2 hours ago
She had tried to keep the vanishing of Satakhetem under wraps for as long as she could, but alas, it was impossible. It was foolish of Aiesha to believe she had the power to keep anything from the Gods here; as she was the last to be in the company of Satakhetem, she who had welcomed her to the party (tricked in to it), she who had then lost sight of the shadow-woman as she had gone to traipse among the visitors.
Weeks spent hunting the wasteland, or going as far as she could between her lessons and her duties. When Aiesha was late one too many times, she felt the sting of correction, and the weight of her failure all the more. When it became clear that Satakhetem wasn't just hiding out within the palace - but that she was [i]absent entirely|| - Aiesha expected to be made an example of.
She berated herself for her failure to guard. For her inability to see through the word of divinity, as if she could have prevented any of this. Despite her failure, very little changed in her day-to-day once it was found out; in fact, there appeared to be a lightness to the palace, a gaiety to Khaemwaset and Merneith, without the yoke of expectation around their neck.
Regardless, Aiesha was hard on herself. She threw herself in to training all the more. When missions took her away, in to the wilderness outside of the kingdom, she was first to volunteer. If she could not find Satakhetem then she could empower herself, prove herself to those around her, and make up for her short-comings from that day through tenacity and dedication.
And maybe, Gods be willing, she'd find some sign of Satakhetem in the process.
She was coming in from one of her many patrols, the sunlight having diminished considerably. Aiesha had hoped to time things in this way - she did not want to hear the prayers that filled the palace, not tonight.
A brief rain had swept through the high hills as she'd drawn close to the obelisk, and as she found the well-trod path in to Satriya, it appeared to flicker and end. She slipped beneath the eye of idling guards. She nodded to some faces, and was welcomed with a nod or a grunt.
Her lodging had changed, by her own request. She did not head for the civilian housing or the place that had once been her father's; she had found herself her own space, somewhere between the spacious barracks for the mazoi and one of the oft-forgotten visitor's rooms.
She drew herself to her bed, which had not been touched in days now, and moved to settle there; but she could not relax, and was on her feet within minutes, puttering and plotting.
Weeks spent hunting the wasteland, or going as far as she could between her lessons and her duties. When Aiesha was late one too many times, she felt the sting of correction, and the weight of her failure all the more. When it became clear that Satakhetem wasn't just hiding out within the palace - but that she was [i]absent entirely|| - Aiesha expected to be made an example of.
She berated herself for her failure to guard. For her inability to see through the word of divinity, as if she could have prevented any of this. Despite her failure, very little changed in her day-to-day once it was found out; in fact, there appeared to be a lightness to the palace, a gaiety to Khaemwaset and Merneith, without the yoke of expectation around their neck.
Regardless, Aiesha was hard on herself. She threw herself in to training all the more. When missions took her away, in to the wilderness outside of the kingdom, she was first to volunteer. If she could not find Satakhetem then she could empower herself, prove herself to those around her, and make up for her short-comings from that day through tenacity and dedication.
And maybe, Gods be willing, she'd find some sign of Satakhetem in the process.
She was coming in from one of her many patrols, the sunlight having diminished considerably. Aiesha had hoped to time things in this way - she did not want to hear the prayers that filled the palace, not tonight.
A brief rain had swept through the high hills as she'd drawn close to the obelisk, and as she found the well-trod path in to Satriya, it appeared to flicker and end. She slipped beneath the eye of idling guards. She nodded to some faces, and was welcomed with a nod or a grunt.
Her lodging had changed, by her own request. She did not head for the civilian housing or the place that had once been her father's; she had found herself her own space, somewhere between the spacious barracks for the mazoi and one of the oft-forgotten visitor's rooms.
She drew herself to her bed, which had not been touched in days now, and moved to settle there; but she could not relax, and was on her feet within minutes, puttering and plotting.
