How much time did we spend like this? Minutes? Hours? Did it matter? How long did we laugh, splashing water around and telling each other stories?
“Look, I’m an undyne,” he drawled, rising from the water, rose petals clinging to his inky hair. He grabbed me while I pretended to be frightened and carried me out of the pool.
The next thing I knew, I was lying on a fluffy towel spread out over the platform at the center.
Emrys was rubbing my back with rose oil, his deft fingers unknotting every sore muscle, massaging away every ache. My limbs were heavy from our love-making, and my eyes closing.
“I still remember how bruised and beaten you arrived at Duskmere Manor,” he said, lost in memories. “All the scratches and bruises—they’re all gone now. And I’d never let anyone hurt you again, Daphne Draymoore.” His hands cupped my backside, squeezing my flesh. “But in the name of all old, forgotten gods, I could never resist you when you’re lying naked before me.” He leaned forward to kiss the back of my neck, and I felt his strained cock against me. I lifted my hips, eager to sense more, the inside of my thighs already slick. He pulled me to the edge of the dais and aligned himself against my dripping opening. Without a word, he slid inside me, making me gasp. The thrill of being taken in this position sent jolts of pleasure through all my cells. Our bodies, slick with sweat and fragrant massage oil, glided against each other. The soft towel brushed against my breasts and stomach, and Emrys slid a hand around my waist, reaching between my legs to my clit. His fingers circled it gently while he pumped with savage ferocity, the contrast making my brain shut down. When the waves of pleasure swept me away, and I clenched around him, he unleashed himself. And this time, my name onhis lips was not a prayer or a memory; it was a claim, a promise of blood and magic.
The night of Cairo swallowed our laughter when we walked back to the Minaret later. It was past midnight; the moon's crescent grin shone brightly above us. I looked over my shoulder now and then, but his warm, calloused hand around mine made me feel safe.
For the first time, I trusted my fate—believed I was exactly where I was meant to be, that the path I’d chosen was the right one. And with that came a quiet, rising power.
Whatever tomorrow held, I was ready to face it.
Daphne
Of Salt and Memory
Emrys and I strode into the main room, holding hands. Orren pinched Camille’s thigh under the table, and she looked up at us, her face splitting in a sly grin. Maerya’s expression didn’t change. Her eyes, framed with kohl, didn’t lift from the old parchment. Nibble was dosing off, perched on a white polished skull on the bookshelf.
“The lovebirds have landed,” she muttered. Nibble twitched, cracked one eye at the word “birds,” and promptly went back to sleep. Orren pulled two chairs for us. “Here’s the map, Emrys. Tell us where the Surge will happen. Then we talk about defenses.”
Emrys silently studied the map and tapped on the lines drawn with faded ink. “It’ll be here. And it’s our last chance. Next Surge with such intensity will be in hundred and ten years.”
All eyes moved to me—the mortal who somehow stole a fragment of Emrys’s magic. I swallowed. By that time, I’d be dust. This was our only chance.
“The Salt Womb chamber,” Maerya said, playing with a large agate ring.
My brows climbed up. “The Salt Womb?”
Maerya traced a crescent on the map with her finger, stopping at the central chamber. “It’s not only a room—it’s a reliquary. A sanctum. Every pharaoh and noble passed through there. Salt to dry the flesh, oils to preserve the soul. The priestesses sang until their throats bled.”
I blinked. “Sang?”
“To confuse the spirit,” Maerya said. “So it wouldn’t find its way back to the body. Otherwise, it lingered. Bitter. Hungry.”
“That’s dark,” Orren muttered, sharpening a viciously curved blade.
“Oh, that’s just the beginning.” Maerya smirked. “They stored the intestines in alabaster jars. The lungs were dried with clove smoke. They filled the skull with wine and honey before sealing the mouth shut.”
“Why honey?” Camille asked.
“To sweeten the breath in the afterlife,” Maerya replied. “Or maybe to keep the corpse from whispering. Hard to say.”
I froze. “Whispering?”
Maerya looked at me, her dark eyes glowing. “They believed voices lingered in the bones. Especially in the jaw. So they sealed the mouths with gold or linen soaked in pitch.” She glanced at Emrys. “Some were sealed with curses, too.”
“Charming,” Emrys scoffed.
“Oh, I haven’t even told you about the heart jars,” Maerya said with a smile, her multiple jewelry and trinkets clinking. “Some hearts were swapped with scorpions or beetles. For traitors, mostly. One priest had his heart replaced with ash. A message to the gods.”
“I’d like to do that to the Renegade,” Orren said, cracking his knuckles. “Just... with less singing.”
“You can hum if you’d like,” Camille added sweetly. “I’m sure the gods appreciate some variety.”
“I’ll sing if we make it out alive,” Orren grunted.
