Crown of Grief by Laura Greenwood

Author:Laura Greenwood [Greenwood, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Drowlgon Press

Nine

I resist the urge to pace back and forth, knowing that it will look bad if my guest arrives to find me doing that. The doors open and a woman about my age enters with a bouncy jackal at her side. She looks around, seeming a little uncomfortable by the surroundings even though I've had her directed to one of the less fancy receiving rooms.

"Blessed Priestess," I say in greeting.

"Your Majesty," she responds with a stiff bow.

"I'm not Pharaoh yet," I remind her.

"Right, I'm sorry, Your Highness." Her accent isn't quite right, but she seems to be reasonably fluent in Egyptian. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," I respond awkwardly, not knowing how I'm supposed to respond to that. Father would have known. This is the kind of thing he'd tell me about. Pain shoots through me and it's all I can do to keep myself together. "Shall we sit?" I gesture to the table laden with all kinds of delicacies, hoping to distract myself.

She gives me a tight smile and takes a seat in the spare chair. "This looks lovely, Your Highness. Thank you for inviting me here."

"As this dinner is just for the two of us, perhaps we should forgo all that and you should call me Iset," I say. I wouldn't normally extend such an honour to someone I've just met, but I want to make sure that she has no lingering loyalty to Ramesses, and the best way to do that is to ensure that her loyalty is to me.

Something Father once told me.

The pain intensifies, but I push it to the side. I'll be able to deal with that properly later. For now, I need to focus on the task at hand, which is ensuring that the visiting priestess knows that she should align herself with me.

"I'm not sure that would be appropriate," she responds.

"Don't I get to decide that?" From the way she's speaking, she may not be as fluent as I first thought, either that, or she's using the fact Egyptian is her second language to her advantage to give her time to think.

She gives me another polite smile.

"What did you call my brother when you were spending time with him?" It's a risky move, but I think it might work.

She does a double-take. "I wasn't aware you knew about that."

"I do," I respond, not wanting to reveal that's the extent of my knowledge.

"I called him Ramesses," she responds. She folds her hands on her lap and tries not to fidget, something I only recognise because I do it myself.

"Then you can call me Iset." I don't think I'm going to regret suggesting the informality, I'm already starting to warm to her.

She nods. "In which case, I'm Ani."

"Much less of a mouthful than Ankhesenamun," I muse.

"It is," she responds a little stiffly. Her jackal rushes over to greet Cleo, sniffing around the lion as if trying to get a good sense of her. "Matia! Come back," she calls.

"She's fine, Cleo doesn't bite," I respond, though I realise as I say it that it might not be true.

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