Two Eyes Cenote fifty-ninth

She swallows down a clench in her throat, finding it difficult to long hold the intensity of the deep jeweled stare. His trust in her, like Toula’s, it could not be misspent. Somewhere along the way Senmut had become more than noble man to her, but hieroglyph; freed of servile origins, ascending to that which he is most devoted- godhood.

Senmut did not need a vow of marriage to bind himself to Toula’s reign.

“Thank you,” her nose lowers, gaze averted, until his questions are again for work.

“Nearly everything’s been arranged. I will compose the address and come to you in no more than a week’s time.”

There was still the matter of Toula’s dress, something she and Tuna were designing. Seating arrangements, too, would need to be chosen. The entertainment had been heavily considered. The fellahin heard stories of great sacrificial beasts, grand spectacles of Pharaoh’s power, though needless bloodspill did not feel like Toula. And in essence, the entire ceremony was a representation of Her.

Alternatively, it was Eset’s hope to assemble a song from Inji, a dance between Tuna and the snake she charms, and something from Sayf, if he wished. Perhaps it was simple and atypically modest for a feast and occasion of this size, but she believed it was the collective talents of her own people which would most delight the Queen to see.

For her own gift, there was a half-formed sketch on a wall; a fresco she could not hope to finish on time. If not for a second artist.

“Tuna tells me you are a painter, Divine One,” she whispers.