Two Eyes Cenote ninety-sixth

senmut took what charge he could of nazli's care, and stayed with her and aiesha. but when he was not there, he prayed in silence obeisance outside the quarters of the hebsut.

message sent, the prince sent a servant to bring @Akavir forth to the wellsprings of muat-riya, where he only waited quietly beside the water.

Tags only for reference.

Muat-riya was a far cry from the palace walls of Akashingo—a hidden paradise in many aspects within the grounds of the desert. He hadn’t explored—he doubted he even held the liberty to—and yet the lush workings of garden and foliage was clearly tended with care, and a glorious spring of water to be found.

Still, placing lipstick on a pig still didn’t make it anything else—or, in this case, a cavern of vipers.

While he hadn’t been detained—yet—it was implied heavily he was not free to go. No doubt, the warrior she-wolf who had tried to arrest him prior would have something to say in this—and he had now lost track of the days.

@Arric was likely worried, as well as his other pack mates. Yet, he hadn’t pressed to leave yet—not without knowing just how @Eset was doing.

He was taken from a guest chamber by what they called fellahain—delivered to the familiar red wolf, Senmut. He remained back—piercing eyes studying the man—knowing his presence was likely noted, but not willing to break the silence first.

when akavir's step sounded in the glossy corridor, the priest pulled his paw back from where it had just skimmed the pristine surface.

ripples wavered in perfect silence. only then did he turn viridian gaze, slowly moving to face the dark man.

servant. slave. lover. dead. there were many outcomes for the unknown king who regarded him in equal quiet.

"let us reintroduce ourselves. i am senmut, hereditary prince and High Scribe to pharaoh. you are akavir, once taltos. father to lilitu, a former princess of the kingdom, and presumably familiar with eset, our hebsut."

senmut did not threaten. he did not preen; he did not posture. akavir's eyes were met with utter stillness. "do not lie to me again. tell me who you are and from where you come."

In his more youthful years—sitting upon a mountain as the partner of one who had been deemed ‘Queen’ among the ranks—Akavir’s words would have been far less selective and far more quick to incite anger and a fight.

It wasn’t that the man had anything to lose in this very moment that held him back—but perhaps more of a grudging degree of understanding to the priest’s position as he spoke to him now, and he gave a baleful stare at the spoken words—the demand laced within them.

“If that’s what you want, though it changes nothing,” he offered, his own form sweeping to a reluctant sit—his eyes tracing the paw in which Senmut traced the water with—waters far calmer than the rapid forces of the creek.

“Taltos was my grandfather. He also went by the name Lasher. Mayfair. The Mayfair’s were a clan of wolves who claimed a forest closer to the ocean.” Witches—a certain allure of magic and power.

Of curses.

“If it makes you feel better, I did reveal to your Queen, Toula, that Taltos was a moniker used to protect a friend who had warned me of Akashingo and the dealings that occurred there. I didn’t want anything to be traced back to her—she had served time with your people because of the man, Germanicus.”

A pause, his shoulders lifting in a gentle shrug, his gaze tracing back over the other man—was he, too, weary?

“My name is Akavir. I lead a pack in the valley. Lilitu is my daughter.” A pause—that sudden sharp reminder in his chest. “Was my daughter. She’s dead.”

An ear flickered as he straightened, his jaw set. "I would apologize, but given what I witnessed in the desert with Eset, I stand by my distrust of your people."

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"if it serves you, the man germanicus is also dead."

it was not sensitive; he was not sensitive in this moment to the emotional aspect of the stranger before him. eset lay bleeding, injured beyond her flesh; the deadness lay in her mind. if her ka remained bound, her ba roamed between this world and the next.

in this moment, senmut tasted his own fear and almost choked upon it.

no. he did not feel kind but the natural inclination of a priest to see pain, to lay it gently upon an altar — it transformed the edges of his hard mien into something more observant. understanding granted without a word.

"in a place called moontide i sang for a young woman who had died. we will do the same for lilitu." she had been theirs, if only for a brief time. "akashingo should remember her name."

served time. he would let it for now. "i do not seek your apology, ruler-in-the-valley," a notation that akavir had not said where. "i seek to understand in brief explanation your relationship with our hebsut. as is my role, i have sent a report including your name to our pharaoh and her consort, you understand."

speak plainly or evade absolution. "my duty is to eset and to her protection. i am aware of what went on, as you know. there need be no discussion of things related to — medicine." or midwives or miscarriages. "i want only to know what investment you have in her that you appear to be so far from home and i question to what end your investment might be, given the clear distaste you have gathered for our kingdom."

Germanicus was dead—

—Interesting. He wondered what Silvertongue would think of the news… He would never be the one to deliver it. Wren would never allow it—neither would even want to hear it from him. But, perhaps, a more neutral acquaintance…

But then again, he couldn’t protect her.

Senmut mentioned Moontide—singing for the dead—and he looked skyward for a moment, not wishing to study the expression on the man’s face as they spoke of his daughter—unsure if he felt kinmanship at the idea of Akashingo singing for Lilitu, or contempt.

He was trying very hard to not unleash any of his emotions in regards to his eldest daughter on anyone—especially himself. And thus: “You won’t find the wolves of the valley singing for Germanicus,” he mused darkly, the only bitterness upon his features found in the corner of his downturned mouth.

Senmut wished a brief explanation of his ties to Eset—

—and yet wondered of his investment to her, and why he remained so far from home.

“Eset and I lay together during her time,” he acknowledged, once more turning his gaze back to the man—studying him—searching for the man behind the mask before him and failing to read anything. “I only happened upon her now when I heard her screams. And then…”

And then the blood. And the chaos. And… what could have been, asunder.

“I joined a kingdom, once. The politics… The deception… To protect my wife and my daughters, I took them from the mountain. It wasn’t a life I wanted them to be bound to…” He gave a laugh—humorless—a paw lifting to wash over his face. “Imagine my shock when Lilitu told me she had found her way to another kingdom—Akashingo. The very one who made trades with men like Germanicus for pleasure servants.”

He was tired—he was so tired. “Eset is… Eset deserves the world.”

germanicus again, the allusion to something dark building between them. this servant of akashingo had not been here of her own accord. a pleasure servant.

he thought of — no. no. 

he and eset had been together, a thing privately assumed but now at confirmation given, the red prince nodded in acceptance. her cries. the blood. the wound upon his own face.

in weariness the darkcloak spoke of another time and another kingdom, of the dead daughter who had found her way back to the life of empty royals, and senmut understood more.

"and are you here to deliver the world, akavir?" there was a breadth of want in him, breathless sudden boyish hope for eset's happiness, whatever form it might take in so awful a time. he had come to think with deep affection of the coyote-woman with the all-knowing eyes, and knowing she lay sundered inside the palace her own efforts had built tormented senmut.

"each kingdom is different. i will not argue its difficulties. its failures." the hem was hushed, eyes still unremoved from the heavy-laden features of the black wolf. "i only agree they are present."

they were quiet, crimson and jetstone, carved figures which rested in thorny repose beside the glittering water. "i scarcely knew that roman dog," he sighed at last, and stood to a restlessness which he thought was also in akavir. they would walk then, along a smaller path which invited no one to follow. "i will say that it was the father of pharaoh who dealt in — such things. when her sister makono took the throne first, any lingering effect was abolished. it has remained so beneath our divine isetnofret."

"that is of poor report to anyone who previously suffered," senmut said as his legs moved in thoughtful arrangement. "will you tell me what germanicus did? i know of his children. i know of mereo, and that he ruled an army beneath ramesses. i know he did not last long with any wife," and that last perhaps something sweet offered for akavir. "he was present at several events. it was he who mentored makono when she was crown prince. most of what i know of him came to me by way of her musings."

Senmut questioned him—was it of his intentions with Eset? Surprise might have filtered past the stoical mask of the Mayfair, but it was tamped down just as quickly—only the hint of a smirk gracing the corners of his mouth at the notion: “Delivering the world would be a pretty promise, wouldn’t it?”

It would also be dishonest—he had spent years trying to craft the perfect life for those whom he loved as they came and went—wives. Daughters. Sons. And yet here he sat—alone—with the majority of those he had once held close regarding him with contempt.

To promise perfection would not nothing but insincere.

He canted his muzzle slightly, gaze tracing over the High Scribe as he spoke—finding little to wield his defenses to. “Germanicus would station mercenaries in Akashingo as a General. When one of his mercenaries became smitten with one of the Queen’s servants, he plucked up an unknowing girl and traded her for this other woman.” His jaw was set—a certain tension coiling in his stomach at the thought of—but no.

He couldn’t dwell on her any longer. She and her wife and ensured their paths would be far from his own.

“Toula has tried to soothe my worries before—she seems earnest. Honest…” He trailed off, his weight shifting—recalling the eerie resemblance between Toula and his deceased wife. Her admittance of kinship with him.

Akashaingo was a dangerous place, indeed. “Forgive me for being blunt—but from the way Eset was treated by your Kingdom’s guards when she wasn’t just grieving but so close to death…” Dead. Lilitu. “She was treated as if property.”

And he, the one who had tarnished what was theirs.

there was no shift in the priest's expression save for a hardening in the gemstone eyes. slaves were something with which they all were quite familiar. if he was pressed to assume, he might have thought rashepses himself would not be opposed to such a trade returning, insofar as there was no sorrow in his kingdom.

uncharitable. and truthful. he remembered the wellspring, and his flesh simmered softly with a heated mixture of revulsion and wonder.

the method too in which germanicus had seen fit to pay his officer was familiar, even warranted. objective as he had heard tell of the man to be in those small glimpses. and wicked, so wicked to be so easily turned toward misery for replacement. "it would not be something unpromised before," he quipped.

akavir's bare use of pharaoh's name inspired a taut flick of one crimson ear. it was not a word to be spoken so lightly; it was divine and thus sacred. akavir's dislike of their palaces would not end in his dismissal. disrespect would, and senmut assumed by now that the darkspun man was familiar with how they regarded their ruler.

"there is no question of pharaoh's honesty. her servants adore the very sight of her divinity moving among us. our hebsut, too, named among those who revere our godhead." it was no nobleman's simper which warned akavir, nor princely plot; it was in the sobered, hushed tones of one pious, handmade to be so.

"who struck you?" senmut felt he knew, but wished the man to say it. "and then please tell to me the details of what happened. openly, so i may see it in my mind as you speak."

If Senmut had been hard to read, it did not change in the darkening of an expression—the shift of his weight, and the way in which he spoke of Toula. Akavir considered this—gaze scouring the man before him, withholding the urge to curl a lip at the veiled warning within the mans words.

They were not a threat—but it was a clear misstep of culture, and Akair dipped his muzzle slightly, taking the admonishment for what it was—an offering of their expectations, particularly whilst in their borders and home. “My apologies,” he offered, his gaze falling to the waters the other man’s skirted over from time.

And yet a question—and Akavir’s tongue teased out, pressing to the cut upon his lip—only slightly swollen now—a cut that would fade. Senmut wanted his version of the story—Akavir’s own gaze darkened. Isn’t that why he was here, now, playing nicely?

To check on Eset?

“I was in the desert. I left my home for space—I told myself I would find Lilitu’s body and bring her home… But I went the opposite way. I don’t know why,” he shrugged—partially horrified he was even divulging this information—it held no reason to what had occurred.

“I heard a scream. It was… I went toward the sound and it was Eset. Another woman stood over her—there was blood—I panicked. I made to drive her away.”

A pause—his tone shifting to the monotony of retelling a story. “It was pure chaos. Eset was screaming to be left alone… Another woman came—trying to protect Eset. Jodai? Another man came—I was pushed aside, and the original one, the one who is working to save her… She insisted she needed space—she asked for water, for Eset. The man—Mazoi?—was ordered to detain me. No one was listening to Eset or the healer.” His features darkened, his eyes now falling to Senmut. “I told you’re Jodai to get the fucking water. She didn’t much appreciate that… There was a lot of posturing. Another man came along—he laid poison in front of Eset, as if pretending it would heal her?” He paused, tongue sweeping over his lips once more, his throat dry.

“Eset called him out on it—she ordered the Mazoi to release me. You’re Jodai was insistent I was to go to Akashingo with her. She wanted to know more about the man who had impregnated their Hebset.” Never mind that their hebset was bleeding all over the sanded dunes…

“Your Mazoi released me. I went to take the mossball offered to get water for Eset… You’re Jodai sucker punched me before I could. Probably because I refused arrest.” A quirk of his brow, a gentle point to the lip. “After that, the man who had brought poison went to attack Eset who had fainted now from her injuries—I pulled him away. I had enough of the fucking circus and carried her here. I don’t know what happened to the other man—nor the Jodai.”

He simply assumed she had gone off to gather her rage—and to return. “I assume she’ll be back to make her arrests.”

A barbarian, according to her. A pig. Lucky to leave with his head on his shoulders, and Eset’s privacy withered and gone, much like the children she almost bore them.

the story surprised senmut, but some other aspect of the retelling truly interested the priest. he withheld any comment as the guarded voice continued, exposing emotion as one might glimpse a stern rampart through its covering of willow-leaves.

inclining his head to accept akavir's apology and thus move them silently beyond any further reminding, senmut maintained his peace. a man roamed out in search of a dead daughter. his mind considered aiesha with a sharp pang he had not experienced before; the weight of it cracked the somber set of his face with a worried sympathy.

a moment. two. the priest was himself once more, listening. a woman — qiao? — and akavir attending eset. realizing he had never heard the hebsut scream and realizing he never wished to hear it, senmut felt discomfort and fear rising serpent-heads in his belly.

he saw it; qiao and akavir and khusobek. and a man? another? chaos, as akavir had said. and zaahira in her role as jodai but without strength to stand back and to direct.

a ponderous and long silence spread between he and the valley king. "there will be no arrests," senmut said at last, sparing akavir any explanation of how akashingo's response must decide such things. "eset rules muat-riya. not only did she order your release, she wishes you here." and unless pharaoh herself commanded otherwise, senmut had little thought that akavir would be dragged off.

their guards had discovered eset bleeding with two strangers at hand. he did not misunderstand their swift and violent response, only how the jodai had responded after eset's clear order that akavir be let alone.

"a mess," senmut said lightly some moments later, running the images in his mind. "thank you for your time in this recollection. will you tell me last of this second man? his description."

he did not tell to akavir that the palaces had been attacked; the man understood kingdoms in some form. therefore he would understand also that to be figurehead was to exist beneath constant threat. but this bore suspicion and therefore needed its own time to be addressed.

and then here, this second thing: akavir cared deeply and clearly for eset, and senmut was unsure that he had seen her regard any else in such a way. if this was a matter only of season, a man did not need to give so much of his heart, not as the one before him did in each moment of the recount.

Senmut listened—Akavir found his voice losing its adamancy as he continued to weave recollections for the priest. It had been chaotic—what had been captured in his mind didn’t necessarily mean what had occurred—and he found his head bowing slightly.

“Black. Large. Grey eyes,” he offered, feeling a sardonic quirk of his lips with the knowledge of how vague a description this was. “Nothing about him stood out, at least physically.”

None had seemed to know him—the idea that Eset had been a target enraged him—but the moment had felt as if a predator had only sought to eliminate prey. What the stranger had likely determined as an easy kill—

—vile.

He leaned his muzzle down, rubbing the side of his face and temple to a forearm in one swift moment, as if the brief pressure would vanquish the headache that throbbed.

What else was there to truly say? Being ensconced in these walls was unfathomable for much longer—yet knowing he had to leave behind the broken Hebsut was something that began to steal away that part of his clarity.

senmut filed away this description with a polite nod of his head. it fit the face of many, though he had no doubt their guards would know upon sight who had attempted this.

akavir's weariness was palpable. senmut wished to offer respite, but these halls had recently rung with too much; even his own mind remembered eset as she was now.

tactful; quiet; "will you eat with me? we will not drink this time," the priest assured, draping some cloak of comfort over those tired and wary shoulders. akavir did not need to worship pharaoh in order to receive toula's goodwill; it was their way. a new way.

Senmut was tactful—respectful.

Akavir was far less so—the entirety of his soul bared to the man before him, and the weariness upon him a weight so heavy he found himself choking beneath it.

“I will eat with you. I will drink with you, even,” he offered, his tone indicating as such. “You’ll find, Senmut… that most of my ‘give a fucks’ have entirely dissipated,” he offered, with perfect candidness.

And then, one paw crossed before the other as he found himself sinking closer to the ground, eyes fast upon the priest. “Tell me something true, Senmut. Anything.”

he started to hide a smile, then did not. "such honesty of spirit has that effect. we will eat. if you want to drink after, we will take cups when we take the air in the places overlooking the cenote. i go there to pray."

he could go there to speak further with a man who had broken down his defenses and expressed truthfully in his heart.

a moment.

a quiet.

his eyes flickered as he fixed them to those of akavir.

"i believe germanicus died by poison." he had no way to be sure, but he knew who had brought it for ramesses; ramesses, and let that secret die with senmut and be buried in his tomb of rock.

"i believe his wife supplied it."

he had never uttered a word of this theory to anyone else; now his heart beat hard, sickening, in his slender chest.

D E A D

So they would share a meal together—and after, Senmut would reveal to him the place he prayed, and there, they would drink.

Akavir accepted this in silence. His camaraderie with those of his pack mates was something that came with ease to the man—with the priest before him, it was not so. Perhaps, because both remained entirely guarded.

Or, more so, both came from truly differing worlds and opinions.

What he did not expect, though, was the news of Germanicus’s death—or rather, the hand within it. “Wife?” He uttered the question before he could consider it—his mind wracking to the past, of all the intel he had managed to gather on the man he had never trusted.

“What wife was this?” He could not naysay this just yet—not without the facts.

And what in the world had happened to Crowfeather?

"you have asked for something true. you will forgive me if i guard the details," senmut said softly. akavir might well wish to know for himself what the priest said was genuine, but in the matter of regicide, he had shelved fennec's name almost beside that of makono. the woman had been involved in both, he believed now.

"i will say it was his second marriage," the red prince murmured. "for all his formality and usefulness, germanicus did not seem to be well-liked, here or elsewhere."

oml i thought you were referring to mirwen after she claimed she married him, bahaha

If Germanicus had a wife in the valley, Akavir had neither heard nor saw her, but it did not make it untrue. The man had been observant—intelligent, and above all, a tactician. “Then she was a jilted wife,” he murmured, studying the priest for this bout of news. “Germanicus was the lover of another man in one of the valley packs.”

Silvertongue had longed for that other man—and as Senmut guarded certain details of what he shared, so did Akavir.

If he could help it, Akashingo would hear nothing more of the she-wolf who had managed to escape her enslavement from them.