Free Shadows on the Aegean by Suzanne Frank Page B

are merely a vessel.” He sighed. “What a pity your
     god will not allow you the honor of realizing your gift and accepting it as your own.”
    “It is not mine,” Ipiankhu began their common argument.
    Pharaoh waved him away. “I have no heart for your words today. Go, do what you must to interpret. I shall not see your face
     in court until you know why I have had this dream.”
    “But the Aztlan envoy, My Majesty—”
    “What do you have assistants for? Surely you have trained at least one Egyptian to parry Aztlan’s threats and smile through
     bared teeth?”
    Ipiankhu bowed and backed from Pharaoh’s sight—there was no need to respond. Once on the other side of the double doors he
     swore. Responsibility weighed on him; Aztlan was pressing dangerously, and he and Imhotep had to defend Egypt … somehow.
    Ipiankhu’s anger was washed away by something more potent. A call more visceral, more urgent, than desire or marital devotion,
     daily duties or fleeting power.
Forget not your first love
. The unmistakable whisper filled his head. With quick commands he delegated his day’s duties, then Ipiankhu prepared to meet
     with his Unknown God.

    AZTLAN
    P HOEBUS FEINTED TO THE RIGHT , catching his opponent in the chest with a prong of his triton. The Mariner fell, and Phoebus pulled back. “That is enough,”
     he said, handing a serf the tall metal staff with its covered tines. “A good match.”
    “My gratitude, Golden One,” the Mariner said, bowing.
    Phoebus, Rising Golden Bull of the Aztlan empire, looked up at the balcony, where Niko, his dearest friend, was engrossed
     in a scroll. Though practice had gone well, and Phoebus was certain to be ready for the ceremony, he was disappointed that
     Irmentis had not come in. Hadn’t she been here, clinging to the shadows, the safety of the torch-lit chamber? He thought he
     had felt her gaze on him, almost as tangible as a touch.
    Pushing his long blond hair away from his face, he accepted a damp linen from a serf and wiped away sweat from the fake battle.
     The Season of the Snake had been warm this year, a strange omen that no one knew how—or dared—to interpret. Phoebus swallowed
     hard at the thought of the upcoming rituals. He was nineteen; he had spent his whole life training for this, the
Megaloshana’a
, the Great Year.
    “Pateeras, Pateeras!”
    Phoebus turned when he heard his firstborn’s call. “Eumelos!” The boy launched himself into Phoebus’ arms, embracing him with
     the sticky heat of a child. For a few moments the pride Phoebus felt, knowing that this squirming bundle of intelligence and
     impulsiveness was his, threatened to send him to his knees in gratitude.
    Eumelos belonged to Phoebus, the one thing his stepmother, Ileana, could not claim. He was Phoebus’ greatest joy. Though he
     would not inherit the throne because he was not born of the mother-goddess, he would sit on the Council someday. Smiling through
     sudden tears, Phoebus looked at his son. His hair was blond, like Phoebus’, his eyes the same sky blue. At five summers his
     face was still gently rounded with childhood, but soon he would boast the sharp lines and prominent nose of his clan. He would
     be the living image of Phoebus.
    Spiralmaster even thought the boy showed oracular potential, a trait gleaned from his aunt Sibylla, Phoebus guessed.
    The boy pulled away. “That last move was really surprising,
Pateeras,”
he said, imitating Phoebus’ feint and slice. “I have watched for moons and I never saw that before! That should really take
     them.” Eumelos danced around, his thin body fluid as he dodged and stabbed invisible opponents. “Are you ready to fight the
     bull?”
    “I
dance
with the Apis bull, Eumelos. Fighting is only man to man.”
    “I wish I could dance with the bull someday,” Eumelos said wistfully.
    Phoebus dismissed the serfs with a snap of his fingers. “You are destined for great things. Dancing with the bull…” He trailed