Lion Head Mesa ascendant

The priest was less outwardly angered, but you could see it in his steps, the low, sharp striding.

The more he had thought of it, the more the rage burned low and icy. He had been drunk when he gave Senmut his approval, and he had told the boy to give the royals what they demanded. He did not blame him.

But the girl. Now that he was clear headed and sobered, this was an outrage to him. A sacrifice, uncleared to himself, and used as a power grab.

The gods were not tools.

Akhtar slipped into the throne room with a quiet, murmured acknowledgement to his Pharaoh, coming to stand near him. His face was a mask, but his eyes had turned to a sharp burn of brown, less fire, more ice.