Rhys ducked back into his suite and quickly changed into his formal robes, spun of the finest midnight-blue silk, shot through with silver threads. He might as well look his best when he presented his case to the high priest.
He and Shahin cut splendid figures as they strode to the Festival Hall, he in his blue and Shahin in robes of blood red, drawing the eye of every female they passed. It suddenly occurred to Rhys to wonder why neither of them had chosen women to settle down with before now. Shahin was easily explained—he did not trust women further than the bedroom. Preferably hers.
But what of Rhys, himself?
He had never wanted for female companionship. But none of the women he’d known over the years had captured his interest or imagination the way Gillian did. He wasn’t sure why, either. She was beautiful but not overly so, intelligent but no genius, capable and brave but not above fear of the unknown.
Perhaps what spoke to him was her loyalty to her family. Or the look of adoration in her eyes when their gazes met. Or the way she held him tight when they embraced.
They’d never spoken the words, but... She loved him. And he loved her.
Maybe it was just that simple.
Except it wasn’t simple. Because right now she belonged to another. Someone Rhys owed his loyalty to, and must choose before her, if it came down to one or the other.
A choice that would kill him, either way.
They found Seth in his private dressing room behind the grand hall, cared for, as always, by his sister as well as a half dozen attendants.
Rhys and Shahin bowed in greeting. “My lord.”
“Ah! Just the two men I wanted to see,” Seth said, shooing away the attendants. “Rhys.” He beckoned him closer as though to put an arm around his shoulders. “Nephtys tells me she has had a vision of you being welcomed with open arms at Petru.”
Rhys halted in shock, his back going rigid. “What?” He glanced behind him at Shahin, who was standing at the ready with his hand on the hilt of his scimitar. “Et tu, Shahin?” Rhys ground out, realizing he’d been set up.
Seth waved an impatient hand. “It got me thinking that it might not be such a bad idea. To deal with this latest ultimatum of Haru-Re’s, I mean. Sekhmet’s blood, he’s tried for ages to recruit you, Rhys. So why not let him? What do you think?”
Rhys swallowed, still uneasy. This was clearly a trap. “Surely, you don’t think I would ever betray Khepesh.”
“By Osiris’s member, no,” Seth reassured him. “I do not doubt your loyalty. But—”
“I’m glad of that,” Rhys broke in, “because there is something else Nephtys has certainly brought up, which I’ve tried to speak with you about. It cannot wait any longer.”
Seth cut him a level look, obviously annoyed at the change of topic. “This is about the woman, I assume.”
“Gillian, yes,” Rhys said. “I—”
“I’m sorry. You can’t have her.” Seth adjusted his formal headdress in front of a silver-framed mirror. “Normally, I wouldn’t mind stepping aside after the transformation ceremony, but Nephtys’s vision of our future—”
“Is wrong,” Rhys cut in emphatically. “Or it means something other than it appears to mean.”
Seth turned to regard him sternly, every inch the ruling authority. “I’m sorry, Lord Kilpatrick. I don’t agree. She will be my consort, and that’s all there is to it.”
Panic seeped through Rhys’s veins. He couldn’t believe he was really losing her! “Miss Haliday has the highest regard for you, my lord, but she loves me. And I her. As your friend, I beg of you—”
Seth held up a hand. “This is not about my wishes or our personal friendship. You must see I’ve no choice but to do what is best for Khepesh. I truly am sorry.”
Stunned and heartsick, Rhys followed Seth with leaden feet as he led them into the grand hall. They took their places with the rest of the council at the head table, which sat on a raised dais at the front of the huge hall.
Once seated, Rhys swiped up his goblet of wine and drained it in a single draught, then held it up. A pretty little shabti appeared at his side and refilled it. As she withdrew, he put a hand on the arm that carried the carafe. “Leave it.”
She bowed mutely and set it down, then padded silently away. He watched her go, and muttered to himself, “Perhaps it would not be such a terrible fate, after all, to be without a will of one’s own.” He drained the second goblet and reached for the carafe.
Which was when he noticed the empty chair between him and Seth. By all the gods. He lurched to his feet, swaying slightly, seeking someone, anyone, with whom to exchange seats.
Instead, he caught the somber gaze of his leader and best friend. “Lord Kilpatrick, take your place,” Seth said in a low command.
“I cannot sit next to her as you inform the world of her upcoming public rape,” he ground out.
At Seth’s other elbow, Sheikh Shahin leaped up, reaching for his weapon.
Seth shot out a hand, gesturing him back down. “Strong words, Englishman. If we weren’t such good friends, you would be minus your head right now.”
“Perhaps it would be best that way,” Rhys shot back.
“You don’t mean that. Sit down. Now. Before I decide you did mean it.”
Rhys took a deep, steadying breath, and reluctantly lowered himself back into his chair. He had to be smart about this. Shahin was right. Eternity was a long time, and losing his head was the coward’s way out. Rhys’s moment would come, when he could take her back. And the intervening days—or centuries—would be just an ugly splotch on their eventual happiness. He had to believe that.
But in the meantime, he had to endure.
“Good,” Seth said. “Now. Before I make the announcement, I want you to tell her that your feelings for her were all a ruse to get her here. That you have no personal interest in her, and wish her to go through with the full ceremony and later become my consort.”
Rhys stared at the man who had been his best friend and mentor since he’d come to Khepesh, pain slicing through his heart as surely as if Shahin’s sword were cleaving it in two.
As of this moment, they were friends no longer.
“Very well,” Rhys said hoarsely, and turned his gaze upon the immortals gathering at the long rows of tables and benches that filled the grand hall to overflowing. People were laughing and hugging and making merry, because today a bright new star would be added to the galaxy of Set-Sutekh. A new initiate—the high priest’s future consort, a woman who was as wise as she was beautiful.
Everyone had cause for levity and celebration.
Everyone except Rhys.