2: Trust

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It was late into the night when Satiah was roused by a rough shake of her shoulders. Her eyes flew open, greeted first by the shining rays of the moon, and then by the urgent face of her handmaiden, Tuya. "Lady Satiah," Tuya breathed. "Your presence is requested in the temple."

Satiah sucked in a deep breath, then surged to a sitting position. She nodded to Tuya, who scurried off to prepare her clothes, then turned back to the open window again. The moon was full tonight, and the tides of the Nile would be at their highest. Had it not been for Tuya rummaging through her closet, she might have even been able to hear its waves, lapping against its banks not even a mile from her family's Memphis villa.

Satiah's ancestors had been Nomarks of Memphis and its surrounding Ineb-Hedj nome for nearly a century, having preserved their hold on the holy land despite the comings and goings of dozens of pharaohs. Under the leadership of Satiah's father, Metjen, the nome had survived a particularly tumultuous period of warfare and invasion from foreigners, and the land was now flourishing thanks to a renewed enthusiasm for magic across the region. But just as the tides of the Nile would soon recede, Satiah knew the power of Memphis could not grow indefinitely, and the ripples of her father's ambition were starting to turn to waves in the royal waters of Upper Egypt.

Satiah's eyes were wrenched away from the moon at the sound of Tuya clearing her throat. After Satiah stood and removed her sleeping gown, Tuya quickly draped a white kalasiris over her shoulders and belted it with a blue sash, then dressed her feet in a pair of sandals.

"Thank you, Tuya," Satiah whispered as her handmaiden stood. "You can go back to bed now. I'll make my own way to the temple." Tuya bowed and excused herself. When she was gone, Satiah crossed the room to her bureau, upon which Tuya had already placed a basin of fresh water. Satiah splashed her face to wake her up fully, patting it dry with a linen cloth. With a sharp exhale, she swept down the stairs and out the door of her living quarters into the cool night air.

Quiet as a spirit, Satiah passed through the front gate of the villa complex and followed the path that led up the hill toward the great Temple of Sekhmet. The full moon outlined every beautiful detail of the temple — from its towering pylons etched with the mysteries of the gods, to the precarious parapets built centuries ago by a long-forgotten ruler. As she reached the crest of the hill, Satiah paused and looked back, nearly blinded by the sparkling reflection of the moon on the restless surface of the Nile.

"Sister."

A low voice brought Satiah's eyes back to the front gate of the temple. Her brother, Metka, was standing just inside, dressed as though he were ready for a journey— or a battle. A long cloak was fastened to the pauldron of his leather breastplate, draped over his front and partially concealing the staff he held clutched in one hand. His long black hair had been drawn up into a tight top-knot, his hazel eyes shadowed by a serious brow.

Satiah crossed through the gate into the temple courtyard, offering her elder brother a soft smile.

"Metka," she said. "What news?"

Metka was quick to start toward the entrance of the temple, and Satiah fell into step beside him. "A message," he said quietly, "from Thebes."

Satiah's heart skipped a beat. She often found a certain comfort in the validation of her intuition, but this was not one of these times.

Neither Metka nor Satiah spoke again as they walked through the temple, making it easy for her to pick up on the whispers coming from the great hall as they drew nearer. The fact that her father was not alone in the hall was another unsettling development — rarely did he consult with any advisors before speaking to his children.

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