Luneshale Pass Cerastes

She watches as the features on Zaahira’s face mount with disquiet and her words devolve to whispers of secrecy.

Senmut was not who she spoke of, nor was it Thumose, who had in the fellahin's mind shown himself to be a respectable sphinx among the subjects of Akashingo. Zaahira’s conjecture left only one in question; the newest arrival and the one consort she had not yet acquainted herself with.

“Prince Rashepses,” she names, scarcely audible, and immediate dread shifts her closer to the edges of Zaahira’s glower to ask, “has he hurt you?”