The Rise of the Goddess

45 | AM I DREAMING?

Darkness impaled him. He held still, waiting, wretched with misgiving, for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. It came, but in staggered, agonizing increments. The dark shifted, slow, into deeper shadows atop thinner ones. The sensation of vaulted space reared over him, dwarfing him, making his flesh tingle. He backed up. Behind, the solidness of the wall. He pressed his back against it, grateful for its bulk. Blind, he crouched and ran his fingertips over the floor. The smooth, reassuring weight of flagged stone greeted him. Satisfaction slid through him. This, at least, was an improvement. A faint gleam of light, far ahead, a mere pinprick. He narrowed his eyes. It taunted him from the end of a dense tunnel of black. He crept toward it, slow, steady, listening for voices. None came. Cautious, he edged along the flagstones, drawn to the pool of light, his dagger still in his hand.

He stopped. His heart thudded, heavy, unprepared anew for the abrupt resurrection of old feelings, ones he believed long buried and laid to rest. Meresamun sat at a table, a small pile of scrolls beside her, her hair piled onto the top of her head in a messy, yet beguiling style Ahmen had never seen before. Her gaze was fixed on a small device she slid over the face of an open scroll, its blue light the sole illumination in this vast place—what Ahmen realized was a repository of vast knowledge. Thoth's library. He eyed the gallery's darkened heights, uneasy. The weight of the arcane pressed down on him, oppressive, forbidding. He was a soldier, not a priest. The writings of the sages were beyond his understanding. But for Meresamun . . . He slid his dagger back into its scabbard in total silence, letting himself drink in the sight of her bent to her task, her focus absolute, her comprehension etched in the sorrowful, downward turn of her lips. His heart aching, he took a step toward her, let the faint light of her device touch him.

"Meresamun," he whispered, so low it was no more than a breath, a tendril of hope.

She lifted her head, slow. The device came to a halt. She stared straight ahead, into the shadows, seeing nothing. Tears glistened in her eyes. She lowered her gaze back to the scroll and ran her fingers over its markings. "And now I imagine your voice," she said. "How lonely I must be."

Ahmen waited, his heart thudding, heavy, aching with regret, guilt, sorrow, and love—the love he had felt the first time he had held her in his arms—the love he had imprisoned in hate, jealousy, and bitterness. He knelt. His kilt rustled, quiet.

She turned. He met her eyes, hers as blue as lapis, just as he remembered. Her lips parted. She stood, abrupt, the transparency of her gown hiding nothing. Ahmen let his gaze fall. She stood before him, as fragile and vulnerable as a young gazelle, as thin as she had been in Waset all those long, long months ago when she sat in Sethi's garden and refused him a second chance.

"Am I dreaming?" she breathed. She stepped toward him, her chest rising and falling. A tear slipped free. "Ahmen?"

His heart aching, he lifted his hand to her, striving to contain the firestorm within his breast. "I am here. You are not alone."

A faint cry bled from her depths, soaked in regret and sorrow. She staggered and caught the back of the chair. "No," she breathed. "It is impossible." She cast her gaze away from him into the darkness, fear sliding through her. "I am going mad. It is too much. I cannot—" She hurried to gather the scrolls together, her haste sending several tumbling from the table.

One rolled toward Ahmen. He picked it up. She fell utterly still, watching him, horrified, as he carried it to her.

"You are not going mad," he said, holding the scroll out to her. "I followed you into Elati and have found a way in to Perev. No one knows I am here. No one but you."

Without taking the scroll, she sank onto the chair, her eyes moving over him, hungry, as though seeing him for the first time. Her lips parted. A faint flicker of hope shivered through her. It bloomed and died within the shuttered brilliance of her eyes. She rose, her look hardening, her vulnerability shifting in heartbeat to the imperiousness of a queen.