The Call of Eternity

25 | PI-RAMESSES

Pi-Ramesses, Spring. Reign of Ramesses, Year 6

With Sehetep trotting beside her, his dark eyes curious and his nose twitching at the new, unfamiliar smells of Sethi's villa in Pi-Ramesses, Istara entered Sethi's private apartment. She looked around his rooms, reliving the memories of the precious few weeks they had shared there before they had traveled south to Waset for the winter. She eyed his bed, its depths drenched in the golden light of the lowering sun, thinking of the love they had made, the food they shared, and the wine they had drunk after his reprieve at the pharaoh's training ground. He had been insatiable. For days they had lived in these rooms, locked away, lost in each other's arms.

Sehetep bounded past her and plunged through the transparent linens onto the terrace, exploring. Istara smiled and followed the dog, lingering to stop at one of the gold-inlaid acacia tables, where an arrangement of pink and yellow roses stood in an alabaster vase. She breathed their perfume, the bouquet's sweet, enticing scent welcoming, familiar.

An early evening breeze stirred, easing itself through the languid heat smothering the city, rippling along the pale blue linen hangings separating the apartment's sitting area from the terrace. As the linens drifted, the gold-embroidered hieroglyphs along their edges shimmered, catching the shifting rays of the lowering sun.

Her gown clung to her, sweaty, cloying, uncomfortable. She plucked at the material thinking for the hundredth time of Sethi's instruction to Weremkhet, given while she had been waiting on her palanquin at the city's bustling docks, to move her into his apartment, and his things into the guest apartment next to hers.

She tried not to make more of Sethi's instruction than what it was. Practical. Despite Sethi's summer villa in Pi-Ramesses being one of the grandest in the city, it paled in comparison to the size and opulence of his winter estate in Waset. His private apartment in Pi-Ramesses was just a quarter of the size of the one they shared in Waset. Over the last seven months, while they wintered in Waset, he had showered her with gowns, jewels, sandals, headdresses and fans, until her cupboards overflowed. She eyed the much smaller rooms, resigned. There just wasn't enough space for both of them anymore.

And yet, as she had ridden up through the city, oblivious to the city's splendor, far superior to the provincial charms of Waset, she could not stop herself from dwelling on his order. She wondered how long he had been thinking of it, biding his time, waiting, perhaps even longing for it--the sanctuary of his own apartment. Even more so than Urhi-Teshub, Istara was beginning to realize Sethi was a warrior, a man of the sword, and of war, not made for settling down, or playing house.

What would happen when they returned to Waset in the autumn, Istara wondered, would he continue to keep to his own apartment? After all they had suffered to be together, she had taken for granted they would never sleep apart. Now she wondered how many nights he would leave her to sleep alone. What if he brought Edarru to his bed, seeking variety as was his right, or what if he--

Footsteps strode along the vestibule. She turned and caught sight of Sethi walking past the open door, his torso gleaming with sweat. He glanced in at her and smiled, distracted, his pleasure at their journey coming to an end radiating from him, obvious in his renewed energy, and his freedom to move again, reminding her of a lion she had once seen bounding across the harvested fields outside of Waset. In the guest apartment, he called for wine, laughing, hearty as Weremkhet regaled him with sordid tales of what the steward had learned had transpired during their absence.

"My lady?"

Istara turned. Edarru stood pale and trembling, sagging a little in the doorway.

"May I enter?" she asked, quiet, uncertain, her eyes lowered, respectful.