Wings of Time

The Pharaoh Does Not Joke

Writing sticks scratch in the brief silence Atem gave his scribes to catch up with him. Their bald heads gleamed in the sunlight streaming in from the balcony as they bent low over their short tables strewn with papyrus scrolls. As he waited, he glanced to the side at Aleah. Her ice blue eyes were staring past the scribes entirely to nothing in particular. They didn't even quiver, so deep in thought she was. For not the first time he wanted to know what it was she had to think so deeply about so often. Those eyes of hers held a sharp intelligence that intrigued him, and at the same time bemused him. Though she now went with him nearly everywhere he went as his own personal attendant, he knew little more to nothing on what she truly thought of her surroundings, for she only spoke when she absolutely had to. It had only been a week since he—as was expected—crushed her in their little gamble. She didn't even last five minutes, let alone ten. It amused him that she had ever thought herself a match for a master of games such as he. As was his word, he sent her down to the kitchens to serve, part of him hoping that the kindness of the old cook would protect her useless inability to understand Egyptian.

But, of course, two nights later, the cook himself had brought her back up to him with fresh whip marks on her skin. She was like a useless puppy no one with a heart could spurn, and yet still annoying with its bad puppy habits.

He spotted the faded gleam of her brass chains and frowned. One would think his kindness would have opened her up to him. He hadn't even gone on his first threat of dressing her down to that of a common whore. Not only that, but he had honored her with the status of becoming his own personal slave—a position higher than most royal servants, let alone slaves. But, if anything, her words had only gone under lock down once more.

The scribes were staring pointedly at him. He cleared his throat. How long had he been lost in thought?

"Thus is my reasoning for declining the request to legalize the hunting of the river monsters hippopotamus, though should any citizens or personages belonging to foreign lands should ignore this decree and get killed in the unfortunate event of finding themselves clamped in the jaws of the beasts, I, nor anyone else, can take responsibility for the false choice of said citizen."

By the gods, this was boring.

Now and then as he took brief breaks to allow the scribes to catch up and to take a drink of water, he'd peek over at Aleah. Only a few times did she even show signs of life, either to move a piece of her pale hair or to adjust her ankles. Other than that, her eyes still looked off as though seeing another world entirely. She was like a statue. The urge to reach out and touch her and startle her out of her revere, like touching still water, occurred to him more than once.

A half hour later, he had had enough.

"I believe that's good enough. You are dismissed."

"But sire, the wheat shares—"

A sharp look from the Pharaoh and the man fell into an embarrassed silence. He bowed his shining head and left with the rest of his brethren, his tablet and supplies tucked securely under their arms. The snap of the door shutting made Aleah blink and look around as though waking from a dream. She sighed.

"What do you want, your highness?"

He flinched. She spoke! "What do you mean? And have I given you permission to speak?"

"No, but you keep looking at me as though you want to ask something. I merely wished to ease your mind, your majesty."

He grimaced. She had noticed? Perhaps he wasn't as coy as he thought he was. Though with her deadpanned voice she probably didn't care.