Anger broiled in Hotep's private thoughts, that Satakhetem had even thought to work magic upon the very walls of the Skyspear. Unconscionable that she continued to insult Horus who, even were she an intended bride, she owed the very minimum of respect and manners.

He could not excuse her youth, for by her age any aspiring court member would have learned to perform guile without offense. She wielded her club not at Egypt's enemies, but at those in the very palace she wished to lay claim over.

Yes! He seethed.

But he kept within himself the patience of a man who had seen many terrible things, and known victory beyond them. She was here for some reason, and perhaps it was not to be Queen but it was certainly to serve some cosmic rite. He must divine it.

And though no sling or arrow could deter him from what he had offered to Pharaoh, Hotep felt it past time to speak with the one who had so summarily dismissed him before the court, and see what her tact might next be.

Gods, he hated politics. This needless disorder! He nearly lamented his choice to retain priesthood, though he knew as sesh alone the compulsion to serve would have remained, and he would have only less power to affect aid to the Pharaoh and Queen.

He stood before the doorway and had mazoi announce him, with full titles. They were lengthy.

The announcement of Setemhotep’s full titles rang through the chamber like a formal declaration of war.

Satakhetem did not rise immediately. She remained reclined upon the obsidian plinth, draped in luxurious black furs, her long limbs arranged with predatory elegance. Only when the High Priest was fully announced did her cold sapphire eyes lift toward the doorway, regarding him with glacial disdain.

She let the silence stretch for several heartbeats before speaking.

The Greatest of Seers deigns to visit my humble prison. Her voice was smooth, cool, and laced with mocking courtesy. How generous of you, Hotep. I had not expected the man who called me blasphemous before the entire court to seek my company so soon.

Satakhetem finally rose with fluid, regal grace. The molten gold threading her pewter coat caught the low light as she stepped down from the plinth, towering over the priest with imperious poise. Her gaze flicked briefly to the emerging Triple Sun upon the wall before returning to him.

A faint, cold smile touched her lips.

But you did not come here simply to scold me again. So speak, priest. What does the voice of Ra wish to say to Toula’s daughter in private? Have you come to lecture me on obedience... or have you finally begun to see the fracture I warned you all about?

I endeavor always to be generous. Hotep answered with brazen amicability, with tail held level and bow withheld.

From his peripheral, that horrible mark upon the wall rose like her banner. It would be torn down, he knew Pharaoh had ordered it, and so refused to follow the track of her eyes to that which did not please him to behold. Her great works would go unacknowledged. The deliberate choice to disregard them, as though they had already been defaced, would be answer in itself.

There were no condemnations she would consider from him, he was certain. And nothing short of subservience she would accept, not now. He could not pretend he had any intentions of offering her such a thing. Hotep made his loyalties plain from the beginning.

To pursue her tracks would only give her control of their conversation.

Instead, he proclaimed, Your arrival here was tumultuous, daughter of Pharaohs. You woke far from the palace, and traveled without the comforts you are accustomed to. I am also a Physician. I would attend to your health.

A fellahin behind him brought forth a shell, and in it were arranged various herbs, tinctures, and poultice. Balms to mend cracks in the paws. Oil to refresh the skin. Incense to cleanse the breath.

Head tilted, glancing her up and down once, Unless your current state is more pleasing to you. Perhaps you seek to set yourself apart from your sister by proclaiming a more rugged mien.

In the eyes of most, Satakhetem was bathed and groomed and fit enough for display at court. (Except for the peculiar quirk that whenever she opened her mouth to speak, a thousand serpents of Nun slithered out.)

But a goddess aspirant must not be fit enough, she must be perfect, was it not so? Hotep probed at vanity.

He had come to probe and prod at her? Was she now some experiment with which to toy with? Maybe he hoped to draw out her holy blood for use in some inane ritual. The man's heka could have been mighty, but he seemed so... Righteous. It was the kind of behavior that hindered great minds. No, not her blood then.

She hummed.
If you think Sitamun's work is so lackluster, perhaps take your trinkets to her chambers and give her a lesson.
I am fine; I am perfect, in fact.

A yawn came from her then, perhaps forced - more than likely, given how much time she spent lounging among those furs - but it was a fluid motion, pretty, and silent. Her teeth caught the light in a flash;
she wished for a moment she carried venom like the serpent mazoi, or could spit it like the wild cobra. How fun that would be.

Her teeth clicked as her mouth closed, and she looked forlorn upon the man.

Oh, you are still here. But why? He was such a bore.

If that is what you believe, he replied, shrugging faintly. Then you may content yourself with being tended at the convenience of the Queen. He made note to seek Sitamun later, to assure himself of her wellness. And perhaps conspire, if she was willing.

But Satakhetem yawned! Was this daughter of Pharaoh's so easily dissuaded? Was her guile spent! Does the effort of speaking exhaust you so? That is concerning. I hope you are not taking ill, the court might whisper that isfet has claimed you.

What is the point of this? To poke and prod, that is all she can think. He had come with his tinctures and his pledge to mend her, and once refused continued to plague her here. If Satakhetem had cared at all about her brother's favorite seer, she would have paid him heed in the great hall; but she did not care for him or his diatribes, and certainly did not care for his diagnoses.

Only your company, great seer.

Another deep sigh, but she is focused on him again.

What is it you truly want of me? It cannot be this. Are you meant to pester me as recompense for my behavior? Do you hope to dissect the divine for some purpose? She did not want answers to these questions, so she moved through them with a rhetorical energy and quickly.

My brother certainly knows how to play games, sending you here to me. It is just like him. We played pranks sometimes, as children - I had thought the Pharaoh had grown past that, like so many other things. Her brow raised, and then she was quiet a moment, regarding the priest with a faraway look.

Her memory was genuine. It was unfortunate she was alone in its recall.

To poke and prod indeed! A physician aware of ailment, with some idea of the symptoms, now intent upon narrowing cause.

She didn't wait for answers, though he considered privately how to account for himself. In truth he wished to test. To learn; it would have been enough achieving insight into her mind and tactics. Recompense could not be earned by any biting word, and an unwilling heart would only wound itself further pretending at penitence.

Her heresy he was confident now in the ability to suppress. But to cure it...? What was a Priest, if not one who looked after the health of things Divine. A task he failed with Akhenaten.

Hotep wondered at himself and his own boldness. Did he seek to right past wrongs with new trials? Perhaps it was so.

Eyes softened, and he watched Satkhetem sweep herself away into distant memory.

He was not so naive as to offer her pieces of himself, the life he had lived. In her state of wrath she would only attempt to needle, he thought, and it would not achieve the desired outcome for anyone.

I am afraid the chief complaint of my cohorts regards my lack of playfulness. He laughed a little. Once.

Still he considered. Time lost to memory, siblings raised apart from her, and parents gone — and that there had been tragedy in Akashingo before the raising of Satriya. No, he could not overlook the venom she aimed without regard, or the callousness toward holy things which disagreed with her. But he had also learned that to scold a man for screaming when his leg had snapped in two was not generally an effective or useful method for curing the break.

He lamented further that to cause a wound was far easier than to mend one.

It is plain we have reason to mistrust one another. But I am a healer, Satakhetem. I will endeavor to heal, unless I am given no other choice. This was earnest, though whether she would believe him was consigned to the paws of Ra.

And conceded, because it was also the truth, even if their opinions of the cause did not align, I see that the division between you and your siblings sows chaos. There has been injury — and this does indeed concern the gods.

He offered a palm, outstretched in invitational gesture, But I think it must be approached with a different tact than the one you have thus far employed. Will you consult with me? You are short of friends, and could do worse than the Greatest of Seers.