Two Eyes Cenote Reticulated

She lowers her head in turn, acknowledging each mazoi as they approach.

Meseba’s eyes are raw and watchful, his care a delicate warmth which softened the furrow in her brows. The coy is gratified to see he remains regal and healthy in the weeks that had separated them.

Khusobek would not look at her. Regardless of how it stung, she was not surprised to lose his respect. Twice he had seen her most shameful impasses. Strength would not be inspired from a leader who needed continual saving, and the results of Jodai’s return to Akashingo were still unknown. Eset’s status balanced on a knife’s point.

But empty arms had rekindled her flame. The hebsut was prepared to fight for her leadership. She had mortared herself into these walls, had found her frame by proving what she could devise. The same Gods who had denied her the ingress into womanhood; to marriage and children; now saw she existed only to serve their temples.

Her eyes level firmly between them.

“The fellahin Machiavelli has been released from the cells. He is not a guiltless man, but he is innocent of the crimes which imprisoned him,” she briefs. “Slavers are on their way to reclaim him. They are a threat to all who dwell among us. I do not want bloodshed on our sands, but they must be dispatched.” Smarting still, from the failures, she looked fully to the captain in red.

“Khusobek. You suggested poison before. I believe now it is what we must do.”