Luneshale Pass Night poem

Her clutch strengthens and with quiet intent she listens. There is grave augury in the Queen’s own words and it unearths the memory of what Senmut had revealed during his council some time ago: only the Queen can legitimize a pharaoh. Only she can carry this new dynasty. No one is her equal.

So rose the question again in her mind; why must ruling Pharaoh be a thing now only among men? If the roles then were reversed, a Pharaoh might choose to marry all three amorous prospects. To do so would hardly prompt war- and if a divine being could diffuse bloodshed, Eset knew her to be Toula.

Yet, Ashikaga, in her demanding ingress, is another player that must be advised altogether differently. The influence of her birthright set her apart from the trio of Sphinx.

“I wish things tonight with your sister could have gone differently, for you, my Queen,” in all this Eset can only offer her a fellahin’s comfort and devotion, in the union of both palms and eyes that clearly declared herself loyal to Toula.

“Though, perhaps it still can,” permitting a small, hopeful smile. If the princess had good sense, she too would see the merit of Toula’s sovereignty, in the wisdom of her leadership and not only in her bloodright.

Power, then. That word seems to hang phrenetic in the air between them.

Of course it is about power- how could it be about anything else? Eset had seen how power is never static, that it is either accumulating or decaying; that power begets power; and so does powerlessness.

But a Queen would not think in this way. Toula did not. She looks into the young girl’s face silently then down at the twine of their paws. The tension she feels will not go away. She is struck with the sharp brunt of truth; that Toula was born a goddess, and Eset a whore. 

“I do not know, your highness.”