Lion Head Mesa Chrysanthemum

There is no one to tell her no.

The princess Merneith takes full advantage of this. Outside morning and evening prayers, she keeps her own schedule, confined most days and nights to the archives, rifling through ancient documents. Ornate artifacts please her eyes but it is the musty records which acquire the most attention, and the magic forged within their scripture.

The hours tick away into slow darkness.

The amiirad blinks against her languor, inexhaustible.

pharaoh and Consort remain in the sands.

the children grew apart inside this darkened palace.

senmut bowed low before prince khaemwaset, frowning slightly as the boy stormed away.

princess merneith was quieter; she pored over the old curios of another time as the earth grew still and cold outside the mesa.

"queen treva, forgotten dowager mother, she once asked me who i favored among the gods." his voice was hushed among the stacks, the glossy fall of long lore. a smile was light on his face below the eyes which worried for the amiirad. "would you care to know the hymn i taught to her?"

Traces of Khaem leap first into her nose. The intensity after so long apart sends wave after wave of sorrow through her body. She remembers his eyes that night– how even in betrayal they glittered more deeply than any stowed jewel within these annals.

The princess turns her gaze northward, using the hook of paw to brush dust from the honey-gold brow. Her mother’s loyal priest is welcomed among the amassing monuments.

“I would very much like to hear it, erpa-ha,” she invites, glad because it gives her something to think about other than the mess of confusion that has opened up in her chest.

Her attention in full rests upon the pastoral wisdom of the prince.

"i told the queen that i had worshipped Wepwawet, among others. but He was my first patron."

palm raised to the gilded wisdoms, the scrolls; he felt their power and in him began the reverent alto;

"Wepwawet, wep em wawet,
dua iyiek, dua peretek
Wepwawet, wep em wawet,
wep merut ibi."

"Wepwawet, open the way,
praise Your coming, praise Your going.
Wepwawet, open the way.
open the way to my heart's desire."

once more he sang the ancient words, resonant with power as the princess watched on.

There is a quiet spirit in this room, dwelling within the priest, released when gentle winds blow the words. She envisions the bloom of wildflowers, of softly kissing air, of tender moments and Gods devising upon heavenly hillsides. The impassioned voice fills a delicate ear of thought.

She thinks of him– it is impossible not to. Lonely they two were now, separated; displaced and mourning the eloquent whispers that uplift her thoughts.  She had only ever loved the calm and quiet dark at his side.

When the song closes and the spirit returned, the princess blinks the tears in her eyes into a silver cascade. The golden head lifts high to look into the sage vision of her mother’s faithful, breaths trembling.

“Erpa-ha– what if— what if I do not know my heart’s desire?”

"you are not yet required to know these things, Great One," senmut offered in quiet soothe, his paw moving to touch her own.

but he did not tell her she must show no tears; the soft weeping went on and he thought of aiesha. had she ever suffered in such a way? should he not be there with her?

"you are distant from your royal brother." senmut's voice invited her to speak beyond the grief; he sat beside her, letting the peace of his hymn settle around their pious hush. "have you taken this time to think alone, amiirad?"

She accepts his touch, clasping ever tighter. The princess had always revered Senmut as a priest and a prince, and now she saw the rector as a figure of comfort in the face of great loneliness.

She turns her face sharply. Still, he would not understand! He would never know what it felt to look into his beloved’s eyes and see a different pair staring back.

“Sometimes I fear… he is not my brother at all,” the amiirad whispers.

a sensation; grasped; released. senmut looked into the face which so greatly resembled that of toula.

"who might he be, Divine One?" asked the priest with solemn care.

Amun loomed, Life-Giver, His smile wan, His eyes unreadable.

she knows something you do not, holy man.

Merneith places her pawtips to the lucent hand, seeking assurance in the priest’s solidness. Khaem’s face flares in her mind. How she longs to see him. How she feared to.

“Someone… other,” she whispers, “is such a thing possible… Erpa-ha?”

The room swells in response. The amiirad stiffens. Would Senmut feel such power too?

"at times, yes," senmut said, his mind profoundly resistant to exploring any of what she might mean.

any.

he willed his palm not to sweat beneath her own.

"there is talk of possession in the old lore. evil spirits who enter through unguarded orifices or as the result of a curse. do you fear a curse, Great One?"

did he?

A curse.

The princess draws in stilted breaths; small gasping sounds of fear and guilt.

“No! No, he would never hurt anyone!” All the while murmurings in her head warn about the risk, about the danger, about the priests, about Pharaohs, about the wrath of gods. Neith’s gaze tightens and her hand goes with it, clutching Senmut’s paw.

“Khaem is... brilliant. He just learns so quickly. I find myself jealous, Erpa-ha.”

The idea of betrayal is too grim to bear! Neith feels it more deeply than the daunting isolation of what she knows. She can turn from him, she can secrete herself, but it would always be he she returns to. Khaem, she realizes, who holds within his paws every petal of blooming loyalty.

she feared her brother, senmut decided, but why? he had seen nothing untoward in the boy, only the arrogance befitting a royal.

what then did she mean to hide?

senmut wished to press upon her that she must speak clearly, and truly as well. but a second glance to her features stilled his mild chastisement. "you have been here a long while in the company only of servants and priests, amiirad. it can champion anxiousness in the mind."

rising, the priest invited neith to do the same. "heed my instruction. visit each altar within akashingo. ask for the gods to give you patience. it is necessary for a queen to learn — or the next pharaoh."

quietly, an encouraging light to his eyes.

All that reflects in his eyes is the care befitting a goodly servant and yet the princess is horrified. The kind tone is enough to send stinging tears rolling down her cheeks, a faint reflection of how she’d spent the nights before. Merneith had a foolproof blueprint for much of life, but there was no guide on feelings. No mother to hear her daughter’s turbulence. She understood she was acting irrationally, but didn’t know how to conduct herself except in such embarrassment.

A Pharaoh suffers in silence. A Pharaoh does not beg. How the gods love their ironies.

Silently, she nods, moving like a child possessed in step with the holy regent.

She should have never allowed the confession. Now all she can think is how a moment’s error has cast shade over Khaemwaset’s very being.