Outside the royal apartment of the Queen of Egypt, Istara waited in an airy vestibule, her gift resting on her lap--a pair of gold and alabaster cosmetic jars containing crushed malachite in one, and gold dust in the other; the fragile containers wrapped in soft linens and tied closed with a tasselled cord.

The door to the queen's apartment opened. A warm breeze heavy with the scent of jasmine and lilies washed over Istara. She glanced down the length of the vestibule, her heart sinking. Perhaps Ahmen had prevented Meresamun from coming after all. She followed Nefertari's attendant into the opulent suite. The doors to the terrace stood folded open, the spaces between the shadows under the indigo-dyed awnings drenched in sunlight. She passed a pair of leopard kits tussling under the watchful eye of one of Nefertari's Nubian guards. The guard glanced up at her, his eyes sharp, narrowing. Her heart pounding, she looked away, wondering whether he was one of the survivors from Kadesh. Tightening her hold on her gift, she pressed on, out onto the terrace, into the blistering heat of the mid-afternoon sun.

Nefertari sat alone under an awning, gazing over the palace gardens, serene, an unfinished piece of embroidery in her lap. Further down the terrace, her women clustered around several platters of refreshments, preparing to serve them.

The attendant backed away. Istara went to the queen and bowed low, clutching her gift, defensive, trying not to think of the past, even as the memories crowded in, dark, bloody, frightening.

Nefertari stood, her stiff gown rustling. "Welcome Princess Istara, my heart is glad to see you. Please, look upon me. Your husband is the King of Hatti. We are equals here."

Istara lifted her eyes to the queen's. Nefertari smiled at her, her expression soft, the malice from the night of the battle nothing more than a phantom of Istara's memories.

"Your Majesty," she murmured, holding out her gift with both hands. Nefertari took it, gracious, and sat, pulling open the tasselled ties, her slim fingers deft. "Oh," she said, her face lighting with pleasure as she opened the delicate containers and examined their contents. "A beautiful gift, thank you."

She set it aside, and nodded at the seat beside her. "Sit with me, the view is perfect this time of day."

Istara sat, tense, her fingers curling into fists in her lap, waiting as the women came and laid out the platters on the low table before the divan. The food arrayed before them became a feast: roasted fowl glistening with honey and dates, three different types of fish presented on a bed of lettuce, their succulent white flesh spiced with cumin and dressed with roasted almonds. On another platter, a steaming bowl of cinnamon infused lentils, surrounded by plain, sweet, and savory breads. As two of the women prepared their platters, another woman--the one who had asked Istara at the banquet to join the queen for refreshments--poured wine into golden cups, serving Nefertari first, then Istara.

Her head bowed, she backed away into the shade of an awning, to wait for Nefertari's call.

"At last, peace," Nefertari murmured, taking a sip of her wine. She glanced at Istara. "Let us get to the heart of the matter. I can see you are uneasy. You are wondering why I have called you to me."

"I am," Istara admitted, wedging her cup into a narrow opening between the platters.

"I wish to make amends, if it is not too late," Nefertari said, placing her platter on her lap. She tore a piece of flatbread apart, and set some of the roasted fowl upon it. Folding the bread over, she dipped it into the bowl of lentils, scooping up a little into her mouth, quick, expert, spilling nothing.

Though she had no appetite, protocol demanded Istara followed suit. She took some of the fish, and chewed, slow, her dread easing in the presence of this calm woman, nothing at all like the aggressive, angry, hostile person she remembered on that dark, fateful night at Kadesh.

"What happened at the feast," Nefertari said, moving the conversation to a different subject, her fingers slowing as she piled more roasted fowl onto another piece of bread, "my husband has told me the whole of it."

Istara set aside her platter. One of the women moved forward, her head bowed, and held out a bowl filled with warm rosewater. Istara dipped her fingers and rinsed them. The woman retreated as Istara dried her hands on a stiff napkin, its edges embroidered in a pretty pattern of golden lotuses.

"You brought him back to me," Nefertari murmured, changing the subject once more. She glanced at Istara, for a heartbeat granting her the look of a woman, not a queen. "When I was at Kadesh, I was not myself. I only saw your youth, your beauty. I was certain my husband wanted you in his bed, like all the others." She shook her head, slow. "But he wanted so much more than that. On our return, I was told to vacate my apartment, banished to Waset's harem so you could take my place." She lay her food back onto her platter, untouched. "He broke my heart."

Istara blinked, her uneasiness escalating. Over her shoulder she caught the queen's Nubian guards--tall, dark-skinned, elegant men, bearing spears and long curving swords--eyeing her, enigmatic. She swallowed. "My lady, please--"

Nefertari shook her head, a faint smile gracing her lips. "No, do not fear my words, it is not my intention to torment you, but please, allow me to finish." She set aside her platter. The woman with the bowl of rosewater came forward once more. Nefertari rinsed her fingers, and dried her hands. She settled against the cushions and took a sip of her wine, swallowing with a soft sigh.

"Is it not strange to know your husband is king of one of the greatest empires and you are here, with another?" she murmured, quiet, her tone devoid of malice, revealing only her curiosity. When Istara didn't reply, Nefertari continued, a soft smile on her lips. "Lord Sethi's love for you has reached legendary proportions. It has even brought to life a new song, about a soldier finding a princess washed up on the river bank. I have heard it, it is very pretty. Our people love him, and they love you, because your love overcame even Sethi's execution. At least that is what the people believe." She looked up, catching Istara's eye. "Of course, only the four of us know the truth."

"Yes," Istara whispered, clenching her hands into fists to stop them from trembling.

"What was it like," Nefertari asked, quiet, "to see Sethi return to life?"

Despite herself, Istara felt tears pooling against her lashes, blurring her vision. For months she had refused to allow herself to think of it, had kept the brutal memory at bay, but now, the images flooded her mind, searing, bloody, bright, sheared in white light.

"It was--" she breathed, "--impossible. Ramesses butchered him, Sethi was unrecognizable. He fell. There was blood everywhere. Yet he rose up, whole again, filled with the light of a god."

Nefertari blinked, the color draining from her cheeks. "I understand now why Ramesses refuses to speak of it." She looked away, shifting her weight on the divan, uneasiness seeping from her. "Sethi can be nothing less than a demi-god now. But what can it mean? Why would the gods aid him?"

Istara bit her lip, thinking of Iltu, and her husband, Sethi's new captain; the conversation with Sethi the evening before, haunting her. Is it not over then?

"Horus said he was not doing what he did for me or for Sethi, but for his consort," Istara murmured, brushing the tears from her eyes, discreet.

"Hathor," Nefertari whispered. She fell silent, lost in her thoughts, toying with her cup. Across the garden, at the pharaoh's apartment, movement on his terrace. Ramesses strode out after his guards, wearing a nemes headdress, held in place by a golden uraeus, the gold on his shoulder collar and arms glinting in the sunlight, in his wake, several men, among them Sethi and Paser. They sat, oblivious to the women on Nefertari's terrace, nodding, conferring. Men's business.

"I have heard you died after the attack in Amka," Nefertari said, keeping her gaze on her cup. "Ramesses has done his best to stamp out the rumors, but I met with the surgeon who attended you. He swears on his eternal soul you died. I found him to be a sincere man." She glanced up. "I must know the truth. Have you also died and returned to us?"

Istara looked away. She shrugged, helpless. "I was given a second chance, just like Sethi."

"Horus gave you a second chance?" Nefertari prompted into the ensuing silence, broken only by the distant murmurs of the men.

Istara lifted her eyebrow, recalling the god's anger, his insistence, as though he sensed what would happen to him if she returned. "No, he tried to stop it, tried to push me through the portal into the Immortal Realm. It was Sethi's sacrifice--" She glanced up. "Baalat gave me the chance to return. She gave me her light."

"Baalat?" Nefertari asked, her brow furrowing, perplexed. "An Amurrite goddess?"

"Horus's consort calls herself Baalat," Istara said. "Perhaps she has different names in different empires."

"So," Nefertari breathed, rapt. "You and Sethi share the light of one of the most powerful couples in the pantheon. I never understood the sudden change in Ramesses, dared not question it for fear it might end, but now, at least some of it is clear. To witness such a thing--how humiliating for him." She took Istara's hand. "I beg you, forgive me for what I tried to do to you at Kadesh. I was a different person then, tormented, jealous, driven by my possessiveness, thinking only to rid myself of another competitor under the cover of war, but your arrival changed the course of my life. You brought the man I love back to me, who loves me now so well, it is as though we have returned to the bloom of our first love once more. Though I am unable to understand the magnitude of it, the gods have chosen you and Sethi for a purpose yet to be revealed." She shook her head, letting out a slow breath. "To overcome death. It is beyond comprehension. What a path you must have before you."

She fell silent, her gaze straying to the men on the far terrace, her eyes resting on Ramesses, who sat back on his divan, his muscular arms stretched out across the top of it, his expression severe. He glanced over the men facing him, catching his wife's eye. He smiled, brief, his look private, tender, before returning his attention to his men, his face hardening anew, the expression of a pharaoh burdened by a multitude of responsibilities.

Istara caught the flame of color rising in Nefertari's cheeks. "I love him so much," Nefertari whispered, watching Ramesses as he spoke to his men, his aura commanding, powerful. "To think I almost lost him, forever."

She touched Nefertari's hand. "If it pleases you, let us put this matter behind us."

The queen nodded, a tremulous smile catching at her lips. "You have my gratitude. I hope, one day, we might even become friends, but for now, I accept this is all there can be," she gestured to one of the waiting women, who came forward, holding a scroll on a small tray, the seal already broken. Nefertari handed the missive to Istara. "And now," she said, "our other piece of business."

Curious, Istara took the scroll and unrolled it. The message was brief, respectful, signed by Ahmen. Meresamun was unwell, unable to leave her bed. He regretted she would not be able to attend the queen. Istara rolled it up, her heart tight.

"I don't believe him," Nefertari said, abrupt.

"Nor do I," Istara muttered. She looked across the palace grounds, toward the villas of the nobility. Somewhere out there, Meresamun sat, alone and unwanted, silenced and suffocating, trapped by Ahmen's hatred and bitterness.

"The question is what shall we do about it?"

Istara blinked, surprised. "You wish to aid her?"

"I do," Nefertari answered, taking another sip of her wine, her gaze straying back to her husband, now leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his fingers folded together, nodding, intent, as Paser spoke.

"Why?" Istara asked, the question falling out before she could stop herself.

"Because I am the queen," Nefertari replied, taut. "Because she has suffered enough."

Istara said nothing. On his terrace, Ramesses rose, followed by his men. As he departed, Sethi glanced across the sun-drenched gardens, catching her eye, letting her see the question in his. She smiled, reassuring him, her heart beating a little faster at his nod of approval, and his look, meant only for her.

"A year ago, no one would have believed one woman would capture his heart so completely," Nefertari murmured, watching the exchange. "Sethi has ever been a man of war, of violence and blood, a soldier, taking only the most beautiful, coveted courtesans to his bed, loving no one. I imagine you must be the most envied woman in all of Egypt."

"If I am, the noblewomen are hiding it well," Istara said, thinking of the multitude of invitations she had received at the feast.

Nefertari laughed, melodious, pretty. "Ah, no, not them. I meant the courtesans. There was one, absolutely stunning as I recall, whom he favored for some years almost to the point of exclusivity, even Ramesses left her alone, knowing if he took her, Sethi would never be able to have her again. I heard she retreated from society before the army departed for Kadesh. My women tell me she shut herself away in a beautiful villa Sethi bought for her."

"Oh?" Istara asked in a small voice, struggling to rise above the surge of jealousy flooding through her, the image of the green-eyed woman she had seen at the feast filling her mind, treacherous. He had never mentioned his other women, though Istara had had no doubt there had been many, considering his expertise. What she hadn't known was there had been one. A favored one. One he had given a villa to.

"Yes," Nefertari continued, tapping her lip with her forefinger. "What was her name, it was quite exotic as I recall. Very unusual. Ah yes! There it is. Edarru."

"Edarru," Istara repeated, quiet, the muscles in her torso tightening, an unnameable dread suffusing her, leaving her ill at ease. Sethi had been coming home much later than usual, claiming he was busy with his duties. Perhaps he had gone back to his once-companion, seeking variety, keeping her as his concubine in secret. It was his right. Istara knew she could not demand his fidelity, his exclusivity. And yet, she had hoped--

"Oh!" Nefertari's brow furrowed, contrition shadowing her features as she eyed Istara's downcast look. "Forgive my thoughtlessness. I did not think such a thing would unsettle you, she is nothing compared to you, a mere courtesan. Sethi never looked at her the way he looks at you. It is in the past, forgotten."

Istara nodded, polite. Of course, the queen was right. And yet, a tainted sliver of doubt, rimed with fear and tarnished with uncertainty burrowed into her heart. She thought again of the woman at the feast, of her anguished look as they passed her--the look of a woman who had lost the man she loved,  who had bought her a villa of her own.

Memories of Urhi-Teshub's broken vow, of the child he had fathered on Rhoha returned, haunting Istara. She closed her eyes, forcing the past away. Sethi was different, he had given up everything for her, it wasn't the same. He loved her, would never hurt her.

"But let us return to the matter of Meresamun," Nefertari said, breaking into Istara's thoughts. "I propose sending a message to her, carried by my own guard, instructing him to be present when she, and she alone reads it." She sniffed, smoothing down the folds of her gown, continuing in a low voice, "Ahmen cannot do this to her--locking her away like an animal, forbidding her even to meet me. It is abominable."

"And the message?" Istara asked, silencing her thoughts of Edarru.

"I will ask Ramesses to write an undated summons," Nefertari replied, "inviting her to court, which she can use to escape Ahmen should she ever have need of it. Ahmen dare not forbid her to go. It would cost him his life."

"And once she arrives?"

"She will remain with me as my guest," Nefertari answered, pausing to take a sip of her wine. "If Ahmen wishes to have her back, he may go to Ramesses. The two of them have much to resolve." She swallowed the last of her wine and set the empty cup aside. "More than any other, my husband is responsible for this deep fracture between Sethi and Ahmen."

"How?" Istara wondered, not understanding.

"On the day of Ahmen's wedding, it was Ramesses who told Ahmen of Sethi and Meresamun's small affair." Nefertari glanced at Istara, cautious. "He used Ahmen to condemn Sethi, to justify Sethi's execution. I know my husband regrets it, but he is too proud to go to Ahmen and right his wrong."

Istara sank back against the divan, the full weight of the queen's words bearing down her, oppressive. "Seven months," she breathed.

Nefertari nodded, her expression taut. "On the day you and I were granted our heart's desire, Meresamun lost hers."

Istara rose to her feet, guilt slamming into her. To think while she had reveled in her happiness and relished her freedom, her friend had suffered. "All this time she has been alone," she whispered, blinking back tears, trying to imagine Sethi treating her the same. Her heart clenched. "How can she bear it?" She turned away, unwilling to let the Queen of Egypt see the tears of shame burning in her eyes.

"Come," Nefertari said, soft, her gown rustling as she rose, "let us walk in the gardens before you return. I will speak with Ramesses tonight. He will not refuse me this. The rest will be up to Meresamun. Until then, all we can do is pray."