Lion Head Mesa tearstain

Arsenio wanted to argue, to question the rationality she pressed into him.

Who? Who would harm the Fellahin if they had no master? How could freedom hurt them more than the Pharaoh? Why did she wish to remain loyal to that man’s playthings?

The anger he had felt before doubled, only for the thought that Tamar believed herself to be owned by the likes of Ramesses. As if she was a carcass, or a mesa, something to be claimed by spoiled kings. The Greek wanted to shake life into her. He wanted to hold her so close to his body that she would become part of him. So close that she would share in his strength and his determination.

But she kissed him, and Arsenio breathed a heavy sigh.

It was not fair, this life she had been given. It was not fair to ask him to wait for the king’s games to be played.

You will not belong to anyone, Tamar. I will be sure of it. One way or another… if I must bathe in the blood of every Pharaoh and queen in Akashingo, I will be certain you have your freedom.