Where gone, o loving man?
Why gone from her whose love
Can pace you, step by step, to your desire?
—Cairo Ostracon 25218
“You look stunning, my lady.”
Gillian gazed at herself in the mirror and had to agree. The two young shemats who’d dressed her must have used some kind of magical spell, because she had never looked this good before in all her days. Not even close.
A transparent film of knife-pleated, body-hugging silk in the shimmering blue-green-purple colors of abalone lay over a satin-smooth shell of delicate pink. Her breasts were high and plump in the tight, revealing bodice, her stomach flat, her legs endlessly long in the slim, floor-length gown. Except for her blond hair, she looked like a temple dancer from one of the most exquisite tomb paintings of ancient times. She supposed that was the whole idea.
“Thank you,” she said, wondering if Rhys would agree with the assessment.
She frowned at the thought of him. The news that he had routinely used sex to entice women to join the per netjer had been a real shock. And his friend the sheikh—what a despicable character! How could he have said those awful things about her mother?
Gillian should probably reexamine her feelings for Rhys. Perhaps he wasn’t the man she’d assumed him to be. Maybe he had lied about bespelling her, and her feelings weren’t real, after all.
But she didn’t believe that. Yes, he might have left out some pertinent facts, but he had never actually lied to her.
“It’s time,” Nephtys told her, sweeping into the room and giving Gillian’s dazzling outfit a critical examination.
“Will Rhys be there?” Gillian asked Nephtys striving to sound neutral.
Nephtys caught her eyes in the mirror. “Yes, Lord Kilpatrick will be at the feast. Indeed, sitting next to you. But you must forget about him. He is not your destiny.”
The other woman’s penetrating gaze was meant to be intimidating, but Gillian refused to back down. “I think that’s for me to decide.” She might be angry with him at the moment, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t forgive him. Eventually.
“No. It’s not up to you,” Nephtys stated. “You have no say in the matter, whatsoever. Accept that you now belong to Seth-Aziz, and things will go far easier for you.”
Gillian didn’t think so. Time may have stood still here at Khepesh, but she was from the twenty-first century, where women made their own decisions. “Sorry, I can’t do that.”
“A shame. For it won’t be you who suffers, but the man you profess to care about. If you persist in this useless infatuation, Seth will have no choice but to banish Lord Kilpatrick from Khepesh.”
Gillian stared at the other woman’s reflection in horror, her breath stalling in her lungs. Banishment? But that meant... “They’re friends. He wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh, but he would. I’m actually surprised he hasn’t yet done so, considering how far the pair of you have taken things.”
Gillian felt her eyes widen. “How did you—”
Nephtys tutted. “Don’t be naïve. A blind man could see what’s going on, and I am a seer. I know everything.” She turned to glare at her face-to-face. “You must tell Rhys you’ve changed your mind about him. That you instead want the power and security being consort will bring you. Do it tonight, Gillian. Or lose him to the savage desert and the sands of time, never to be seen or heard from again.”
No!
Gillian felt hot, stunned tears fill her eyes. It wasn’t fair.
None of it!
She’d found Rhys Kilpatrick’s grave, only to lose the opportunity to inform her clients of her find. She’d found her dear lost mother alive, only to lose her to mindless, hopeless captivity by a ruthless monster. And she’d found the love of her life and a chance to be immortal, only to be forced to spend eternity with a man she didn’t love.
“It’s not fair,” she said in bleak misery.
Nephtys gave her a sad smile. “Habibi, who said life, even an everlasting one, is fair?”