The Lost Valor of Love

66 | I WILL NEVER BE YOUR QUEEN

Ramesses stared at Sethi's ruined body, sprawled sideways, his blood leaching into the sand. He drew a shaking breath, seeking to calm himself before facing Istara. He could hear her running, closing the distance between them, her breathing ragged in the stillness of the hot air. Pulling apart the guard's ties, he shook off the bloodied thing and tossed it aside. He swiveled and caught her. She struggled, frantic, trying to escape. He shook her, hard.

"Sethi lied to you. It is impossible to sacrifice one's eternal life for another to live. He lied to you, so he could bed you."

She stilled. Her eyes, filled with hate, met his. "You may be the Pharaoh of Egypt, used to having what you want," she spat, "but you shall never have me. I will never be your queen."

She jabbed her fingers, hard, into a deep gash in his arm. An explosion of jagged pain shot through him, hot and sharp. He recoiled, grunting. Slipping free, she fell to her knees beside Sethi, and pressed the dagger against her breast, gasping as its tip bit into her flesh.

Ramesses scrambled after her, reaching for the dagger. She pushed on it, stifling a cry of pain as it eased in. A bright red patch of blood blossomed out, spreading across her breast.

"I beg you, cease!" he erupted, panicking.

Cradling the dagger's hilt in her hands, she regarded Sethi's butchered body in silence. A solitary tear slipped down her face. "I will be a token in a game no more," she whispered. "It is enough. I die here today, beside the one I love. Baalat, forgive me. Horus, I beg you, forgive me."

She pushed against the hilt, shuddering as the blade entered her breast, driving toward her heart.

Falling onto her with a cry, Ramesses grabbed her hands. Grunting, fighting her resistance, he freed the blade. Blood gushed out. Frantic, he sawed a strip of linen from his kilt and pressed the wadded material against her breast. Oblivious to him, her eyes remained on Sethi.

"I command you to live!" he shouted, unthinking, desperate. She did not respond. He placed her hand over the compress and bolted across the blood-soaked grounds, fearful. The blade had gone deep. She might not live, even with a surgeon's attention. He entered the vestibule, grateful for having had the foresight to have his surgeon wait outside. As he reached the door, an explosion of brilliant white light surged past him in complete silence, engulfing him, blinding him.

He stumbled, surrounded by a dense cocoon of blinding white. Shielding his eyes, he called out to Istara, his voice deadened by the thick atmosphere. Dread crept up his spine. He could not see past his outstretched hand. By increments, the glare subsided, from burning white, to a bright glow, to faint shadows, to the vague outline of forms and shapes. Squinting, his eyes watering, he made out the contour of Sethi's body. Stumbling, he pushed his way back through the shifting, viscous light, cursing with frustration. Nothing felt real; even the ground felt unnatural.

He stopped beside Sethi. His chest taut, he turned full circle, his eyes narrowed, searching. He called out Istara's name, once, twice, three times. Nothing. Fear crept up his spine. Footsteps approached. He spun around, defensive.

A beautiful, powerfully built man, wearing an elegant kilt, stepped in front of him, his bearing regal. Across his chest, strange, golden tattoos shifted and rotated. From behind the man, Istara appeared.

"No," Ramesses breathed, stunned, staring at Istara. Through the rent of her bloody gown, her breast lay whole again. "It cannot be. This is not real. I am dreaming, or dead."

"You are not dead, nor are you dreaming," the man said, his voice edged with disdain. "At great cost to myself, I have come to undo the damage you have wrought before it is too late." He knelt beside Sethi and touched his brow. "He still lives, though not for long." He looked up at Istara. "Know this, daughter of Kadesh, what I am about to do is not for you, or for him, it is for my consort."