sighed as if it were the last breath of his life. Something just happened. Something that irreversibly changed everything. And he could not even understand what it was. But he saw in the rays of the sun a figure with wings at the far arch of the garden. The smooth wall next to her now seemed like a kind of entrance to who knows where. The winged creature collected all the sunlight on itself. It shone. The left hand moved smoothly and drew some unidentified symbol high on the wall – the same hieroglyph, the meaning of which Taor did not know. And again it was written in blood. But not with the blood of Alais. A headless rattlesnake fluttered in her hands.
Sacrifice yourself
Taor saw her for just a moment, and again emptiness. It was as if an arch, entwined with olive branches, was always empty, but the crushed body of a snake lay under it. It was useless to ask Merira what the symbol inscribed in blood meant. The priest pretended not to see anything. Or he really didn’t see anything. Taor suddenly became suspicious. Previously, he was never so wary, even in war, when an outbreak of camp could be attacked at any moment and from any end. There he trusted his sentinels, as well as his own hearing and sensitivity, in case the sentries were cut. Here, in the palace, he suddenly realized that he could not trust anyone, not even himself. After all, even one’s own sight, hearing and senses can deceive. He sees what seems to be not. Hears strange hissing sounds from behind, which no one hears except him. He sees a creature that looks like a deity, which everyone worship at night, but about which no one dares to speak out loud during the day, as if he does not exist at all.
What’s going on? Intoxicated people forget about the night festivities and sacrifices in the morning? Or has a certain etiquette been introduced, because of which it is impossible to talk about it?
It would be nice to quietly leave the palace at night and walk along the night streets of the city to see what is happening there. In addition, maybe some of the ordinary townspeople will be more talkative. You will need to ask them around. Or, perhaps it is best to take a time and go to the temple of Aton, bring offerings and ask everything from the most silent deity. Suddenly it will be alive.
Taor tried to read their thoughts on the faces of the palace inhabitants. They all looked like deliberately calm masks. It was impossible to determine what emotions were hidden behind them. No facial expressions, no worries. Guests, courtiers, officials, priests – all looked as impassive as the guards at the entrances and exits of the palace. They, in fact, did not hide anything, they just avoided talking on one specific topic.
Taor sensed fear. He knew this feeling well. Over the battlefield, it often hung like a cloud, especially where they finished off the wounded and drove away the prisoners. Where it was decided to live in agony further or die right now. He knew the look of horror in the eyes of those who were about to be overtaken by a smashing blow and nothing could be done. All this was very familiar to him in bloody battles.
Here, in the luxurious setting of the palace, the fear was somehow even more palpable than on the field of the ending battle with all its bloody losses.
Internally, all these people shuddered, outwardly they behaved amazingly calm.
Taor was already thinking about how it would be better to get out of the palace tonight, when he suddenly noticed that Panahesi, anxious about something, was hurrying towards them. His white robes with gold trim fluttered as he walked. There was a scroll in his hand. Taor had a feeling that the grand vizier had long sought him. Could Merira deliberately arrange for their meeting? Somehow, very inappropriately, they ran into him. Taor himself did not want to meet with a long-time ill-wisher, but he had to. He was already prepared for the fact that now a stream of stern speeches would pour out on him.
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