The Lost Valor of Love

65 | VENGEANCE

Istara's hand held in his, Sethi made his way through Waset's palace, leading her past subdued courtiers, servants, and guardsmen. The pharaoh must not have made any secret of his intention to execute Egypt's commander. Guards raised their fists to their chests as Sethi passed, bowing their heads, stricken, murmuring his name. Alongside him, Istara proceeded, pale, silent, and withdrawn, a lamb for the slaughter.

He left the shadows of the colonnade and entered the courtyard outside the pharaoh's training ground, the heat hitting him like the blast of a bread oven. Guardsmen snapped to attention, tilting their spears toward him--an honor reserved for the pharaoh-their fists pressed tight against their chests. Several blinked hard, their eyes glittering in the brilliant light.

Tightening his grip on Istara's hand, Sethi crossed the blazing courtyard into the coolness of the training ground's shadowed vestibule. He nodded at the nearest guards to close the doors. They hesitated, unwilling to be the ones to seal the Commander of Egypt's fate. The captain of the guard came forward. He bowed low.

"My lord," he said, his words taut with grief. "All of Egypt mourns this day. May the gods protect you on your journey."

"Close the doors," Sethi said, quiet, looking over his stricken men, his heart clenching, "as Pharaoh has commanded."

He waited as the captain and his guards heaved on the enormous doors, struggling to dislodge them, their sandals sliding on the stone flags. More guards joined them, their muscles straining, until first one door, then the other shifted, closing with an ominous, low boom. Without, a wooden beam slid into place, sealing them inside. Silence descended.

Sethi turned. In the blistering white heat of the training ground, Ramesses waited, alone, a khopesh in each hand, his muscled body gleaming with oil. On his right forearm, he wore a narrow wooden armguard, protecting his arm from elbow to fingertips, another lay on the glittering sand, waiting for Sethi.

Moving to the vestibule's deepest shadows, Sethi pulled Istara into his arms and kissed her for the last time, brief, tender. He drew away, his eyes moving over her, drinking his fill of her. "Do not weep until I have gone," he said, ragged, "I would not see you grieving while I still live."

Her eyes glistening, she clung to him as he stepped back, her fingers slipping through his. She said his name, her voice cracking as he let her go, a plea.

His heart tight, he backed away and walked out into the drenching light. He stopped before Ramesses and dropped to his knee. A khopesh landed on the ground beside him, sending up a spray of sand.

"Commander Sethi," Ramesses said, cold, "are you prepared to go to the gods?"

Sethi met the pharaoh's gaze, calm. "I am."

Ramesses narrowed his eyes, dissatisfied. Under his hostile glare, Sethi picked up the armguard and fastened its leather straps onto his left arm. Pulling the khopesh to him, he rose and retreated several steps. He brought his sword up into the opening stance and waited.

"Despite the evidence damning you," Ramesses said, taut, "I must demand your answer. Have you known my future queen?"

"I have," Sethi answered, looking at Istara, watching them, stricken.

"And for how long have you been taking what is mine?" Ramesses asked, low, dangerous.

"This afternoon was the first and only time," Sethi replied, his eyes still on Istara.

"So you took her to spite my judgment," Ramesses breathed, his face darkening. "You truly are a whore's son."

Bristling at the slur against his mother, Sethi pushed into Ramesses's space, forcing him to take a step back. "By Osiris's blood," he said, "you go too far. I could not even contemplate such a foul thing, to use Istara in such a way. Despite your wealth and power, even you, a god, cannot overcome the bond between a man and a woman. If I had to do it all again, knowing how it will end, I would. I am honored to die for her. She is worth this and more. Much more."