Chapter 7: The Damn Boy
Seht stomped down the gold-lined hallway, up the white-washed hall, to the arched, gilded doorway of Nephthys' sitting room. Pushing down his rage, he entered.
"Nephthys," Seht called. Where was she? He swept his gaze over the ridiculously rich-hued cushions lining the room's draped side wall, the too shiny pearl-inlaid offertory tables filled with an overabundance of fruit, bread, and wine, awaiting the guests who would never come. The double door at the room's far end painted Nephthys' cloying favorite colors. "Nephthys," he shouted.
He navigated past the frail, distractingly carved wooden chairs and leaned to look around the silver-streaked black marble columns positioned, admonishing barriers, throughout the room's center. Frowning, he stared at the wavering drapes over the doors leading to the lush courtyard she'd twice denied him entry. "Nephthys?" There. A flurry of flowers, her obsession, lined the silver-flecked black marble sill of the window she stood before.
Hands gripped together behind his back, he paced to her. "Gazing at your pond?" he asked bitingly.
Quickly, Nephthys slid her hands into the folds of her gown. "Seht," she said, turned, and smiled. "I was just preparing to come to you."
A lie. One she'd surely know he'd see through. Was she buying time or trying to shift his focus from his reason for coming? Clearly, she hadn't wanted to speak with him. Calculating, Seht cocked his head. "Hm. Well, I've saved you the bother," he answered evenly.
"My dear," Nephthys soothed, smoothing her gown. "I'm sorry you had to leave your temple. I know how you enjoy your morning services."
"They were cut short today."
"Oh, that is a shame." She stroked her fingers over his wrist before taking his hand and leading him to a nearby clustering of cushions striped burgundy, gold, and blue. Sensually, she reclined beside him on a group of pink and silver pillows. "The chairs are different," she noted, languidly pointing. "Do you like them?" She darted her other hand beneath the heavy lavender drapes behind her. "My dear?" she asked, withdrawing her hand, and caressed his arm.
What did he care about how she ordered her rooms? For that matter, what did he care about whatever it was she was attempting to conceal? Waiting for her next redirection, he held his silence.
"Do you like the floral arrangements?" Nephthys asked and motioned to the profusion of blooms bursting from the gold and silver vases. "They're from the courtyard."
His brows twitched. The courtyard...once their special hideaway, the flowers' perfume making sweeter their celebrations.
"They grow beside the side wall."
Yes, he remembered it well, the many times she'd invited him through its hidden door. The past, oh, the past. But the wall, once offering anticipatory separation, had became a boundary and then a division, its stone reinforced a fourth then a fifth time, its door shut and sealed.
"I could have some arrangements taken to your rooms if you wish."
To serve as a taunting reminder of what he'd lost? Seht angled his jaw. "I don't give a damn about the flowers."
Nephthys sucked a breath, hurt in her eyes.
Seht leaned back. Had he misinterpreted? Had she intended the offer as a token of what one day might be reestablished? He rubbed his brows. "I'm sorry, dearest. I have a lot on my mind. But now that I look at them, they are beautiful. Yes, I'd like to have your flowers in my rooms." He reached for her hand.
"No, you never did care about flowers. I'll have some sent, nonetheless. Perhaps your worshippers," she said pointedly, "would enjoy them." Her smile was thin. She returned to the sill and began dismantling a spray of spiked orange-colored blooms.
Just because Osiris never took consorts—no. Let her think what she wanted. Seht lowered his shoulders. Carefully, he asked, "Don't you want to know why my services were cut short and why I wanted to see you?"
"I heard Khies returned. Was his mission successful?"
Why was she asking? Her priestesses must have told her. After all, they'd assisted. He studied her. "So. You hadn't heard."
"Mm?" Nephthys' murmured. Her fingers stilled. "Oh, of course. Silly of me. I suppose my mind was elsewhere." Expression clearing, she held a cluster of deep-purple wisteria against a vase. "No, the color isn't right."
Seht crossed his arms. "Khies' failure, what, just slipped your mind?"
"Well, yes. It's a disappointment to you, certainly, but you have time. Horus is just a child, after all."
"A child who'll grow into a nuisance."
"Perhaps. Some day. He may have the wits to realize he could never be a match for you."
"He's alive."
"Hm? Hm, I need a different vase all together." Sighing, Nephthys lowered the wisteria among the flowers still to be grouped and angled toward him. "Yes, Horus is a crease in your plan, but, still, you—"
"Osiris."
Nephthys' lowered her gaze to the pale-pink flowers she lifted to her nose.
Ah, the subject she didn't want. Seht sharpened his gaze. "I don't suppose you know anything about that?"
She placed the flowers on the stone and again began arranging them.
"I asked you a question."
Nephthys slapped the sill. The flowers, crushed, fell to the dark water trickling below. "How dare you."
"Tone, dear one."
"I gave you assistance. I played the role you wanted. You'd question my loyalty?"
She was haughty, just like her sister. Her sister.... No, she wouldn't have dared to help Isis after all that had happened. Seht forced a shrug. "Pardon my doubt."
Nephthys' frown smoothed. She gave her head a small tip and turned again to the flowers. "Would you like to talk about it?"
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Oh? You're handling this news well. I would've thought you'd be upset. After all you went through, all the care you took."
Seht lifted his fist to his mouth.
She hastened near and knelt beside him. "Isn't it better to talk? Dear," she said and took his hand. "Your eyes are growing black. I know you're upset. Perhaps you—"
He jerked back, yanking his hand from hers. "Of course I'm upset. Thirteen years I planned Osiris' death. Thirteen damn years."
She swallowed hard and nodded, her smile forced. "Yes, dear, and you did it."
"Yes." He sat back, lip curling. "I did it. Wiped that smug smile off his face. Blotted that insipid gleam from his eyes."
"I was there," she said quietly.
"Then Isis had to go and find the body. Hell, even after I caught her and cut it up, even after I sent the pieces all over the lands, she managed to find them. Managed to find them and put them back together again, of all things." He never would have thought of that. "Well, that's love for you, I suppose," he muttered.
Nephthys cleared her throat. "Yes, I suppose you're right." Her eyes met his. They were cool. "That is love." She returned to the window.
Seht scowled. Nephthys wouldn't put his body back together again, he'd bet. Well, he didn't need her now. He didn't need anybody. He just needed to get rid of the boy.
Horus. Seht fixed his gaze on the patch of bright blue sky revealed by the clouds' parting. "After all that, Isis had a child? How the hell did she do it? Osiris was dead. Didn't even have the part necessary. I made sure of that."
"It is surprising."
"Surprising." He snorted. "You could say that." The muscles in his neck tightened. "Damn Isis and her magic. Damn Osiris, too, for that matter, wherever he is."
Nephthys glanced at him and glided to an offertory table. "I had your favorites brought."
He knocked away the platter she held before him, stood, and began to pace. "Damn Ra, too."
She started.
"Yes, I said it. Damn him. All those years, those plodding thousands of years I protected him, was there to do whatever he wanted."
Nephthys took a breath. "Yes, dear. You're right."
&
nbsp; He returned to the cushions. "Ra let Osiris fool him. I tried to warn him, but, no, the mighty king of the gods still couldn't see. Or perhaps I should say, wouldn't see. So I took matters into my own hands. As simple as that."
"Of course." She fixed her attention to the rug's silken fringe.
Isis' magic. Osiris alive. The continued existence of an heir. Seht pressed his fists into the cushions. What did it matter? Osiris was alive but no longer a god of might and influence. Not even Isis knew magic enough to restore him. No, not even Ra could do that. Surely, Osiris could be nothing more than a counterfeit god. He nodded. "As for the boy," he said, "he'll be dead soon enough."
Nephthys curled closer to the wall.
Seht gave a bitter laugh, stood, and offered down his hand. "You look tired, my love. I had a surprise planned for you, but perhaps you should rest." He led her across the sitting room toward her bedchambers. "After the boy is eliminated, I'll take on my new role." He opened her bedchamber's silver and lilac double door. "I'll be a king even Osiris himself will bow—would have bowed.... Damn it." He caught Nephthys' arms and spun her to face him. "Why didn't Osiris listen to me?"
"I-I don't know, my love. You're hurting me."
He released her and turned. "Patting me on the damn back. Pretending to consider my words. Why, if he'd listened, if he'd killed the dissenters like I told him—"
"Yes, dearest, but then who would have remained to give their complicity?"
Seht gazed into Nephthys' eyes, and she shivered. He turned his hard smile to the floor. "There would've been more." Yes, his confederate would have ensured that. "Still," he said, his gaze wandering, his smile fading, "it would've taken time." Would he have given up on the plan?
If only Osiris had listened. But, no, Osiris' own smugness had sealed his fate.
And Isis, well, Isis deserved whatever she got. After all, wasn't she the one Nephthys always ran to? Wasn't Isis the one who barred him from seeing Nephthys after—no, he wouldn't think of that. Anguished, he glanced at Nephthys, hovering in the doorway.
"Dearest? What is it?" she asked.
For a moment, tenderness had shone in her eyes. He leaned his forehead to hers.
The prisoners' cries of pain began.
Seht tilted his head, evaluating. Yes, they were good sustained screams mixed with rhythmically gasping ones. And Netum would stay as long as it took. With satisfaction, Seht recalled the gleam he'd seen in his counselor's eyes as the first prisoners had been tortured. He'd have to remember to give Netum an extra ration of drink. Maybe even two. He bent and kissed Nephthys' cheek. "My surprise for you."
Ashen, Nephthys slipped back. "I'm feeling a bit unwell, dearest." She glided into her chamber, closed its thick wooden doors behind her, and turned the bolt.
Fists to his hips, Seht bowed his head. No, he'd been waiting for this little diversion, and her selectively delicate sensibilities wouldn't ruin the moment for him. He returned his attention to the screams.
Damn her squeamishness. He sighed.
"Why shouldn't they be tortured, these prisoners, if I'm to be bothered with having any?" he called.
Why shouldn't they suffer? After all, the humans would, in a few days, slip into nothingness. He'd have his suffering for all eternity.
"Nephthys?" Seht slammed his hands against the doors, the force of the blow sending a crack along their length. He backed away.
Fast and hard, he moved down the hallway toward his temple, his sanctuary.
A shard of carnelian caught his gaze. He stopped. Jaw clenched, he bent and curled his fingers over the fragment, obliterating its glow. Slowly, he tightened his fist. Wiping the stone's dust from his hand, he rose.
The volume of the prisoners' screams increased.
Resuming the posture of a king, Seht entered his temple.
The guards stood at attention. The servants dropped to their knees.
The gold of his throne glinted. He sank onto it, crossed up his leg, and motioned to the wine. Tipping back his head, he closed his eyes. Respite.
"O King," a quaking servant said and lowered before him.
Seht trailed his fingers down her neck and reached for the goblet. He lifted it to his lips, sipped, and smiled, the wine now pleasing.
The boy. The sweetness lingering over Seht's tongue turned bitter.
The damn boy.
* * * * *