He entered his home and made his way to Sheritra’s suite. The guard at her door admitted him without demur and he walked into a blaze of lamplight. Sheritra sat at her cosmetic table, a place Hori knew that she seldom bothered to occupy. She was dressed in a white, gold-shot sheath of many flounces that shimmered as she breathed. Gold thongs held her sandals to her feet, twined like snakes about her arms and encircled the waist-length braids of her wig. She is sitting straight, Hori thought as he came up to her. She turned with a smile and Hori successfully hid his astonishment, for her face had been painted a fashionable yellow. Gold dust clung to her eyelids, and black kohl rimmed them flatteringly. Her mouth had been hennaed a rich red. “You look breath-taking,” he said. “Do we have official guests tonight?” He flung himself onto her couch, arms behind his head, his favourite spot during the hours they would while away together, and she gave a shriek.
“Hori! My sheets! You are filthy and sweaty!”
He ignored her indignation. “Well? Guests?”
Those lips, familiar yet foreign in their new adornment, curved upwards. “No. I just felt like taking a few pains with my appearance tonight.” A hint of defensiveness crept into her tone. “What of it?”
“Nothing,” he assured her hastily. “I like it very much. But why, Sheritra?” Even her father did not have the freedom with her to ask such a question, but Hori knew that her heart was open to him. He was her elder brother, her friend and protector against whom walls were not necessary.
She picked up a copper mirror and stared into it intently. “My eyes are not too bad with plenty of kohl to bring them forward, are they, Hori? And my lips? Coloured, are they more acceptable?”
“Sheritra …”
The mirror hit the table with a slap. She swung round. “Because I had a wonderful day in the foreigners’ quarter with Harmin. He made me feel beautiful, Hori. No one else has been able to make me feel that way. Tonight I want to look the way I feel.”
There was a new confidence to her, Hori noted. Not the old arrogance of defiance but a new awareness of herself as a woman that was not waiting to be challenged.
“Then he must have made you feel like the goddess Hathor herself,” Hori observed slowly. “And how did you make him feel, Sheritra?”
The suspicion of a blush spread under her yellow face-paint. “How do I know?” she flared. “You would have to ask him.”
“You must at least have some idea!”
For answer she rose and glided over to perch on the edge of the couch beside him. “Actually I believe that he is very fond of me indeed,” she admitted. “Oh Hori! He kissed me! What do you think of him?”
“Harmin?” Hori teased her, in order to buy himself some time.
“Who else,” Sheritra snorted. “Really, Hori!”
I do not like him, Hori thought. And I am afraid for you, little one. Yet I realize that my assessment may be tinged with guilt, because of my sudden lust for his mother. What would Harmin think of me if he knew? Hori shifted uneasily on the couch. “Well?” Sheritra pressed.
“I think he is a most extraordinary man if he can win your trust and your heart, dearest,” he answered as truthfully as he was able. “But do be careful. You do not yet know him very well.”
“I know that his eyes do not slide away from mine when he compliments me,” she said, “or when he tells me exactly what I am thinking and fearing. I am so safe with him, Hori, so at peace. I can be myself and he understands.”
O Amun, Hori thought. It is much worse than I imagined. “I am happy for you, Sheritra,” he said gently. “Please keep sharing it with me. I do love you very much.”
She kissed him swiftly, in a gush of unfamiliar perfume. “I share everything with you anyway,” she said. “Dear Hori! What do you think of Harmin’s mother? Father seems quite taken with her.”
Hod sat up and clasped his knees. His muscles were beginning to stiffen with the day’s violent exercise and he massaged his calves absently. “I had forgotten that you were with him when he first saw her,” he mused. “She is beautiful, of course, in an odd way …”
Sheritra glanced at him keenly. “So she has caught your interest too, has she?” she said. “I like her, for she treats me as an equal, not a shy fool. But if I were you or Father …” She hesitated.
“What?”
“She is that rare kind of woman who can inspire obsession in a man, but there is something else about her, some mystery, a thing not quite nice. If I were you or Father I would be on my guard.” She spoke simply and seriously, and Hori stared at her. I do not know about Father, he thought miserably, but for me it is already too late. I want to be with her, watch her. He got off the couch.