Annabeth Neverending by Leyla Kader Dahm Page A

high priest, and they have selected a different betrothed for Ana,” he discloses.
    Nefertari’s eyes go so wide I fear they will fall from their sockets. It looks as though Majesty Mother has seen the ghosts of our ancestors. This was never her plan, and clearly my father did not seek her counsel on the subject, which is bizarre, as my marital status has always been one of her primary concerns.
    “Fear not, my dearest. Baketmut shall secure your rightful place as first family.”
    Majesty Mother tries to look placated, but it appears that there will be no pleasing her. She never desired Baketmut to be the queen. She always wanted me to take on her mantle, carry on the tradition, experience the glory.
    I may be childish in some ways, but Majesty Mother has always said that I have the potential to be a fine ruler. Baketmut is sorely deficient in that area. She is too insecure and too vindictive to help rule an empire. And my mother always anticipated that I would be a good influence on Amun. But she will encourage him, aid him in extrapolating his worst qualities…Who shall reign him in now?
    “Tell me, Majesty Father. Who will share my bed? Who shall be my master?” I beg, wanting to know but wishing I could not know, fear clutching me.
    “Kha. Kha of Luxor.”
    “My daughter shall wed the son of a scribe? Kha is doing this because I would not betrothe Ana to him before.”
    I had no idea that Kha had designs on me since the days of our youth or that my mother had spurned them. Now it all falls into place. It was a scheme of his. Born of vengeance.
    Suddenly, I feel as though the ground may swallow me right where I stand. And in a way, I would welcome it. The four statues of Ramses are shaking their heads at the news.
    Are they shedding tears of despair?
    Are they made of blood?
    I look toward those around me, but they do not seem to notice. Why am I the only one witnessing this? The statues are most certainly weeping in deep, red streams.
    I cringe, gasping for air. Ramses smiles his somewhat terrifying grin and moves off, now that he has given his decision. In his mind, what is done is done, and he cares little for the repercussions. Nefertari puts her arm around me as the stark reality of my new circumstance sets in.
    “So Kha was not helping me. He was helping himself,” I say, despondent.
    He acted as though he was going to extend me some choice, some hope, but it was all a manipulation. He found an opportunity and swooped in to take advantage of my weakness and despair. Perhaps he was well intentioned once, but now his motivations seem…wrong.
    “Will you not to speak Majesty Father on my behalf?”
    “You know as well as I that it would be a futile effort,” Majesty Mother says abruptly. She has distanced herself from my plight in much the same way my father has. I suppose that to rule, one must mute his or her emotions, push away all feeling.
    The thought of Kha’s touch does not repel me, and to make love to him would not be an abomination. Yet I fear him as much as I fear Amun. Only, it is a different kind of dread. A far deeper concern. Amun made me fear for my body; Kha makes me worry for my soul.
    A discontented yet resigned Nefertari walks off to reunite with Majesty Father just as Kha appears like an apparition, materializing from the shadows as something from a nightmare. Surely his ears were burning to know we were discussing him.
    “Are you not contented to hear the news, dearest Ana?” Kha asks, his eyebrow raised inquisitively.
    I bow in deference. Or is it defeat? “I have never known such happiness.”
    “You feel little affection for me now, but I will win your heart. I swear on the tomb of my forefathers that it shall be so.”
    And I force a smile, as if to agree, as if this could really happen, though it never will.
    Inwardly, I find the thought of my newfound marital obligation abhorrent. In truth, so long as it is anyone but Sethe, I will never be satisfied. I will never be