Lord of the Two Lands by Judith Tarr

royal blood but not queen, nor would ever be. That, she had known since she was small; she had never been aught but glad of it.
    High above her a hawk screamed. Horus-falcon, who watched over the Great House, whose eyes were the sun and the moon. His wings stretched from horizon to horizon. His voice filled the sky.
    And yet the heart of it was silence. And in that silence, presence.
    Very slowly, very carefully, Meriamon lifted her head. Amon, she thought. Hidden one. Wind-god, sky-god. Lord of the ram, king of the gods, whose face was the sun.
    No . A whisper, softer than wind in the reeds, gentler than water lapping its banks. Nile water, Nile reeds, under a sky that knew no cloud, and stars that never hid their faces.
    No, child . Soft as a mother’s voice, soft as sleep. It was everywhere about her. It had no face, no mortal semblance at all. It was simply, purely presence. It wrapped her about. It cleansed her of grief. It comforted her; it gave her strength. All that sleep could give, it gave her, and more than that. It made her, however briefly, whole.
    o0o
    Meriamon opened her eyes. The nightlamp had spent its oil. The camp was not quiet, it was never that, but its clamor had muted. Even in her walls of silk she could sense the coming of dawn.
    She lay on her back and stretched, arching against the cushions. Sekhmet walked the length of her body, light-footed, lambent-eyed. Meriamon swept her up and laughed, and stopped, startled. She felt—by every god and goddess, she felt as if she could sing.
    The rags of her dream frayed and vanished. There had been wings in it, serpent-eyes, a voice—
    She sat up, shaking her hair out of her face. The air was cold. She sprang shivering out of her warm blankets, snatching boots and cloak. It was early for her bath, but she was in no mood to wait for it. She pulled on trousers and shirt, blowing on icy fingers to warm them, wrapping herself tightly in her mantle.
    It was an hour yet till sunrise. Those who had to be up were moving quickly, muttering at the cold. Those who could afford to sleep were doing it, cherishing the last bit of warm darkness before the trumpets called them to the light.
    At the door of the tent, Meriamon paused. The lump of blanket just inside it was snoring in Niko’s rhythm. Her toe itched to dig into his side, to rouse him to his king-given duty.
    She took pity on him. She stepped over him into the cold still air. Even the sea was as quiet as it could ever be, the stars fading, the wind asleep.
    A shadow filled her shadow. Jackal-teeth gleamed; sulfur-eyes laughed. It was strong as she was, replete with running and the hunt. It brushed her back with warm fingers. She smiled over her shoulder.
    Something loomed behind it. She started. Her shadow bared its teeth.
    She quelled it, though her heart beat hard with shock.
    Niko’s eyes were huge, his voice a croak. “What—what in the name of—”
    It was all she could do not to burst out laughing. He looked like a half-fledged bird: all limbs and eyes and startlement, with his hair standing up in tufts and his blanket trailing behind. He shivered convulsively, but never thought to cover himself. She did it for him.
    He shied, and stopped, eyes rolling white. She tucked in the edges of his blanket, careful of his splinted arm. “There,” she said. “Now you won’t freeze.”
    His teeth clicked together. “What in the name of Hades was that?”
    “What?” she asked.
    Her eyes dared him to press her. He looked as if he was going to; but he was stronger than that. Or more prudent.
    “I’m going for a walk,” she said. “You needn’t come with me. I’ll be quite safe.”
    For answer he stepped out past her, picking up his spear as he went by it, and stood waiting.
    He stayed out of her shadow. Wise man. She did not feel any better protected for that he was there, but neither was she displeased. Her shadow, like Sekhmet, found him fascinating. Great tawny-furred creature like a yearling lion,