When they finished a series of merry tunes, one of the musicians lifted his eyebrows toward Osiris. He nodded, acknowledging the request, and when the new song began, his voice rose in accompaniment.
Isis closed her eyes and rocked slightly, her wings quivering as every nerve in her body seemed to hum along in response. Her voice was powerful when it came to weaving spells, but no one could best Osiris in weaving songs. He sang of snowcapped mountains and valleys of recently tilled black soil waiting to be planted. Of hills covered with sweet blue grass and of waterfalls that plummeted so far, the water dissipated into clouds on the way down.
She was so caught up in the notes and the words; Isis knew she could glide forever on the current of his music. She let Osiris’s voice buoy her up until the end, when he’d set her feet gently back on the ground before sweeping her away into the next song. His music filled her with peace and, at the same time, unrest. With a deep satisfaction and with a terrible longing. The wanting was never so powerful as when he sang.
When he pulled her into his arms, it felt natural. They’d danced together a thousand times, but this time was different. It was new. She felt the song flow through him into her. The words he sang now were quiet and gentle but deeply felt. He sang of unspoken wishes and heartache. Of places he hadn’t yet seen and of those imagined things so beautiful he couldn’t find the words because describing them would somehow diminish the dream.
She’d kept her eyes closed as they moved together, and only at the end of the song did she realize how badly her limbs were shaking; Osiris was supporting most of her weight. He didn’t seem to mind, though, and as a new song began, this time without his vocal accompaniment, Osiris pulled her close. “Will you walk in the garden with me?” he asked softly.
Silently, she nodded and he took her arm, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. They walked in silence, and Isis was suddenly acutely aware of everything: the rustle of her wings; the feel of his arm; the way his hand cupped hers almost possessively, as if he was trying to prevent her escape; the troubled, almost determined expression on his face; and then, when they got close enough, the smell of the flowers wafting from his garden.
Osiris was fiercely proud of his enchanted garden. Even when he was abroad, plants of all description were sent via messenger with explicit instructions for their care. He employed a whole staff of gardeners who cultivated and labeled each specimen, placing it in the proper location where it would thrive. Because of this, the vast area had been divided into several zones.
One almost desertlike environment housed the various slow-growing plants he called succulents. Another was devoted solely to herbs and vegetables, most of which were shared with the citizens of Heliopolis. There was an orchard that grew hundreds of different summer fruits. Acres were dedicated to the climbing vines.
Bushes as tall as homes grew fat berries of all colors. A section was dedicated to plants that grew in cold climates, and Amun-Ra had graciously provided the means to keep that area cool for centuries. The tropical plants were kept on the opposite side of the garden. There were greenhouses, shadehouses, and a giant arboretum with every kind of tree grown on Earth and on the other worlds they’d seeded.
Isis loved the garden and often visited it when Osiris was away. She felt close to him when she was there, but like him, she was drawn to the mortals. There were many who could see to the needs of the plants, but few who had the ability to travel to the mortal realm as they did and care for the people there.
She was surprised and happy when he brought her to a grove of nut trees. A cozy gazebo was tucked in the center. It was a place he’d had built for her when she was young. He gestured that she should take a seat and made sure she was comfortable before walking away. She stared at his back and wondered what troubled him so. That he was upset was obvious, but from her perspective, she should be the one angry with him, not the other way around.
“What is it, Osiris?”
He clasped his hands behind his back and turned his head so she could see his handsome face in profile. The sun had already set, and now the moon was rising, framing him in its orb and gilding the tips of his dark hair silver. Finally, he shifted, leaning back against a post. Folding his arms across his chest, he perused her from the shadows. He worked his jaw as if almost starting to speak, but then stopped himself as if he couldn’t trust his own voice.
“Are you angry with me?” she asked.
“Angry?” Osiris echoed. The word puzzled him. It tasted thick and wrong on his tongue. “No. I’m not angry with you.” What he felt for Isis had nothing to do with anger, though the heat of such an emotion did burn within him. As he looked at her, dazzling in the light of the moon, he considered her the way he did when he came across a rare and most beautiful flower.
The delight he experienced at finding such a thing was almost heady and it filled him with euphoria. He’d cup the blossom between his hands and inhale its delicate scent. Then he’d study it and its surroundings. Carefully and painstakingly he’d watch over it for an entire life cycle taking copious notes, and then, when he was finally ready to take possession of it, he’d bring it home to the perfect spot and lavish all his attention on it until it thrived under his care.
That was what he longed to do when he looked at Isis. He wanted to cup her exquisite face in his hands and figure out what she needed, how he could make her flourish. Of course Osiris couldn’t say such a thing to her. Not without consequences. He knew her well enough to know she couldn’t just take such an admission into her heart and store it away. No. She would want to act upon it, and he could not allow that to happen.
While he worried over these things, Isis rose from her seat and approached him. In her eyes, he could see the eternity of the cosmos, the birth of stars, the churning of nebulas. They transfixed him, cast a spell upon him, and he felt intoxicated by the moonshine reflected in them. But that didn’t matter. He needed to tell her what he’d come to say. “Seth . . . overreaches,” he said finally.
“Seth?” she questioned, a look of puzzlement on her face. “Why do you speak of Seth?”
“He wants something from you.”
She lifted a shoulder, as if she gave no thought to the matter. “Seth has always sought our approval.”
“No. This is different. He . . . he desires you.”
Isis frowned. “I think you are mistaken.”
“I am not. Do you think I cannot discern when a man wants a woman?”
“I did not think you cared to notice such things.”
“In your case, I do.”
Tilting her head, Isis considered his words. “I see.” Then she nodded. “Thank you for making me aware of it.”
She made as if to leave, but Osiris took hold of her arm to draw her back. “I . . . I need to know. What do you intend to do about it?”
“About Seth?”
Osiris inclined his head and held his breath for her answer.
It was a full three heartbeats until she spoke. “I suppose I’ll need to talk with him about it.”
“Ah.” Osiris let go of her arm and sucked in a breath. “But . . . but what do you plan to say?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know. I’ll consider his words first and then make a decision. There isn’t much for me to do unless he declares his intentions.”
“Right.”
This time she did turn to go and Osiris hurried to block her path before she exited, taking hold of her shoulders. “Don’t,” he said. “Just . . . don’t.”
“Don’t what? Leave? Talk to Seth? Walk home? What don’t you want me to do?”
“Don’t consider him.”
“And why not?”
“You know why not.”
“Your reasons are not the same as mine.”
“They should be.”
“But they are not,” she answered, her chin lifted defiantly. “You cannot make my decisions.”
“Perhaps not, but I am affected by them.”
“How so?”
“If you choose him, I will . . . suffer.”
“Yet you still refuse me, do you not?”
“That is correct.”
“Then you want me to suffer instead.”
“No. That’s not—” He sighed. “I don’t want you to suffer, Isis. It’s just . . . Seth isn’t right for you.”
“Then who is?”
Osiris chose not to answer her. Instead, he took a step closer, cupped her cheek, and stroked her soft skin with his thumb. Soothingly, he murmured, “You are as delicate and lovely as a moonbeam.” Bringing his other hand to her face, he traced the line of her jaw. Giving in to temptation, he drew her close, relishing the feel of her palms on his chest. Then he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I would not have Seth tarnish your light.”
Isis slid her hands up and twined her arms around his neck before saying, “Then give me another option.”
Before Osiris could respond, Isis lifted her mouth to his, and all thoughts of what he was going to say escaped his mind. When she angled her head and pressed closer, he groaned and wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, actually lifting her from the ground. Her wings fluttered, and a part of him was aware that he was no longer holding her weight. Then she tucked her wings and fell against him once more and he thought nothing in his life had ever felt so good, so right, as holding the weight of her in his arms.
Isis was the brightest star in the cosmos. And she was his for the taking. He was caught in her orbit and he’d burn up in her presence. But he didn’t care. He wanted this. He wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted anything since his life began. And yet, he knew he couldn’t have her.
Gently, he set her down and stepped back. The cruel distance separating them was like a living thing taunting him just after they’d been violently ripped apart. Her eyes were soft, shining. Packed with promises.
The lips he’d just kissed were full and lush and tempting and it would be so easy to lower his head and taste them again. The slow smile that built as she lifted a hand to stroke his hair was heartbreaking, and he knew the becoming flush of her cheeks was something he’d treasure for the rest of his days.
Capturing her hand, he brought it to his lips and pressed a tender kiss on her palm. “I’m sorry,” he said. It was a pathetic echo of what had happened between them before. But that time he’d been running from the consequences of what she’d proposed. This time he was running from his own feelings. And there was no denying it now. The feelings he had for Isis were very real. The only question was what he would do about them.
“What?” she asked, blinking back in confusion.
“I said I’m sorry, but I need to go.”
“Go?”
“Yes. I need to think.”
He quickly headed down the gazebo steps and onto the moonlit grass.
“Think?” she cried out, obviously upset. “By all means then, run away and think, Osiris! But just be warned that I plan to do a lot of thinking myself!” With that, Isis leapt from the gazebo, opened her wings with a snap, and disappeared into the starry night.
From the shadows of a tree, Seth watched, eyes glittering as Isis took to the sky and Osiris stormed off. Things were not proceeding as planned, but Seth thought he might still be able to turn them in his favor.
Chapter 4
Grafting
The easiest way to thwart their burgeoning relationship would be to approach Amun-Ra. Seth rubbed his jaw. No. Reporting their activities would hamper his own agenda. If he was going to bind Isis to himself, he needed to keep Amun-Ra as ignorant as possible about Isis’s current feelings of wanting something more than she was allotted.
In truth, that was something Seth admired about her. In a way, it was a relief to know that she was just as discontented with her lot in life as he was. Spying on her was useful in more ways than one. He could use that to his advantage. Seth spent the entire night rehearsing what he would do and say to sway Isis. To have Isis look at him as a more viable choice than Osiris. Then, as the sun rose over the mountain, casting all of Heliopolis in its golden glow, he called to his mother, asking if he could borrow her comet to send a message.
The sky rumbled in response and the whisper of wind tickled his cheek. “I would,” Nut said to her son, “but Osiris asked for just the same thing before you did. When the comet returns, I would be happy to pass along a message for you.”
Seth clenched his fist as his jaw tightened. “That won’t be necessary, Mother,” he snapped. He then quickly apologized, explaining that he was wearied, and added, “Did you happen to overhear his message?”
“You know I don’t listen in on my children.”
“So you don’t know what he said to her?” Seth pressed.
The wind stilled, and then stirred around his feet so subtly that if he hadn’t been a god, he wouldn’t have noticed it at all. “It was not meant for you, son,” he heard her softly admit.
Seth’s body shook with frustration. “Could you not this once . . . .” he began, struggling to show his mother the respect her position demanded. Nut interrupted with a sudden stir of the clouds overhead. They roiled and churned, but as quickly as they had formed, the thick mass broke apart. It stretched out thin fingers that dissipated in the heat of the morning sun until they were gone.
“I don’t normally do this,” she said finally, “but I know you’ve had a difficult time of late, and the other gods haven’t been as patient with you as I wish they’d be.” She sighed. Her breath on his face was as cold as the space in which she made her home. “Osiris has asked Isis to meet him at the stables of Amun-Ra. I do not know if she intends to go, only that the message was delivered.”
Seth inclined his head. “Thank you, Mother.”
On his way to the stables Seth was stopped twice, first by Anubis. “Seth,” Anubis said. “Just the boy I’ve been looking for.”
Seth wrenched his arm from Anubis’s grip and glared at the god with open contempt. “I don’t see any boys here. You’d best keep looking.” He turned to go, but Anubis’s black dog leapt in his path and growled. Almost, almost, he unmade the dog then and there. Unmaking a creature as ancient as the first dog would imbue him with a great deal of power, but he couldn’t risk such a thing. Not yet. Without turning to look at him, Seth asked, “What do you want, Anubis?”
“It seems that there have been some interesting deaths as of late—animals, trees, mortals, and even some of the lesser immortals as well. I’ve had to escort several people to the afterlife, several young people,” he emphasized. “Youth who weren’t remotely close to death. And the stories they tell, well . . .” Anubis had repositioned himself alongside his dog and peered into Seth’s face with his not-so-subtle accusations. “Let’s just say they weren’t entirely . . . natural.”
“How fascinating that must be for you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have pressing business.”
Anubis lifted an eyebrow. “Business? Really? What business could you possibly have?”
Seth raised his chin and narrowed his eyes. “I’ll have you know that Amun-Ra has sent me out on a mission of great import.”
Anubis folded his arms across his chest. “I see. Well, lucky for him he has such a dedicated man to do the job.”
“Yes.”
“Best move along then, Seth.” The god of the afterlife smirked. “I’ll just go speak to Amun-Ra about my concerns regarding the sudden influx of souls to the afterlife and my suspicions as to what has caused them.”
“You do that,” Seth said confidently, despite his inner turmoil that his secret had been discovered. Then he calmed himself. Even if Anubis suspected him in the deaths, Amun-Ra wouldn’t necessarily attribute them to the supernatural. He’d caused mortal death before—many deaths, in fact.
Anubis might believe these deaths were different, but he couldn’t know why. The transition between life and death was a terrible enough thing that the mind encapsulated the pain of it. Most souls couldn’t even remember how they died.
It was like remembering the pain of a skinned knee as a toddler. Even if they could, it wouldn’t be an immediate concern. He’d been careful to make sure the mortals he tested his power on never saw his face. Besides, they were more focused on the next phase of their existence and their upcoming judgment. At best the mind was clouded, confused about the experience of dying, which was why Anubis was often sent as a guide.
For the time being, his secret was safe. No one would believe that the one god without power, the one nobody, including his parents, thought would amount to much, could possess such an important ability. There was still time. Time for him to reveal his news in his own way and to those he sought out. But first, he needed to get to Isis.
Anubis leaned forward, almost touching his nose to Seth’s. “Oh, I will,” he breathed before he walked past him, knocking into Seth’s shoulder so hard that the shorter god almost fell. The fury that swept through Seth was quick and burning. Mostly he was angry at how Anubis had spoken to him, but he was also upset with his own reaction to the god. During their conversation Seth had felt . . . intimidated, fearful, and less-than.
He hated that the old inadequacies of his youth still plagued his mind, even though he’d now come into his own. How he ached with righteous vengeance. He would show them. He would show them all just what he was. What he could be. He was more powerful than all of them. They wouldn’t dare talk to him like that after they saw what he could do.
Seth stormed off, once again headed to the stables, but then he ran into Nephthys, who also clearly desired his attention. At first, he thought to ignore her, but her soft eyes and demure smile charmed him. Though Nephthys had always grouped herself with the others, leaving him out, she’d never been unkind to him. Stifling his impatience, he feigned interest in whatever it was she wanted to talk to him about. “What can I help you with, my dear?”
She wrung her hands. “I . . . I’ve been speaking to the stars.”