Ahmen strode through the drenching heat of his villa's pleasure gardens into the deep shadows of the vestibule. Tuy, his steward, met him. He eyed Ahmen's bloodstained kilt as he bowed.

"My Lord Ahmen, welcome home. We rejoice to see you safe." He turned, and gave a sharp clap. Servants emerged from the kitchens, holding trays laden with refreshments.

Ahmen moved along the trays filled with sweet and savory breads, cheeses, fruit, and sweet confections, pausing beside the last one, bearing a whole swan's breast stuffed with dates and goat's cheese. He lifted an eyebrow. "Swan? To what do I owe this honor?"

"You have a guest, my lord, one escorted here by the pharaoh's royal guard," Tuy answered, uneasy. "Not long after, the king's steward, Henufkhet arrived, carrying a message from the pharaoh. The message was a command instructing me to order garments, headdresses, sandals, cosmetics, perfume, jewelry, fans, games and a palanquin for her in the name of the king. This afternoon, trays prepared in the palace kitchens arrived with a message signed by Henufkhet--another gift from His Majesty, sent from his own table."

Ahmen clenched his fists. Ramesses might have yielded to him, but only just. He looked up at the guest terrace, its linen hangings billowing in the breeze. His aggravation melted away. Behind those hangings, Meresamun waited. Nothing else mattered. He glanced down at himself, filthy with desert dust, sweat, and dried blood. He could not let her see him like this.

"Lay out the food on my terrace," he said as he walked into the inner courtyard and unfastened his belt, "and have my best kilt brought down."

Movement on the guest terrace caught his eye. At its edge, Meresamun smiled down at him, her relief tangible. He stopped, drinking in the sight of her. Her smile faded. He looked down, seeing himself with her eyes. Ashamed, he turned into the privacy of the enclosure, and sluiced away the worst of the grime before stepping into the warmed waters of the pool. Attendants added scented oils, and as they scrubbed the filth away, Ahmen felt his confidence returning.

A barber arrived. With meticulous care he shaved the stubble from Ahmen's jaw and scalp. When he was done, Ahmen rose out of the waters, his body drying almost immediately in the desert heat. His servants hastened to rub myrrh oil over him, before tying his kilt around his hips. As an attendants applied kohl to his eyes and eyebrows, Ahmen selected several rings from a tray, placing them on his fingers, while another attendant fastened a pair of golden armbands to his forearms. Slipping his feet into a pair of white sandals, he lifted his bronze mirror, inspecting their work. He nodded, pleased, he was himself again.

In the courtyard, he moved among the flowerbeds surrounding the central pool, collecting cornflowers, poppies, jasmine, daisies, and irises into a lush bouquet. His heart filled with anticipation he climbed the stairs to the terrace. Shaded from the glare of Re-Atum's barque by an indigo-dyed canopy, Meresamun gazed at the boats jostling for position at the docks. Arrayed before her on several low tables, the delicacies from the palace awaited. Ahmen went to her and took hold of her hand. Sekhmet's price had been paid. Meresamun was his.

"I am so glad to see you safe," Meresamun smiled, soft. "It has been a long wait. I feared something terrible had happened."

"The hunt was a success," Ahmen answered, forcing himself to find a reassuring smile.

"My heart is glad to hear it." She breathed in the scent of the flowers, looking up at him from under her lashes. "I confess the scent of jasmine is my favorite."

"Then I shall tell my gardeners to plant more jasmine." He gestured to the tables. "You must be hungry, I have made you wait long enough. Let us enjoy the feast the pharaoh has sent to us."

Meresamun watched him in silence as he prepared their platters, placing the choicest pieces upon hers. He took up his own and ate, ravenous. Half-way through, his hunger abating, he realized Meresamun had eaten nothing.

"Are you unwell?" he asked, setting aside his platter.

She didn't answer. Instead, she rose and walked to the edge of the terrace. He followed her, anxious. "You must tell me. Has something happened?"

She looked up at him, apprehensive. "Yesterday morning the pharaoh came to see me at the temple. He brought the papyrus to me himself. I do not know what he has told you. I do not know what I am permitted to say."

Ahmen took her hands in his. "He told me some of it at least, but I would know all of what happened when he met you, unless he forbade you to repeat anything."

She shook her head. "He did not."

When she did not continue, he offered, "I know enough to understand what may be troubling you."

Her eyes met his. He pressed on. "He is not happy you have chosen me over him, but he honors your choice. Neither of us are in any danger of retribution from him."

"And Sekhmet?" she breathed.

The image of Haran's mutilated body flashed across Ahmen's mind. Forcing himself to keep his eyes on hers, he answered, "Sekhmet has taken her penalty. You are free."

Stricken, Meresamun backed away. She sank down on the divan. "My shame is too great to bear."

"The shame belongs to Ramesses, and me. We both knew better, it was our penalty to pay."

"No. It is my fault you took me to your bed. I encouraged you," she said, desperation edging her words. "The price is mine to pay. Not yours, or the pharaoh's. I have been waiting for Sekhmet's retribution--have been wishing for it--so the waiting would end. Instead, I am protected by the pharaoh and escorted by his guards to your villa. Then I learn I am to be given a fortune in gifts. How is it I am to be rewarded while others must suffer?"

Ahmen didn't like where her thoughts were going. He searched for a suitable reply. "Who of us can understand the heart of Sekhmet?" he asked, gentle. "She alone knows the minds of her subjects, knows who should be punished and who should be spared. You must stop thinking this way, to question the decision of the goddess is a dangerous path."

He took Meresamun's chin in his hand, tilting it up so her eyes met his. It was time to change the subject. Her hand touched his.

"I would know just one thing more. I would know Sekhmet's price."

He looked away. He did not want her to know, nothing good could come of it. Her hand tightened.

"Please."

He sighed, relenting. "Our horses were taken by the lion at Bekhen. Kerkhem will never pull a chariot again. Haran was eaten alive. He--"

"No. It is unbearable," Meresamun cried out. "An innocent animal. She killed an innocent animal and maimed another. Why not punish me? How shall I reconcile this in my heart? How shall I ever live well again?"

Her desolation unnerved him. She began to weep, quaking with shame. He took her in his arms, fearful. He should not have told her. It was a long time until she quieted.

"Whatever you must do," he murmured, kissing her brow, "we shall do it. I cannot bear to see you suffer. Tell me how to help you find peace again." She nodded. He brushed the hair from her face. "Tell me, and it shall be done."

Her eyes, still wet, met his. "Tomorrow morning, when Re-Atum's barque rises, you shall have my answer."