Lion Head Mesa yesterday i woke up sucking a lemon

it was humility. yes. that was the myrrh which gilded this man called athamas, and so poignant it was that even a well-bred boy could see what made the newcomer tick as it were.

khaemwaset was a devourer of details, a vampiricly enshrined godling who like his father and grandfather saw the things in someone's soul he wished to have for himself. holy mother found such things, he knew, with a magick and grace that khaemwaset did not possess.

hydra. matriarch of war and alliances. his untempered imagination called that to mind, armies of marching wolves under the navy eyes of a fierce woman. something like pharaoh, the prince recognized. and in the end the gods had decided her death. had she grown too fraught with her own power? there was caution in this tale.

he licked rare honey in idle enjoyment from one dipped paw, savoring before he answered. "hydra. a beast of many heads. but none of hers were spared. she leaves you behind, then, athamas. we call it birthright here, the legacies. the stories."

he did not mean to be cruel nor did he speak with malice, only the open, spoiled assurance of a child who had only ever known power.

"my great-great grandfather was seti the bull. his son ramesses is my grandfather. it was ramesses and his queen nekubi satsu who built akashingo, and they are buried in the tombs beyond the mesa. my father is rashepses, god of ta-senet, and my mother is toula isetnofret, pharaoh, daughter to ramesses and his second queen treva. nekubi makono, her sister, was once crown prince, but ruling was bestowed to my mother. my brother is den. my sisters are satakhetem and merneith," voice fluted with a gentle admiring on that last. "i will follow my mother on the throne. you sit with the future pharaoh, athamas."

a laugh that was not quite his own, a warning stood in his eyes not to ever deceive. "i have decided. you will be a priest. senmut needs someone to train. so few of his duties are — priestly. you will be what he calls a we'eb and one day you may be high priest. dedicate the name of ostrega to the gods of akashingo and they may smile again upon you."

to be devout was to be alive. khaemwaset had lost his appetite in the plotting, and waved for a servant. "have the red prince join us. athamas," refocusing himself easily on the guest, "i will be leaving you with him. i have a sparring lesson, but you will see me again. and tonight, you will discover that even the priests of our palace sleep in fine goodness."

every pharaoh needed a trusted priest. favoring athamas now might mold him into what khaemwaset would need later: an executioner for those who made of themselves an obstacle to his ascension.

"we've spoken a lot of mothers. perhaps another time you will tell me about your father and your grandfather? histories can be just as important as war," the boy said earnestly, a velvetblack ear listening for senmut's arrival outside their mealplace.