Nefertari’s POV
The Temple of Ptah smelled of incense and ambition.
I found my stepfather in his private sanctum, surrounded by scrolls and ritual implements that gleamed dully in the lamplight. He didn't look up when I entered—never did, unless I brought something valuable. Tonight, I had exactly that.
"She's manifesting."
That got his attention. Ptahmose set down his reed pen and fixed me with those calculating eyes that had guided our family's rise for three decades.
"Explain."
"Powers. Divine ones." I settled into the chair across from him, enjoying the rare moment of having something he wanted. "Three days ago, she touched a dying flower in the garden. It bloomed instantly. She passed a grieving servant and somehow knew the woman's dead mother's name, details about her life, things she couldn't possibly have learned."
"You witnessed this yourself?"
"The flower, yes. The servant incident I heard from palace gossip—but the girl Iti has been telling anyone who'll listen. She thinks the Queen is either a goddess or a demon." I smiled. "Opinion seems divided."
Ptahmose rose and moved to his window, hands clasped behind his back. The posture of a man whose plans were shifting.
"And since then?"
"She's locked herself in her chambers. Pharaoh has been bringing experts—healers, scholars, priests from every temple in Thebes. None of them leave looking satisfied." I paused, savoring my next words. "Her hands glow, Father. Silver light, visible through her door. The servants are terrified."
"Nephthys awakens." Ptahmose spoke the words like a prayer. Or a curse. "We anticipated this might happen eventually, but not so soon. The mark was supposed to remain dormant for years."
"Horus's ultimatum may have accelerated the process. Divine attention draws divine response."
He turned to face me, and I saw something I rarely saw in my stepfather's expression: genuine excitement beneath the careful mask.
"Do you understand what this means? A mortal woman with awakening divine essence—not just bearing the mark, but actively channeling Nephthys's power. She's no longer merely the vessel who freed Seth. She's becoming something new. Something unprecedented."
"Something valuable?"
"Beyond measure." He began to pace, his mind clearly racing through possibilities. "The Osiris priests want her as leverage against Seth—a tool to re-bind him, nothing more. But there are others who would see greater potential. The Horus faction seeks weapons against chaos. The remnants of the old cults hunger for any connection to divine power. And there are collectors—wealthy men in foreign lands who would pay fortunes for access to a human vessel actively manifesting a goddess's abilities."
I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the evening air. "You're talking about selling her."
"I'm talking about options." Ptahmose stopped pacing and fixed me with a hard stare. "Horus's ultimatum puts all of Egypt at risk. Divine wrath doesn't discriminate between the guilty and innocent. If Pharaoh won't surrender her willingly—and he's made his position clear—perhaps she needs to... disappear. Removed from the equation before the full moon, taken somewhere her powers can be studied, extracted, used properly."
"Extracted?"
"There are rituals. Old ones, from before the temples consolidated their power. Techniques for drawing divine essence from a mortal vessel." His eyes glittered with something that looked almost like hunger. "Dangerous, certainly. Fatal, often. But the knowledge gained would be invaluable."
"Ram will never allow it. He's barely left her side."
"Ram is one man. A man who can be distracted, deceived, or eliminated if necessary." Ptahmose returned to his desk, pulling fresh papyrus toward him. "The chaos god is more concerning. If Seth is protecting her—"
"He can't manifest physically. Not for any sustained period.” I knew this much from Ptahmose's own teachings—he'd explained it after the reformation ritual, how the chaos god had been severed from the ability to possess a body.
"Unless he finds another willing host, he's limited to smoke and shadows. He can watch her, perhaps whisper in her dreams, but he cannot physically protect her from what we're planning."
"Then he can be worked around." My stepfather began writing quick decisive strokes. "I need to contact our allies. The timeline has accelerated considerably. If Enet's powers continue developing at this rate, she'll be too dangerous to approach within days."
I watched him work, something uncomfortable stirring in my chest. I hated my sister. Had hated her since childhood, when our mother favored the golden daughter over the dutiful one. But this—selling her to strangers who would "harvest" her powers—felt different than the petty cruelties I'd imagined.
"What do you need from me?"
"Continue watching. Report anything unusual—who visits her, what she does, when she leaves her chambers. I want to know her routines, her vulnerabilities, the moments when she's least protected." He looked up from his writing. "And find out if she's been sleeping. If Seth is teaching her in dreams, we need to know what she's learning. Every new ability she masters makes her more dangerous to approach."
"How would I know if—"
"You're her attendant, aren't you? Her concerned sister, so eager to help during her difficult transformation." The mockery in his voice was familiar. Comforting, almost—this was the father I knew, the one who used everyone around him as tools. "Get close. Earn her trust if you can. Offer comfort, sympathy, whatever she needs to hear. When the time comes to move, I need her isolated from both her protectors."
"And if she won't trust me? She's not stupid, Father. She knows our history."
"Then we take her by force." Ptahmose sealed the letter he'd been writing with wax and pressed his signet ring into it—the falcon and sun symbol that marked all his correspondence. "Either way, Nefertari, your sister's fate is sealed. The only question is how much she suffers in the process—and how much we profit from her suffering."
I rose to leave, the letter clutched in my hand—instructions to be delivered to contacts I didn't know, for purposes I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to understand.
At the door, I paused. "What happens to her? After they... harvest her powers?"
"That's not our concern."
"I'm asking anyway."
Ptahmose smiled, and it was the coldest expression I'd ever seen on a human face. "Divine essence doesn't transfer cleanly, daughter. The process tends to be... consuming. But by then, she'll no longer be our problem. Only our profit."
I left the temple with the letter burning against my palm and a twist in my gut that felt uncomfortably like conscience.
Enet had always been the golden child. The favored one. Mother's precious half-Greek daughter with her unusual coloring and her quiet dignity that made my sharp edges look coarse by comparison. She'd done nothing to earn that favor—hadn't schemed for it, hadn't worked for it—and somehow that made it worse. She simply existed, and people loved her for it.
I'd wanted her brought low. Wanted her to taste the bitterness I'd swallowed my entire life. I wanted to watch that quiet dignity crumble into fear.
But consumed? Harvested? Sold to foreign collectors who would extract her essence like squeezing oil from olives?
I delivered the letter as instructed. Watched the messenger ride into the night toward destinations unknown, carrying words that might be my sister's death sentence.
And told myself it didn't matter what happened to her.
She was just my sister. Just the enemy I'd always known. Just the obstacle between me and everything I deserved.
The uncomfortable feeling in my chest would fade.
It had to.