A pounding at the courtyard door. From her secluded bench amongst the palms, Istara rose, fearful. Perhaps it was the pharaoh, sending for her already. A shout from outside, imperious, impatient. The blood draining from their faces, Sethi's guards hastened to open the door. A pair of palace guards pushed in, announcing they were escorting the pharaoh's courier, who carried a message for the commander. A servant bolted away to fetch Sethi, while another hurried to escort the small party into Sethi's elegant reception room.

Keeping to the shadows at the edge of the courtyard, Istara slipped to the open doorway. Sethi approached. He caught her eye and shook his head, tight, his expression filled with warning.

Within, the men spoke, low. She couldn't make out the words. She waited, anxious. Were they taking her now? Was it over already, without even a chance to say goodbye? She looked around frantic, what if she hid? If she ran away? They couldn't take her if they couldn't find her. Footsteps. The soldiers and courier were coming. She shrank back against the wall, holding her breath, hoping the shadows would hide her. They strode past, murmuring to themselves. The door to the courtyard opened and closed again. The lock slid back into place. Calm descended, tenuous. She went to the doorway. Sethi stood beside a table, his jaw clenched, staring at a missive in his hand. Apprehensive, she took a step closer.

He looked up. The papyrus crumpled in his fist. "Ramesses knows the truth," he said. "This afternoon I must face him to the death in the palace training ground. You are to attend as well."

Irrational, desperate hope flared in her heart. "You have the chance to defeat him?"

"The pharaoh is a god," he said. "You know he cannot be killed."

"No. Horus is a god," she answered, taut. "Ramesses is a man, pretending to be a god. You could kill him if you wanted to."

"But I will not."

She stepped over the threshold, closing the space between them. "Do you not love me? Or want to be with me?"

He looked pained. "You were educated to be a queen. I do not believe you cannot see what would happen to Egypt if I did such a thing."

"I do not see," she said, bitter. "Explain it to me, so I understand. You are its commander, after all."

He tossed the ruined papyrus onto the table. "Very well," he muttered. "Killing him would bring chaos into Egypt. Within the day I would be executed and Ramesses's eldest son, an untried youth of fourteen would be forced to take the throne, with Paser ruling as regent in his stead. However, without a commander to support him, the vizier would not be strong enough to manage the nobles who would intrigue and maneuver for power, seeking to take Nefertari as their wife, whose lineage is the strongest link to the pharaohs of the past. Through her, her new husband could usurp the throne. Soon, Ramesses's sons would fall to one misfortune after another, until nothing remained of his legacy.

"The annihilation of an entire bloodline has happened before, after Akhenaten died, just fifty years ago. Egypt nearly fell apart. It is also the reason why Hatti became our bitterest enemy. Suppiluliuma's son was murdered when he came to Egypt to marry the only remaining daughter of Akhenaten, who followed him in death soon after, said to have been poisoned. No. I will not be the author of such instability, of such bloodshed."

Istara swallowed, chastened by the severity of his reply. "Then what of me? Am I to sit and watch, while the man I love is murdered by the one who intends to take me, unwilling, to his bed? What a brief memory Ramesses has. If not for me, he would be dead, with Egypt's mighty divisions in ruins. He is less honorable than Muwatallis. Even he would not go so far as this."

Sethi said nothing. She turned her back to him. Her gaze fell to the floor, and within its polished surface she imagined Sethi falling to Ramesses's blade, Sethi's eternal life obliterated because of her. A tear slipped free. Furious, she brushed it away. She drew a shuddering breath. "So long as you live, there exists hope for us, however small. But after this, I will not even be able to see you in my dreams."

His fingertips touched her arm. "You must accept it," he said, low. "We are finished. I go to my death willing. To have loved you, and know you love me in return is enough. I am complete."

She brushed another tear away. He tugged, beseeching. She relented, and turned.

He caught her chin. "Look at me."

She lifted her eyes to his and read in them the depth of his love, of his sacrifice. They could not let it end this way. Her heart clenched. Ramesses could not be the first man to have her. "Do not leave me like this," she whispered. "Please."

He gazed at her, his longing for her plain. He cupped her face. "I will die this day. The act you speak of is a bond, sealed with love. Your innocence protects you from a worse torment, the knowledge of love given, then taken away far too soon. To leave you yearning for one who is gone is a cruel legacy."

Her gaze moved to the discarded papyrus, lying beside a fresh arrangement of white roses. She looked back at him, suspicious. "In Tarhuntassa, white roses represent death."

His gaze remained on her, steady. "They do here, too. I had them put out this morning."

The last of her barriers crumbled. He had known all along what his fate would be, had willingly sacrificed everything for her. She pulled free of him, and touched a rose petal, catching its enticing scent, still warm from the sun. She envied its obliviousness of their unhappiness. Returning to him, she tried again. "I would rather yearn for you than never--"

"I beg you," he interrupted, his chest rising and falling, agitated. "Do not ask me again."

Silenced, she thought of his eternal heart, locked within its cage, existing outside the mortal realm, waiting to be extinguished on his death. She closed her eyes, willing him to understand. "Claim me," she whispered, "and your every movement, every breath, every word will be written upon my heart, for eternity. You will be immortal yet."

He groaned, agonized. She could feel the heat of him. Though she longed to touch him, she held herself still, waiting.

For a time, there was only the ragged sound of his breathing as he fought to reconcile himself to her request. He quieted. Outside: The mundane sound of a servant sweeping the courtyard. In the distance, chatter. Someone laughed.

He moved behind her, his speed startling her. He took hold of her waist, his other hand sliding up her spine to her neck, gathering her hair in his fist, baring her neck to him. For several agonizing heartbeats, nothing happened. She shivered with anticipation, a prisoner to his will. He had never treated her this way before.

His grip around her waist tightened, possessive. "Though I die today," he murmured against her ear, "I will never leave you."

Time stopped. She memorized everything. His strong hands, roughened by war, gripping her; the coolness of the room; the heat of his body behind hers; the earthy scent of him, almond oil, myrrh, cinnamon. Soon her memories would be all she would have left. She pulled each fragment to her, cherishing them, sealing them deep within her heart.

His lips brushed the back of her neck, light as a butterfly's touch. She shivered. Delicious sensations rolled through her as he moved toward her ear. He caught her lobe between his teeth, holding her captive while his tongue traced its outline, slow. She moaned, willing him to continue. He did.

She pulled free and pressed herself against him. His arms came around her, his strength surrounding her, sheltering her. She clung to him as his fingers curved around her skull, drawing her to him. He hesitated, his lips almost touching hers. She held her breath, her heart thundering, threatening to burst. Please. Don't stop.

His mouth descended onto hers, possessive. Held fast against him, she succumbed, answering him, ascending to heights she had never known possible. He stopped, holding her face in his hands, his breathing uneven. His eyes caught hers, the question clear. Her body cried out for him. She glanced at the door, then back at him, urgent.

He kissed her, tender, letting her feel the depth of his love, his sacrifice, his willingness to do it all again. Her knees weakened. He caught her. Cradling her against him, he strode across the blistering white heat of the pillared courtyard, through the shade of the jasmine-scented pleasure garden, past the lotus pools into the inner courtyard. He didn't look at her, he just walked on, carrying her, determined, protective. She watched him, savoring his firm grip on her, sensing somehow, impossibly, she had always been his.

He pushed the door of his apartment open. His bed lay bathed in light. Istara shivered, pleased. She would see him. All of him. He knelt and lowered her onto the bed's soft linen cover, his eyes moving over her. Worshiping her. Memorizing her. His fingers traced the outline of her lips. She closed her eyes. His lips touched hers, confessing his love for her, claiming her as his own, forever.

She reached out, drawing him to her. He pulled off his belt and moved over her, still clothed in his kilt, the bed's wooden frame creaking as it took his weight. He kissed her eyelids, the base of her ears, her throat. She clung to him, savoring the warmth of him, the solidness of his body over hers, watching the beat of his pulse, steady and strong. Imagined it silenced.

"I understand now," she whispered, "why you didn't want me to have this."

"Would you have me cease?" he murmured as he kissed her eyes, catching her tears as they escaped.

He waited, patient, gazing at her, stroking her face, his tenderness undoing her. She sobbed, fresh tears spilling onto the pristine linens.

"No," she breathed, her heart aching. "Please. Make me yours."

❃

Horus didn't have to search long to find his consort. He found her, where she always was, leaning over the vision pool. She glanced back at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. He hastened to her, his gaze drawn to the clear, bright surface.

Below, the sun-drenched gardens of a sumptuous villa, filled with color and verdant with life, filled the scene. Beside a shallow pool, dotted with blue lotuses, a group of servants huddled together, fearful, whispering. Several of them looked, furtive, at a closed door.

Horus waited, wondering what had upset Baalat, who grieved, quiet, against his chest. He held her, kissing her brow, whispering words of reassurance. Shadows moved, following the sun as it transited the sky. Still, he waited. Then, over the soft susurration of the palms rustling in the breeze, he heard something. Muted cries, neither the sound of ecstasy nor grief, but the two mingled as one. The sound of two hearts breaking.

Baalat leaned closer. The view slid through the roof of one of the buildings. She wept, silent, as she watched Sethi make love to Istara, cradling her against him, his face wet with tears.

Horus delved and read Sethi's mind. He looked at Baalat, her eyes still fixed on the pair. "Ramesses is going to kill Sethi. Today."

She choked, nodding, and backed away, unable to watch any longer. Without her there, the view began to fade. He watched the condemned pair, mourning even as they coupled, knowing the full extent of their love, and suffering for it. The pool silvered, and they vanished.

He turned away. With Sethi gone, Istara would not live much longer, and when Istara died--he swallowed. No, it was too soon. He looked back at the silent vision pool, his heart clenching, coming to terms with what he must do, what he must sacrifice to keep Baalat alive.

He strode from the hall, and crossed the vastness of the immortal realm, to the emptiness of its furthest reaches. At the edge of the realm, he looked down, into an endless, shifting abyss. Into eternity. He gritted his teeth, how had it come to this? He turned and counted a hundred paces back from the edge. He hesitated. Was that fear he felt? He crushed the unfamiliar feeling. There was no time to waste. He had to protect Baalat.

He lunged forward, bursting into a run, his feet pounding across the smooth surface. He reached the edge and threw himself over it, still running, crying out Baalat's name, soaring into infinity. He looked back at the immortal realm, suspended within formless space. Baalat came to a staggering halt at its edge. Anguished, she fell to her knees, her gown billowing around her. She reached after him, screaming his name.

He closed his eyes and sped away, plunging through the fabric of space and time, tumbling past an infinite number of worlds, toward his final destination. From where, he knew, there could be no return.