tipped over the side of the boat to land with
a shudder against the wooden quay, Khepri schooled her features into a polite
but remote mask and strode down the pier.

The vizier was the first off the boat, his long light-brown thighs lifting
the hem of his knee-length
shendyt
as he moved with purpose toward
her.

Her breath caught, and she halted before they would collide, dipping her
head. “Welcome to Amun’s house,” she blurted. “We are honored by our king’s
visit.”

“Pharaoh is dead,” he said, his words blunt, his tone cold.

Her head lifted, shock loosening her jaw. For a moment, the sickening
tightness in her gut eased. Pharaoh wouldn’t be seeking the pleasure of her
body. “King Selk is dead?”

“His name will not be spoken.” The vizier gave a harsh shake of his head.
“Not now, not ever again.”

She narrowed her eyes, knowing instantly something was very wrong.
Speaking the names of the dead empowered their spirits, increasing their status
in the afterlife. To never speak their names cursed them. “I don’t understand.”

“Now isn’t the time for explanations.”

His glance swept her and then returned to her face, which she knew had
grown pale.

Perhaps he read something in her eyes, because as he stared, his gaze
probed hers. Gradually, his tight features softened. His head tilted to the
side. “Khepri, Amun’s wife, we have come for you.”

The words flowed like honey, like a lover’s caress, or so she imagined.
She couldn’t help the blush heating her cheeks. The vizier was a charismatic
man. He’d visited twice. Once when Nephthys had named her successor, and the
next time to celebrate her union with Amun. After both visits, she’d spent days
in prayer to erase the temptation his handsome features and strong body posed.
Then she realized what he’d said. With a gasp, she drew back. “You’ve come for
me? But I never leave the temple.”

“You are The God’s Wife. You are needed for the procession. We take the
nameless one to bury him. As one close to the gods, your presence is required
for our appeal to the gods.”

Something in his voice raised the hairs that shouldn’t be on the back of
her neck. Not that his words or tone were ominous, but she couldn’t shake the
feeling he withheld something. “
He
had his own priest at court and
you
are a former High Priest of Set. What do you need with me? You can say the
prayers to send him on his journey.”

“We need someone pure of heart and body to fight an evil.”

She shook her head. In her role, she could only offer prayer. No more or
less than he could do. Unless he knew... “I am no warrior.”

“And yet, you have trained …” he said, his gaze narrowing.

She blinked, wondering how he might have heard, but deciding on the spot
not to deny her skills. “Nephthys foresaw I would lead a great battle. She
interpreted the battle would likely take place in defense of the temple.” At
his continued stare, she lifted her chin higher. “She insisted that everyone
inside the walls learn to use a lance and a bow and to use our hands and feet
to protect our temple against a threat—against invaders, not some mystical
battle against evil.”
Breathless now she’d vented her unease, she waited for a response.

The vizier’s expression remained unchanged, but he fisted his hands on
his hips. “Pharaoh is dead. Do you know what that makes me?”

She shook her head slowly, resenting the satisfaction curling up one side
of his firm mouth.

“His death makes me Pharaoh in his stead—until his successor is installed.”
He leaned toward her, his features once again taut. “Board my barge.”

Board my barge.

At his words, softly but emphatically spoken, her breath caught and held.
This close, she felt his breath on her face, smelled his male musk. The naked
expanse of his broad chest, leaning so closely they would have touched if she
hadn’t drawn away, was mesmerizing. The tension in his face was …
thrilling
. Things she should not have
noted. But she was human, and he was standing so near she could feel the heat
rolling off his gleaming chest. In that frozen moment, he represented the
living god. She could not refuse.

Nor did she want to. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she met
Tawaret’s fascinated gaze. “Tell Akil when he arrives.”

Tawaret nodded, and then gave her a surreptitious wink.

No doubt she thought Khepri would at last surrender her purity. Khepri
suspected intercourse was the last thing on the handsome vizier’s mind, but her
fantasies had been stirred to life. She was about to begin an adventure. Had
her husband read her troubled thoughts after all?

The vizier crooked his arm, offering her an honor, perhaps to soften the
harshness of his command.

She raised her hand and set it atop his, liking the warmth of his skin
against hers, and not feeling the least bit resentful he’d used his higher rank
to ensure her cooperation.

With sedate steps, he led her up the ramp and aboard the large barge.
They passed boatsmen, but she didn’t look their way, nor they at her. Her gaze
was on the man who’d commanded her presence as he pushed aside the papyrus
panels enclosing a good portion of the deck. Beyond the rough curtain was a
sitting area with bolster cushions on the deck. “Servants will wet the rushes,”
he said, inclining his head. “You’ll be cooler in the shade.”

He intended for her to relax … with him? Her mind whirled. Pharaoh was
dead. His vizier, a noble of great
power, sought her company. She boarded a barge for a journey northward. To the
tombs at Giza or Saqqara? The destination didn’t much matter. Excitement
skittered over her skin, warming her, making her nearly giddy.

She ducked beneath the panels, which were already saturated. Cool moist
air awaited in the shaded alcove. The starch in her
kalasiris
quickly lost its stiffness. The linen clung to her breasts and hips,
outlining her body. Would he notice? Still, she was too excited to make use of
the cushions. Too excited to sit.

The
deck beneath her feet shifted, one side dipping then rising. The boat was
pulling away from shore. Bending forward, she pushed under the panels and
strode for the bow. The boatsmen swung the large craft in a slow circle, long
poles digging into the silty river bottom as the boat turned midriver, and then
oars slapped the water, catching the current, to carry them downstream.

As
she watched the temple on the hilltop getting smaller, then disappearing
altogether from sight as they turned the bend, she worried. Who would see to
the everyday rituals? Who would make the offerings? Would Amun bestow his favor
on another? Her visions occurred inside the sanctuary. Outside the temple’s
walls, she was only ordinary, hardly gifted at all.

And
yet, a premonition made the skin on her arms prickle. Or was the reaction just
her unease at leaving when she hadn’t set foot off of temple lands in over ten
years? For just a moment, she felt a chill spill down her spine, and the
thought flitted through her mind this might be the last time she would see her
home.

The
vizier stepped beside her and his head bent. His dark gaze skimmed over her
again.

Khepri
felt heat rise in her cheeks and glanced over the water to the far bank where
crocodiles basked in the bright afternoon sun.

A
finger trailed along her cheek. “Join me. There’s wine and bread. We can pass
the time.” His hand slipped over hers as it lay atop the wooden rail.

The
action confused her for the way her thoughts flew and her cheeks blushed
hotter. Where she remained poised while sorting heated disputes among workers
and suppliers, now her mouth dried and her tongue stuck to the roof of her
mouth at one intimate touch.

His
hand squeezed hers then lifted it. He tugged her arm to force her gently to
follow him back beneath the papyrus mats.

A
soft, red carpet cloaked the planks. Thick bolster cushions were arranged
perpendicular to each other, a cozy corner. A large tray with rounds of flat
bread and cut melon and grapes now rested on the rug in front of the cushions.

The
vizier held her hand while she knelt on a cushion. She let her legs slip to the
side, trying her best not to strain the delicate fabric of her gown. The
garment was her only gown, she reminded herself, since she’d not been allowed
time to pack any clothing—or to consider what this journey really meant. A
problem which had her brows drawing together. She hadn’t thought this through.

A
fingertip touched the furrow she’d made. “Do not think. This journey will be
short, your every need fulfilled.”

She
liked the deep rumble of his voice, but pride had her lifting her chin. “I’ve
no clothing other than what I wear.”

His
gaze dipped to her breasts, no doubt outlined by the dampened fabric. “I have
Pharaoh’s wealth at my disposal. His heir has given me his blessing. Whatever I
need, I shall have.”

His
tone and dark penetrating gaze intimated that he needed her. Her breaths
deepened. “Tell me, Pharaoh’s tombs aren’t yet complete. Where will he rest?”

His
lips thinned. “Again, no worries. Would you rather speak of the dead, or
discover your role in this adventure?”

His
deep voice held a note of amusement, and the corners of his eyes wrinkled,
hints of a smile that didn’t touch his generous mouth.

Wishing
she could rein in her wayward thoughts, she drew a deep breath. Her attraction
was unseemly. Not unexpected, however, because he was a handsome man, and
powerful in build as well as influence—someone whose benevolence could prove
helpful if she wanted to improve the temple’s grounds.

Only
the last thing she wanted to contemplate was a desire to expand the temple or
build another shrine. As he took his seat beside her and signaled for beakers
of wine, she only wanted to contemplate the breadth of his light-brown shoulders,
the strong curve of his hawkish nose, and the brilliance of his golden brown
eyes.

Although
likely close to the same age as she was, his worldliness gave him confidence
beyond his years, an air of sophistication she could only admire but never assume
for herself.

When
a beaker touched the back of her hand, she blinked and gave a quick smile to
the servant.

The
vizier’s mouth twitched. “How long has it been, three years, since you assumed
your duties?”

“Three
years since Nephthys’s passing.” She nodded. “No one was more surprised than I
when I was named priestess.”

His
brows rose. “Why were you surprised?”

“Because
I’m not of noble birth. The appointment was unusual.”

“But
not without precedent. When someone shows unusual intelligence or powers, they
are seen as a gift coming straight from the gods.”

Khepri
lifted her shoulders. “Well, I was surprised, because I don’t feel I possess
exceptional intelligence and others are more magically gifted.”

The
vizier’s eyes narrowed. “She conferred with me. Did you know?”

“Nephthys?”
At his nod, Khepri’s eyebrows rose. “She never said. I wondered how the choice
was made.”

“She
said she believed you had a core of exceptional strength.”

“To
me, she said I was stubborn.”

With
a wave, he dismissed her comment, then continued as though she hadn’t spoken.
“That once you determine a path, no one could sway you.”

Khepri
wrinkled her nose. “Stubborn,” she repeated.

His
face angled toward hers, his gaze locking on hers. “She said magic trailed you,
but you had yet to stay still long enough for it to catch you.”

Surprised,
she pulled in a long breath. “That’s … whimsy. Not the truth at all.”

He
gave a crisp nod as though only his argument should be considered. “And yet,
you function as the oracle.”

“Only
inside Amun’s sanctuary.” Khepri frowned. “The
naos
is a conduit.”

“Nonsense.
You are chosen. Your belief that you confer with the gods, only through an
altar, is what constrains you.”

She
shook her head, annoyance overcoming any passing pleasure she’d had in his
company. Impatient now, she settled a steady stare on his face. “Why did you
want me to accompany you on this journey? Why come all the way to Thebes to
retrieve me?”

“Because
you are chosen.” His hand waved in her direction. “Nephthys saw it. I feel it.”

“Chosen
for what?”

He
paused, his lips twisting in a snarl.

She
wondered if he’d never argued with a woman. If any woman had ever dared raise
her voice to him. “Chosen for what?” she asked, her tone more insistent.

“Drink
your wine.”

So
much for her yearnings. She stared at the beaker. He thought she was a true
mystic. Her abilities were his only interest. Not her body, certainly not her
mind. He was destined for disappointment. She was destined to never know the
act of serving a living god in any intimate way.

Disappointment
had her raising her beaker and taking a sip. The wine was cool and sweet. Too
sweet for her taste. She wrinkled her nose, but took another sip, anything but
continue the awkward conversation.

“We
should talk now,” he said softly, the intensity of his gaze increasing.

She
no longer felt warmed by his presence. A distinct chill crackled in the air.
With both hands, she cupped the beaker to warm the liquid.

“How
much do you know about the Land of the Dead, the
Duat
?”

His
voice sounded a little hollow, like he was speaking through a tunnel. She shook
her head. “Only what the papyri describe of the land beyond this world. Of
sailing on the
Nun
river, and the many regions … the weighing of the
heart. Most of it is pretty fiction.” She bit her lip. Had she really said that
out loud? She rarely admitted her doubts of the things she’d been taught, even
to herself. Otherwise, she would question her own destiny.

Yet
he did no more than stare, and then slowly smiled. “So you know
the story
.
That Osiris will watch as Anubis weighs a dead man’s heart. In the underworld,
a farmer may be found worthy and sent to live with Horus in the Fields of
Peace, living like a king. While a king found unworthy may be dragged away by
the Devourer of Hearts to dwell in oblivion.”

“To
dwell in the Pit of Fire,” she murmured, confused because he hadn’t chastised
her for calling the story pretty fiction. Something about his behavior was
different after her outburst. His body was more relaxed. Curiosity had her
changing the subject. “Why can we never speak
his
name? How has he
earned such disrespect?”

He
snorted and took a sip from his own beaker. “You have never met him and do not
know his nature.”

“He
kept to Luxor. We’ve only heard rumors.” She shivered, glad again fate had
removed him from her path because the rumors hadn’t been pleasant ones.

“He
murdered his siblings.”

With
a sharp move, she dipped her chin. “Hideous, but not an uncommon practice. He
must have felt the need to consolidate his power and remove threats to his
reign.” Khepri made the statement without emotion, even though she couldn’t
imagine ever doing the same to her small siblings.

As
a child, she’d been taken from the fields, never to see them again. Even to
this day, she felt an ache at their loss.

“He
murdered his own offspring,” the vizier said, his voice deepening with anger.

Shock
took away her breath. “I heard his sons died of a fever.”

For
a second, he closed his eyes. “He set fire to the baskets where they lay.”

“That’s
horrible,” she said, her stomach churning.

His
gaze went to a small corner. His expression was grim. “I smelled the burning
rushes, heard their screams. It was too late to save them or their mothers. But
the act is not the thing that truly damns him. He wanted to release Ammit on
the world. He offered his sons as sacrifice.”

Muscles
tightened along her spine and her breath left in a whoosh. Madness! “Who would
want that? Did he think he could control the demon?”

“He
was Pharaoh, the living god,” he said, swinging out his arm. “Something inside
him was dark, some other creature influencing his actions. At times, I could
see the struggle inside him. The fear. In one of those moments when he awoke
from the horror, he begged me for help.” His gaze fell away and his jaw
tightened.

Khepri
swallowed, knowing deep inside there was more to the story. More she didn’t
really want to know, but was unable to stop herself from asking. “We heard
nothing. Not of the deaths around him. No rumors of illness. How did he die?”

The
vizier’s mouth firmed. His dark eyes narrowed before he shot a look her way.
“He was strangled,” he said, his voice tight. His gaze slid away again, but not
before she’d noted a flaring triumph sparkling in his eyes.

She
set down the beaker, thinking perhaps the wine was stronger than she was
accustomed to. Hers was usually watered down because she didn’t like any
muzziness in her mind. Muzziness and her own discomfort could be the only
explanation for her growing unease.

While
she stared at the vizier, her focus blurred. With his body outlined by sunlight
gleaming around the edge of the mat, bright colors seemed to seep outward from
his skin. Bright red and orange, like the sun’s corona around his head, but
with an edge of dark shadow wisping through the red and orange, flaring
outward, then receding.