The corridor slanted upward, steady, gradual. At certain intervals, it would turn back on itself, following the same path only at a higher level. Istara eyed the enormous ashlars enclosing the corridor, the precision of the masonry so skilled, she felt certain not even the thinnest piece of papyrus could be slid between them.

They reached the top of the corridor. Marduk leaned against a plain, wooden door, its surface free of carving, and pushed on the bronze handle. The door swung open with a low creak. Istara savored the sound of it. At last, something familiar.

Within, another ashlar chamber lit by the ubiquitous white globes. It stood empty apart from a single large piece. It sat upon the stone floor: a long, polished rectangular box, wider than a sarcophagus, comprised of the same reflective metal as Marduk's weapons. It gleamed in the soft white light. Along the top of its curved surface, four columns of etched symbols. Istara moved closer, curious. After the ship, this, at least, felt tame. Safe. She eyed the strange, elegant symbols, trying to recognize them. Nothing. Perhaps it was the script of the Golden Age--the language of the gods.

Marduk knelt and pressed a panel on the box's side. A ledge slid out. Under his gloved fingers several blue sigils lit up. Another series of presses, and the top of the box opened with a quiet hiss. Istara caught her breath. Inside, a white bed, complete with a cushion. Beams of blue light moved up and down along the inside of the lid, crossing over each other, brightening each time they came into contact.

"Lay her down on her back," Marduk commanded, his metallic voice harsh in the close confines of the small chamber.

Urhi-Teshub hesitated. His hold tightened on Meresamun as he eyed the bed, suspicious. "How will she breathe in there?" he asked, wary.

"While I applaud your desire to protect Ninsunu," Marduk said, "there is no time for explanations. Do as I command."

Urhi-Teshub took a step closer. He paused, his gaze sweeping over the crosshatching of the blue lines inside the lid. "No," he muttered, backing away, "I will not bury her alive. There must be another way. My wife is an accomplished surgeon, we need only acquire a needle and thread--"

"You dare disobey?" Marduk demanded, his voice hardening. "I have commanded you, mortal." His hand went to one of the shining weapons at his hip.

"Put her in there," Teshub said, taut. "If you don't, she will die anyway."

Urhi-Teshub hesitated a heartbeat longer. Istara held her breath, willing him to obey, sensing Marduk was not the type of being who ever gave a command twice.

His jaw tight, Urhi-Teshub lowered Meresamun onto the bed, settling her head on the cushion and straightening her arms and legs--laying her out as though readying her body for the flames of a pyre.

Istara moved closer, watching for the pulse of Meresamun's lifeblood. A whisper flickered in her neck, her life almost spent. She bent down and pressed a kiss to Meresamun's brow.

"Live," she whispered. "You deserve the world."

"She does," Marduk agreed, moving up beside Istara to the panel with the blue sigils; his fingers moved over them, fast, experienced. "And so she shall, though right now she is far gone. Her regeneration will take some time."

Istara held her position, despite being in Marduk's way, unwilling to leave her companion alone; watching as the lid lowered, slow, the lines within speeding up, brightening, hungry, playing over the contours of Meresamun's face and body.

"I will wait," Istara said, her heart clenching as the lid closed with a quiet thump. A faint hissing sound escaped from its edges. She sank to her knees beside the thing. It began to emit a low, steady hum, soft, reassuring. She pressed her palms against the lid--its surface was cold, and growing colder--thinking of her friend inside, her life fading away. Perhaps even now her companion's heart traveled toward the blue-lit stone chamber where she would find the gods awaiting her, ready to welcome her into the Immortal Realm.

"I like you," Marduk said, quiet. Istara glanced up at him, startled, uncertain whether being liked by him was a good thing. "There is something different about you," he continued from behind the curved, smooth face of his dark helmet. Istara could only see her reflection; her disheveled, filthy state.

He turned, releasing Istara from his baleful gaze, to fix it on Urhi-Teshub. "And you, you are also different. Though you, I do not like as much." He turned and moved to a door opposite the one they had entered, also made of wood, though this one was carved, bearing images of men with wings, wearing the same kind of devices on their wrists as Marduk bore on his. She eyed it, curious, wondering what it was, how it could tell him things about Meresamun's blood, just by touching her wound.

Marduk's head turned, and she sensed the weight of his gaze falling on her again. "Come," he said, his metallic voice unnerving her. "You cannot wait here, this room will soon become far too cold for you. You may wait within, in comfort, as my guests until Ninsunu is restored."

He hadn't lied. Even as he finished speaking, the metal under Istara's palms became coated with frost. She snatched her hands free of the lid, its cold burning her fingers deeper than the bite of Tarhuntassa's bitterest winter night.

At the door, she turned to look back at the thing containing Meresamun. A sheen of frost coated its surface, glittering in the light of the globes. Beneath it, a dark halo of ice cut into the stone. It crept outward, the ashlars glinting, sharp and forbidding, isolating Meresamun within her frozen tomb.

Urhi-Teshub pulled the door closed behind Istara. Ahead, surrounded by several divans laden with thick, tasselled cushions, a black metal box gave off an intense heat. Its warmth called to her, counteracting the deep cold clawing at the door behind her. She followed the others to the strange brazier and held her hands up to it, welcoming its warmth, her skin prickling, awakening, itching from the heat.

She glanced over her shoulder, looking for Marduk. He had left them alone. No one spoke. In every direction, rooms spread away as far as she could see, clothed in tasteful, opulent luxury, separated by rows of gold-gilt pillars. Thick tapestries of blue and gold hung against the walls, and upon tables inlaid with precious gems, a fortune of gold and silver platters, cups and pitchers.

Marduk returned, still wearing his armor, though his weapons no longer graced his hips. He approached their little group, his gloved hands going to his helmet. Several quiet clicks followed. He lifted the helmet away.

Underneath, the profile of a man, his black hair tied into a knot at the base of his skull. Similar in age to Sethi, Marduk exuded grace and elegance, his chiseled features etched by the memories of an eon. He oozed charisma and power, though a slant of arrogance stained his lips. He turned, his eyes moving to Istara's. She blinked, taken aback. Marduk was no man after all. His eyes moved over her, the color of carnelian, orange-dark, the pupils not pinpricks but slits, like a cat caught in the light of the sun. She wondered what his eyes looked like when they were dilated, then wished she hadn't.

"Wine?" he asked her, gracious, ignoring the others.

Istara didn't want to drink anything he offered. "Thank you," she answered, tearing her eyes from his enigmatic gaze. She glanced back at the door to where Meresamun lay, its surface rimed with frost. Thin curlicues bled out, spreading along the wall in beautiful, complex designs.

"You fear for Ninsunu?" Marduk asked, moving to a side table, pouring a cup of wine. He brought it to Istara.

"I do," she answered taking the cup, careful not to let his gloved fingers touch hers. Over Marduk's shoulder, she caught Urhi-Teshub's sharp look of warning, the slight shake of his head. She put the cup to her lips, tilting it until the wine touched her lips, pretending to sip and swallow. "I fear the ice will kill her."

Marduk turned. He tilted his head at Teshub, then at the pitcher of wine. "You are permitted to serve your lord."

After a beat's hesitation, Teshub ducked his head in what Istara suspected was his best imitation of servitude, but it missed the mark by a wide margin.

"My lord," Urhi-Teshub said, putting himself between Marduk and Teshub, "he is not my servant, but my half-brother."

"Ah?" Marduk murmured, eyeing Teshub, his disinterest obvious. "Yes. I suppose there is a resemblance." He gestured to Baalat, impatient. "Go on then, serve us. Unless . . . you are her sister?"

"No, my lord," Baalat murmured, keeping her eyes lowered, subservient. "I am the lady's companion."

Istara's admiration for the once-goddess deepened as Baalat poured out the wine. Carrying a golden tray back with the filled cups, she served Marduk first. As she backed away, Istara caught the darkening of Baalat's cheeks, sensed the other woman's humiliation.

Marduk turned back to Istara. He eyed her, cool, detached. "The ice will not kill her, in fact, it is what is keeping her alive, holding her on the brink of death as it works to rebuild her cells and replenish her blood. Once she is out of danger, the device will warm up again." He took a sip, watching her over the rim of his cup, his gaze unsettling her. "Who is Ninsunu to you?" 

"My friend," Istara answered. "She saved my life. I owe her much."

Marduk nodded, his gaze slipping away from her to the door, now frozen solid. "She was to be my high priestess, until the petty disagreements of father and son got in the way and her father lost his rightful claim to the throne. And so, while I slept, my beautiful Ninsunu was sent to Egypt and lost to me. In time, her father regained his right to the throne," he lifted his brows, elegant, resigned, "but the one who was offered to me all those years ago, her blood purer than any I had touched before, was gone. Since then I have had to make do with her replacement. A pleasant enough companion to warm my bed, but all this time it has been Ninsunu I have thought of. I could feel her, only just, through the bond of her blood. And now to have her back--" He lapsed into silence for several beats. "I could feel her coming nearer each day. Though I could have come for her once you left the boundary of Egypt, I enjoyed the anticipation. It was agonizing, exquisite." He glanced at Urhi-Teshub. "For what you have done, keeping her alive, you have my thanks. She is worth a king's ransom." He sipped, his eyes straying once more to the door. "More."

"Do you intend to keep her against her will?" Urhi-Teshub asked, cautious.

Marduk smiled and held out his half-empty cup to Baalat. She took it, and set it on one of the tables.

"Her will shall be her own, she is the daughter of the king after all. But as for the rest of you," he answered, soft, his eyes remaining on Baalat, turning cold, "I have other plans." He circled her, slow. She stood, rigid, looking away as he lifted a tress of her hair, filthy with dust, and rubbed it between his gloved fingertips, gentle, reverent. "I remember your hair cascading with the light of a thousand stars. I longed to touch it, just once." He shook his head, sad. "You have fallen far, Baalat. How plain, how flawed, how utterly mortal you are." He let go, and brushed off his fingers, turning to examine Teshub. "And you, Storm God, the one who bedded my consort for a bet. How the tables have turned."

Teshub stiffened, his hands going to the hilts of his weapons.

"Go on," Marduk whispered, glancing down at Teshub's grip tightening on his daggers. "Try."

Teshub moved fast, faster than Istara had ever seen any man draw a weapon. Marduk caught hold of Teshub's wrists just before the blades reached his throat. He tightened his grip. A series of snaps, jagged, sharp, brutal. Teshub bellowed, agonized. A heartbeat later Urhi-Teshub roared. He stumbled backward and slammed into one of the side tables. A fortune of gold and silver cups toppled over, cacophonous, skittering across the ashlars, chaotic.

Teshub's daggers clattered to the floor, useless. 

Marduk released Teshub, impassive. Teshub staggered back, his wrists blue-black, bruised and swelling, bearing the tell-tale signs of broken bones.

"I am the master here," Marduk said, raising his voice over the men's ragged panting. "Your era is over, though I will admit it pleases me to see you again after all this time--even if you were terrible to me." He walked away. "However," he paused by one of the pillars, "unlike your kind, I am not sadistic, do not revel in the pain of those less powerful than I." He cut a look at Teshub's swollen wrists, the skin so tight it looked about to burst. "Come, I have a device which will remedy that."