L

SCATTERED PETALS ARE A WHISPERING blanket of vibrant red and blue and purple, their gentle shifting underfoot occasionally reflected in the black mirror of the obsidian statues and obelisks dotted around eastern Duat. The vivid colours compliment the chattering and giddy laughter permeating the city as people all but dance to their respective feasts with their departed loved ones, lit by Ka’s deep golden glow that represents the last fading of the light outside.

“They grow all these on the upper levels?” I nudge a few petals with my foot.

“Somewhere in the temple, I believe.” Netiqret’s expression and body language matches that of those around us, a joyful energy to it that I know is feigned only because I know her. “Every year for the Return, iunctii emerge with great baskets to scatter them along the main paths. There’s no space in the Apex, so I can only assume.”

I grunt. The upper level of Duat is where the majority of the iunctii serve, droves leaving from the west each day via the great staircase, a solemn procession of white. All to sow and harvest indoor crops that still grow, despite being sealed away from the sun. From what Ahmose has described, it’s an extraordinarily large version of Qabr’s garden. “And this is their only purpose?”

“As far as I know.” She must see my distaste for the excess because she shakes her head, ever so slightly. Smile still firmly in place as she scans the way ahead. “Look happy. Excited. Ka is showing his benevolence and power, and you’re on your way to seeing relatives who you get to speak to only once every year.”

I adjust my fine tunic—covering the uncomfortably sheer dancer’s garb that would draw far too much attention, with me accompanying the clearly noble Netiqret—and do as she says. Ahmose trails us at a respectful distance, wrapped in white. One of many iunctii on the street. It would be improper to speak to him directly in public, but tonight is one night he won’t seem at all out of place here.

We press on, easily avoiding the few Overseers that are out: Netiqret says the majority will be monitoring the bridge and surrounding area, ensuring every iunctus that comes east is carefully noted. Still, I’m pleased to find that after practicing for the past couple of months, my navigational instincts are coming close to matching Netiqret’s. Keep my pace ambling, allowing it to speed up or slow as necessary. Steer just far enough from the hawker desperately trying to sell the last of his wares, screaming at anyone who passes within twenty feet of him. Cross the street early to avoid the man already drunk, staggering as he walks. The two of us drift through the throng as the faintest of unremarked breezes.

Just as the gold-tinted heads of the three great stone statues of Ka guarding the entrance come into view, the crowds congealing, Netiqret slides us to the side toward a smaller structure, entrance shielded from the street. In the small pocket of privacy, she presses some symbols on the doorframe and it slides away to reveal a staircase. We’re quickly through and heading down.

“Stay alert,” she murmurs as the door shuts behind us.

My body relaxes, dropping the façade of cheer as my eyes strain ahead. “I thought you said it would be clear.”

“I said it should be. But I haven’t been here in…” She flashes a grimace, catching herself, then nods to me brusquely. “Time to change clothes.”

I file away the rare mistake and swiftly shed my covering outer layer, shivering at the abrupt removal of warmth, and hand it to Ahmose. Briefly check my Vitaeria are still securely strapped around my thigh, the only way to hide them, as the iunctus unwraps his white coverings and then slips the tunic on with motions that drip with reluctance. We’ve had discussions—arguments—about this part several times over the past few weeks, but it’s still hard to blame him. What he’s doing is blasphemy, and though he knows Ka is not a god, I imagine a lifetime of ingrained belief remains hard to ignore.

“The Overseers are far more interested in iunctii, tonight,” I reassure him quietly. “They’d notice you walking by yourself.”

“I know.” He smooths the tunic. Forces a smile as Netiqret, seeing he’s ready, opens the way back to the street. “And flow,” he calls softly over his shoulder as he exits. “Remember to flow.”

I gesture rudely at him as the closing door takes him from sight.

Netiqret and I press on, down the stairs and into the familiar triangular shape of Duat’s tunnel system. The older woman leads, silent, and I don’t bother her with questions despite the temptation to rehash some of what I’ve already asked over the past three months. I’m placing far more trust in her than I’d like. She’s been constantly cagey about too many of tonight’s details. Too vague about how we’re meant to achieve our goals.

But every time I’ve pushed, every time I’ve questioned, she has observed that I know all I need to. That it is her right to keep her secrets, just as it’s mine to keep mine. She even offered transparency, once. An exchange of admissions, if I went first. I refused.

The tunnel beneath the street is short and without passageways, evidently meant only as a secondary entrance to the temple. We soon climb stairs on the far side and reach a blank, black wall.

“What now?” I frown at our reflections in the obsidian.

“We wait.”

I’m too tense to be properly irritated, and entirely accustomed to Netiqret’s vagueness. “Any chance you can explain what you really want me to do, then, once we’re inside?”

She examines me. “Not really.”

“Why not just tell me?”

“Because there is still a better than even chance that this doesn’t work.” She meets my gaze unflinchingly. “Because I can survive Ka knowing my face, but not my intent. If you are caught he will kill you, and then he will wring from you every scrap of information, every half-forgotten truth about me and about everyone and everything you have ever known. I have told you many times that my distance for these past months is not an indictment on your character, Siamun. I quite like you. Admire you, even. I simply don’t believe you’ll benefit from foreknowledge or preparation, and so it is not worth my risking.”

I stare at my reflection in the black wall. Angry, on instinct, at her stoking of my fear instead of simply saying no again.

Then I pause. Push aside my own anxiety and let my eyes slide to her slightly warped, shadowy image lit by the cool white lines around us. Netiqret rarely says this much all at once. Rarely reacts to anything I say.

Her expression is placid, almost bored. But the more I consider, the more I think she’s nervous too, beneath it all.

I’m not sure if that makes me feel any better.

“You’re sure someone’s actually going to let us in? I thought you said the temple was—”

My question’s cut off and answered by shuddering movement in the obsidian, and even Netiqret starts at the abrupt intrusion. The dark mirror folds away to allow harp music and the chatter of voices into the tunnel, and then revealing a woman of perhaps thirty years on the other side. Eyes perfectly shadowed with kohl, a tasteful blush to her cheeks. She flinches as she takes us in.

“My payment?” She whispers it, though there’s no one else around. Behind her is a small room, obsidian too, but covered in glowing glyphs.

“By the end of the night.” Netiqret is serene as ever.

The stranger hesitates, then jerks her head for us to follow. We trail a few steps behind.

“So that’s it? All of Ka’s security, and you can just pay to get past it?” I murmur.

“People, Siamun. People are always the weakest part of any system.” Netiqret glides along, looking perfectly at ease in the rich surrounds. A subtle change in her posture, her demeanour, and she’s as unremarkable here as she was on the street. “Remember that this is only the outer section of the complex, though.”

I keep my head down as we walk, a respectful step behind Netiqret. A performer in unfamiliar surrounds, deferring to my better. We leave the room and pass the uncurious eyes of the Ka-shabti; many are already drunk, and occasionally there are pairs of tangled, writhing limbs in not-quite-dark-enough alcoves. I ignore it all. Netiqret has already warned me that in here, the celebration night of the Return is not one of austerity and restraint.

Ahead, our guide stops in the discreet shadows of a colonnade and waits for Netiqret to join her. “Him.” She gives the barest of motions to a young man enjoying the attentions of several giggling women. A Ka-shabti no older than me, muscled and handsome, a standout even among the young and beautiful on display here.

Netiqret examines him. “Very well. You can go.”

The woman hurries off, looking relieved.

Netiqret and I stand in the darkness a few moments longer. I watch the man that was pointed out. “What are you going to do?”

“You know the answer.”

“Don’t.” I turn, search her face for something. Some sign that she’s hesitant. “There has to be another way.”

“You know there is not.” Neither shame nor pride in the statement. “Betrest has money. Influence. Admiration. Iunctii to serve her. The problem is that none of it moves her, anymore. None of it excites or even pleases her. She is risking her own death and afterlife in helping us. Only the lure of more could persuade her to do that. Only the lust for that which she cannot own.” She shrugs. “No way to control the hearts of others until they no longer beat, unfortunately.”

I feel a rising frustration. “You knew I’d object.”

“Which is why you were not consulted.” She studies me. Expression light and unassuming, as if we were talking about the weather. “You know what I do, and yet here we are. So I already know your distaste has practical limits. Let this one pass, Siamun. Now isn’t the time.”

She leads on. I take a lingering last look at the young man in the centre of the courtyard, hate that she’s right, and follow.

“You will need to be quick, once you’re inside the sanctum,” Netiqret says in a low voice as we navigate a maze of corridors which she’s either memorized, or is somehow familiar with. Smooth, assured movements, no hesitation. It’s busy, but no one even glances at us. “Keep clear of the Ka-shabti. Especially the older ones. If you’re alone and catch someone’s eye, they may decide to take you off to a dark corner, no matter your responsibilities.”

“Oh.” I shudder. “I take it politely saying no won’t be an option.”

“It will not.”

I exhale softly. “But there won’t be any Overseers once we’re in?”

“No. Tonight, for the Ka-shabti, the eyes of Ka are turned away.” She glances around. A darting, anxious motion, the first outward sign of nerves from her I’ve seen. “Security this deep will be as lax as it ever is.” She nods to a door in the distance up ahead. A lone Overseer stands implacably in front of it. “This is it.”

I glance around. There are fewer iunctii around than I expected, but enough; one is hurrying along on some task not ten feet away. I step to the side, touch her arm and imbue her with the majority of my Will before commanding her to stop. It’s as easy as breathing, now.

“Alright.” The Overseer will actively be checking faces; neither Netiqret nor I could get close to it without raising an alarm. But Netiqret’s attack on Ahmose when we first met was not entirely without reward, even if I’d never admit it. “See you inside.”

Netiqret glances from the iunctus to me, then nods. “See you inside.”

THE STATELY WOMAN WITH THICK makeup and wig impatiently stalks the line of dancers. A dozen of us, eight girls. I am one of the few who could be counted as even vaguely clothed. I am probably also the oldest.

I keep my chin up and eyes straight, even as I try to look relaxed. Confident. The makeup Netiqret applied, and the long-haired wig she carefully fitted, means I don’t stand out much among this group. They are all built differently from me, though. Slimmer. Still athletic, but more acrobats than fighters.

“I am Zai. If you wish to dance in the Sanctum of Ka, you must first dance for me. You.” She stops in front of a girl with long, tightly bound brown hair. “Show me the Water and the Moon.”

The girl steps forward obediently. Lithe and light on her feet. She doesn’t hesitate as she launches into a running, spinning leap, her hands flickering in fluid mimicry of a stream as Zai starts snapping out a beat.

I watch. As entranced as I am assessing. There’s nothing artificial or forced about her movements. Energy and youthful joy and naked athleticism. A freedom I’m not sure I could ever replicate. I would appreciate the artistry even if I hadn’t spent the past two months trying to capture what she seems to do so effortlessly.

She finishes, flushed. Sees me watching and smiles pointedly. I feel myself flushing too. Perhaps my staring was a little too enthusiastic.

“Good.” Zai jerks her thumb to the side, and the girl skips over against the wall. Then the woman points at a younger-looking boy a few places down from me. “You. The Battle of Amun-Tol.”

The boy is good too, if not quite as much beauty to his movements as the first. More athletic. Higher leaps and spins, a flawless somersault to finish in place of the more simple flourish I’ve been taught. He’s sent to stand next to the girl.

Four more are called before me. I maintain my façade, massaging the oddly aching ring finger on my right hand. Nerves jangling at every choice. Three are directed to stand with the first two. The other is dismissed after faltering mid-dance, apparently forgetting some of the steps. She begs to begin again, says it is one of the few she does not know well. I can believe it; she was otherwise as talented as the first girl. But Zai is firm.

“You. The Crocodile Hunts.”

Vek.

I step forward. I’m lucky; The Crocodile Hunts is probably my best dance, mainly because it’s one of the simplest. Lots of violent and jerky movements, only spurts of the fluidity that Ahmose insists I lack.

Zai initiates the beat with three sharp claps, and I begin.

It is, I feel, the best I have ever danced. The motions are second nature to me and I throw myself into them, allowing the sheer cloth to flow and snap around me. I forget the audience, the stakes. I am the gods-damned crocodile.

A minute passes in a blur and then I’m finished, breathing hard, holding the final pose. Finally, I dare to look up.

“Well. You know the movements.” Zai is examining me with a pained expression. There is a pregnant pause and then she sighs, waving me over to the wall. “Only at the end of the night. When everyone is drunk.” Her mouth twists. “Very, very drunk.”

I duck my head, using thankfulness to hide my sheer relief, and hurry across before she changes her mind. The girl who smiled at me before seems suddenly far more interested in studying the ground. A couple of others look openly displeased as I join them against the wall.

It doesn’t matter. I’m not here to impress them.

I’m in.