Free Servant of the Gods by Valerie Douglas Page B

Kamenwati’s avid eyes on her.
    Then the tales had stopped and Khai had feared her fate…
    To see her now, whole and alive? Relief filled him. Such as Kamenwati had offered her shouldn’t have befallen so true a warrior. If Khai could have spared her that he would have. Now though she stood high among the priests, standing second only to Banafrit. She’d come far in the years since last he’d seen her.
    He nodded slightly in acknowledgement, with a small smile, inordinately pleased at the sight of her, and alive. But more…she was still beautiful to look upon. Even more so than he remembered, it seemed.
    Khai remembered well the first night they’d brought her to him. She’d been as lovely then as now. Fine linen graced her slender, full-breasted body, trailing almost to her sandal-clad feet. Her hair streamed like sunlight over her kalasaris, the beads on it and those braided into her hair a match for the color of her eyes, so like the sky… She was incredible, her kohl-rimmed eyes brilliant in the torchlight. Gold lay against her throat and hung from her ears, but could not rival her hair for brightness.
    The memory of their last night, of touching her and being touched, moved through him and his body tightened…
    Gravely, but with her brilliant eyes sparkling, she lowered her head with a small smile to answer his own, clearly having noted his rise in status as he’d noted hers and as pleased to see it.
    That was gratifying as well, that she held nothing against him for her period of enslavement.
    With difficulty, Irisi drew her eyes away.
    Anticipation was so thick in the air it was nearly palpable. Folk chattered and whispered to each other, speculating. Wondering. Fearful looks and wards against the evil eye were pointed surreptitiously at Kamenwati, in hopes the gesture might ward off any chance of his ascension to the throne.
    Music played as servants and slaves offered delicacies. Dancers spun, their cymbals rang, feet and skirts flying as other dignitaries arrived to fill the hall, each with his or her own attendants.
    Another group of entertainers tumbled in from among those in the hall, the flute players doing standing somersaults, others bounding into handsprings, cartwheels as some of the men spun on their toes, arms outstretched. It was a fine display of acrobatic skill. There were gasps of appreciation and wonder around the room.
    However, the last of the guests had arrived. Narmer gave a nod and the trumpeters blew a light fanfare as he rose to his feet, clapping his hands for attention.
    This was most unusual, Narmer himself speaking.
    For some reason, Irisi glanced back at Kamenwati and saw him frown a little, his eyes narrowing in a clear displeasure and dismay before he shuttered his expression.
    Kamenwati didn’t like it. It was most unusual for Narmer to speak for himself. Nor had Narmer spoken to him of this save to summon him to the palace. He’d been suspicious of such a thing, though. To break protocol in such a way… Somehow it boded ill. And he didn’t like that one bit. Still, he’d prepared, just in case.
    The hall fell silent as the King came to his feet.
    “Many of you have counseled that I should name my heir,” Narmer said, gesturing at his many advisors, Kamenwati among them, and the priestesses and priests. “And many has been the debate as to who that should or shall be. I’m happy to announce that today I shall name that one. To my joy and pleasure, my beloved Suten Hime, Paniwi, is with child.”
    The words couldn’t have come as more of a surprise to anyone there, least of all Kamenwati.
    Paniwi had tried to conceive many times and miscarried three, to great grieving through all of Egypt. If they were making this announcement, though, then the worst days had passed. They were certain. Standing, Paniwi smoothed her hands over her robes, revealing her swelling belly. She smiled radiantly.
    Kamenwati went rigid, his stomach curdling. Rage turned his vision red and