Lion Head Mesa persimmon

There was nothing to be done but to rest, she knew that. Yet Nazli was awake now and in pain, and she could think of nothing else but the many things she should be doing. There were meals that needed preparing, places to clean, people to wait upon — but it was not her job today! Ramesses himself had made it so. Oh, her head!

She rolled again, and this time caught sight of the elfin Nala; this woman who was sanpin no longer, and had been absent from the halls. Nazli had not made mention of this and only took notice now, in her sorry state, because of how suddenly the hemet arrived.

I think I am ill, she moaned.

Nazli rolled to her back and rested her head upon the pile of furs, feeling it pound, and squinting at the darkness of the ceiling as if it had somehow offended her. There was... dinner, with the pharaoh. Last night. All at once she was bolting over and up, her fur a disheveled mess of bedhead chaos.

The pharaoh! What if the meal was poisoned? Her eyes were wide and then squinting again. Everything felt as if it were still shifting forward for Nazli and she leaned on an elbow to steady herself. Has he been ill? She did not understand the effects of wine, as it had been her first time tasting it.