City of Pi-Ramesses, Late Spring. Reign of Ramesses II, Year 5

Sethi woke and stared at the ceiling. It was his dream. Again. Always the same. It never changed. For thirteen years, he had dreamed of her standing alone in the midst of a violent battle, surrounded by fire, her gown torn and bloodstained. Jewelry covered her arms and neck. Her dark hair, tangled, blew around her face in the heated updrafts. Her eyes, wide, fearful, searched, desperate, through the men dying around her.

In every single dream, he fought his way to her, his arms bloody, his body wracked with pain. And just as he was about to reach her, a blade, from behind, delved into his heart, the pain agonizing. Stricken, she fell to her knees, her hands coming to his face, but he had never felt her touch. Not once in thirteen years.

He sat up, agitated, and rubbed his hand over his scalp.

"You have dreamed of her again."

He looked down. Edarru lay naked atop the linens watching him, her green eyes highlighted by the malachite painted on her eyelids. She got up and poured him wine.

"It is more frequent of late," he admitted as he took it from her.

Her hand came to his forearm. She stroked it, soothing him. He turned the cup in his hands, thinking of the dream, of the woman, of his death. He drank the wine, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grateful it was Edarru who shared his bed this evening. She was the only person who knew of the dream, and she never judged him, was never jealous.

He cupped one of her breasts in his hand. She arched her back, and let him feel its fullness. He brushed his thumb against her nipple, watching it harden, despite the oppressive heat. She was perfect. Why could he not just take her as his companion? He let go.

"Though I would stay and have you again," he said, brushing her hair, damp from their lovemaking, back from her brow, "I must go. My captains are waiting. What would you have of me for this evening?"

She smiled and lifted his fingers to her lips, kissing them. "Whatever pleases you."

He watched her, his groin stirring as she bit his thumb. He groaned. "Would you like a villa of your own?"

She scoffed, but did not cease in her seduction. "It is cruel to tease."

He pulled her onto his lap. "You are my favorite courtesan, have been my woman in Pi-Ramesses for these past five years. I owe you more than gold for the time you have wasted on me."

She knelt, straddling his groin and slid her hips against him, making him hard. "And will you come to visit me in this villa?"

He entered her, and let her ride him, her breasts pressing against his chest until his release was close. "Every day," he promised as he flipped her over and found the spot she loved. She arched her back, crying out. He followed close after. He rolled away, pulling her into his arms.

"You won't," she sighed. "I understand what you are doing. I will miss you, all alone in my fine villa."

"You should have a husband," he said as he brushed his lips against her forehead. "I have kept you long enough from motherhood."

She fell silent. Tears glinted in her eyes. Guilt sliced through him. "Please don't. You have ever known my heart."

"And yet, after all we have shared together," she said as she collected her gown from the floor, "how can you blame me for hoping? I am real, I am right here . . . "

He took her in his arms and held her as she wept. Was he wrong to send her away to find another man just because of a dream? He realized he was tired of waiting too. "Give me until after the campaign against Hatti," he murmured, "then I promise I will be yours."

She looked up at him, fearful, hopeful. "With all my heart, I pray you do not find her before then."

He looked away, ashamed his feelings for a woman he had never met were stronger than the ones he had for the woman who had loved him for five years.

He watched her dress, her movements subdued, quiet. He ordered her a chair, and saw her off, her green eyes meeting his, filled with longing, and dread. He closed the door to the lane. The night was still young. Once he had met with his captains, he would drink until he forgot the woman in his dream. Just for one night, he would have peace.

❃

Meresamun hefted the tray of dirty crockery over her head and pushed her way back to the kitchens, struggling to escape the drunken groping of the tavern's boisterous patrons. Someone snatched at the back of her gown, sending her stumbling down the steps into the kitchen, the tray's contents dangerously wobbling. One of the cooks, naked apart from a loincloth, rushed over and took the tray, a look of sympathy on his face.

With a nod of gratitude, Meresamun sank onto a ledge and plucked her sweat-soaked gown from her damp breasts, the unrelenting heat and still air making her feel as though the gods had turned Pi-Ramesses into a bread oven. Her gaze drifted around the smoky low-ceilinged kitchen bustling with workers, the air thick with the smell of roasting meat. Teret, the tavern's owner, hefted a fresh jug of wine and settled it against her hip; her heavy breasts and thick torso beaded with sweat. She sidled over, nimble despite her girth. At the door's lintel, she surveyed the room, packed with carousing soldiers and even a handful officers.

"I don't care how hot it is," she said, sliding a sideways look at Meresamun, "make sure to smile--and if one of the pharaoh's officers asks to take you home, you don't be saying no again like last time. For the love of Isis, do you think offers like that happen every day?" She pulled apart the ties on Meresamun's gown, deft. "If I had those big, perky tits, I'd have them right out, showing them off--"

"Teret!" Meresamun cried, pushing her away. She hastened to cover her breasts, noticing several of the soldiers were watching them, their eyes dark. A fat, hard pinch lanced her buttock. Meresamun yelped, furious.

"I'm only trying to help you," Teret tutted, unapologetic. "If you ever want to get back to your family, you are going to have to start spreading those fine long legs of yours, unless you want to end up an old woman like me, pouring wine until the day you die."

Meresamun rubbed her backside, certain it would bruise. "There must be another way. I can tell stories--"

Teret laughed, sour. "Ah, that you can, I heard you well enough when I found you, starving and shivering in the slums. Fine, fancy stories no one down here in the gutter cares to hear."

"But they are the only stories I know."

Her eyes softening, Teret brushed a loose tendril of Meresamun's hair back into place. "I'm fond of you, though I don't know why, with your funny airs and high morals. Ah, but there it is. If you don't ever save enough money to leave, you will always have a home at The Falcon's Wing, here with me."

A deafening cheer filled the tavern. Teret turned, her eyes narrowing, listening to the men hailing one of their own, the name almost drowned out by the pounding of fists on tables. Teret's eyes widened. She pulled Meresamun back into the shelter of the kitchen.

"Clean yourself up," she said, no longer playful. "This is your night."

Curious, Meresamun leaned over to see, but Teret yanked her back into the shadows, her strength surprising. "You listen to me. One of the most powerful men in the empire has just walked into my tavern. You will serve his table, and if you are very lucky he will take you home. If he asks, I forbid you to say no."

Nervous, Meresamun licked her lips, hopeful, yet fearful. "Is he . . . Lord Ahmen-om-onet?"

"Who?" Teret asked, distracted by the cheers. "Never heard of him. No, he is none other than Lord Sethi, Commander of the Army. I knew him when he was growing up in this slum, street fighting to survive. Now he has risen to power and wealth almost as great as the pharaoh himself."

She turned, hustling Meresamun through the kitchens toward her quarters in the storerooms. "Put on a fresh gown, wash your face, and tidy your hair and cosmetics," she ordered, brusque. A sharp slap landed on Meresamun's backside, making her jump. "And you'd better be quick about it or I'll have you scrubbing pots for the rest of your life!"