The City of Memories and Pharaohs
Daphne
“W
hen in Rome do like the Romans, Daphne,” Camille said while straightening my sheer black kaftan.
The candlelight made the gold embroidery at the hems shimmer, and the white silk robe beneath flashed when I moved.
“How do you like it?” she asked, steering me to the mirror near the bed.
I gasped. Camille had transformed me into an Egyptian princess.
Golden jewelry clinked when I moved, and a black veil draped over my hair.
She had even framed my eyes with black kohl, making them pop.
I twirled around. “I move differently in these clothes.” The fabrics were cool and let me move with ease.
“Yes,” Camille said, putting away all the clothes scattered around the narrow room cluttered with all kinds of odd objects. “Who would’ve thought that corsets are not practical?”
“Need to go,” I said. “Emrys is probably waiting for me.”
She grinned at my words. “Oh, I bet he is, Daphne. I’ll make the room nice for your return. Incense, some wine, fresh sheets, just in case.”
I blushed furiously and walked to the door. “I don’t think that… would be necessary.”
“That’s because you haven’t seen how he looks at you.” She whispered with a smile and lit more candles.
I left the room, my heart pounding loudly. Emrys was waiting for me in the entrance hall. Heat pooled down my spine when I saw how his eyes widened. He wore a crisp white shirt and sand-colored pants. His black hair was still wet, dripping over his shoulders.
“Daphne,” he whispered, his throat bobbing. “You look like a prayer someone once whispered in this city.” He took my hand and placed a tender kiss on my knuckles, then led me to the exit.
The streets were busy in the late evening gloom, the townsfolk taking full advantage of the retreating heat. The crowds were getting denser, and the voices ahead were louder.
“Souk Al-Sahr,” Emrys said. His eyes reflected the golden light of the bronze lanterns above us.
“The Market of Enchantment. This place hasn’t changed a bit.
” We walked past stalls piled with silks and copper, spices and jewelry.
Scents tickled my nose—some familiar, some unknown: cumin and jasmine, roasted almonds, rosewater, and fire smoke.
Voices overlapped in Arabic and French, and somewhere above the sea of roofs, echoed a call for evening prayer.
“Cities rarely change,” Emrys noted. Someone handed him a tiny crystal cup of tea.
“Shokran ya sa?by.” He nodded politely at the man.
“The streets still keep the memories. Buildings change, the gods worshipped change, but the beating heart beneath that all” — he made a wide gesture — “remains the same.”
Children darted past, singing a song unchanged for centuries. A woman laughed, offering me a stuffed date. I took it, thanking her with a smile.
For so long, my world had been quiet. Gray. Caged.
Now, I was walking through a city that pulsed with magic and memories. Not hiding anymore. I was part of something vast and strange and wonderful.
I caught Emrys watching me, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Emrys, I think I love this place.”
He offered his arm.
“Then let me show you more.”
We left the brightness of the bazaar behind, slipping down a narrow side alley where the lanterns hung lower, their flames muted behind stained glass. The chatter of the crowd faded. The scent of spices gave way to cool stone, old books, and something I could not name.
A crooked sign hung above a door, carved in a script I didn’t recognize. Emrys pushed it open, and the bell above the door let out a metallic chime.
Inside, the air was still and thick, like an old temple that had forgotten it was part of the living world.
Shelves leaned under the weight of ceramic jars, scrolls, and necklaces coiled in dust. A pair of glass eyes followed us from a jackal-headed mask mounted above the counter. The shop smelled of parchment and ash and dried figs.
Behind the counter, an elderly woman in layered robes didn’t bother to look up from her book. “Still alive, Ravenborn?”
“Don’t sound so disappointed,” Emrys replied softly.
He stepped deeper into the shop, and I followed, looking around. Everything in here looked fragile. Every piece held a story.
Emrys paused before a glass case, crouching slightly. A shard of carved ivory lay there, a ceremonial knife, broken and scorched.
“I haven’t seen this since Memphis fell,” he said.
“Memphis?” I blinked. “You mean the—”
He smiled, lost in memories. “The original one. The one ruled by priest-kings and sun-worshippers.”
I stood beside him, quiet. His reflection shimmered faintly in the glass.
He pointed to the blade. “This belonged to a boy who sang to statues in the temple gardens. The gods answered him once.”
“And you were there?”
“I taught him how to hold it without fear.”
I swallowed. “What happened to him?”
His eyes darkened. “He died. Like all of them. It’s just me, Camille, Orren, and the Renegade at the end.
” His voice was low, loaded with so much sorrow that my heart sank.
What would it feel like? I wondered. To have the entire world and all the time at your fingertips, but nobody to share it with?
I reached for his hand. He let me take it. “It sounds terribly lonely.”
His smile faded, but he didn’t look away. “The good parts are the hardest.”
I wanted to say something, anything, but the words didn’t come. Instead, I moved through the shop, letting the objects pull me forward. A cracked urn painted with scarabs. A stack of tablets wrapped in copper thread. An alabaster sculpture of a woman holding a crescent moon.
I turned to ask him something, but Emrys was watching me.
Not the way he watched strangers. Not the way he watched danger.
The way you might watch a star on the edge of falling.
“Don’t steal anything, little thief,” he said. “Come on. Enough memories and sadness. The night is still young. I know a place with gin and glassware that hasn’t been cursed. Yet.”
The Viceroy’s Seat reeked of cheap alcohol and cigar smoke.
Gaslight bathed the crowded room. Ceiling fans stirred the heat with slow, lazy moves.
A gramophone in the corner rasped out something jazzy and off-tempo.
Around us, pale-faced men in crumpled linen suits slouched into leather chairs, their voices too loud.
They reminded me of Arthur and his friends, and my muscles tensed.
“Is this a good idea?” I asked when we walked to a table behind beaded fly curtains.
“It’s the only one with cold drinks and clean glasses,” he said, but his hand hovered near mine.
At the back corner table, a group of men raised their glasses in a sloppy toast. One was talking loudly over the rest, the kind of voice that demanded attention. I rolled my eyes.
“Blasted nonsense, all of it,” he was saying. “Locals warned us, of course. They always do. ‘Don’t break the seal, don’t take the statue, the tomb is sacred.’ Bah. If I hadn’t lifted that tablet, we’d never have found the second chamber.”
The others laughed.
“Wasn’t that the expedition where your partner dropped dead?” one asked, half-grinning.
The ringleader shrugged. “Poor bastard fell asleep and never woke up. Natural causes. The newspapers called it a curse.”
My stomach turned.
“Let the dead try to stop me. I’ve taken scarabs right off corpses, and I’m still here.”
He turned and locked eyes with Emrys.
Something passed between them. The man’s grin faltered.
“Well, well,” he said, eyeing me. “Didn’t know the city still had sorcerers. And who’s this? Your priestess? Or your little trophy from the dunes?”
Emrys didn’t move, but the air shifted.
The room seemed to dim.
His voice came low and even. “Say that again.”
The man chuckled nervously, glancing away. “I meant it as a compliment.”
“Strange,” Emrys said. “How often men say that before they’re buried?”
I touched his arm. “Emrys.”
The lights went out, drawing a satisfying gasp from the group of drunk men.
“I wouldn’t provoke the Ravenborn if I were you,” an amused voice said. The room was lit again as suddenly as it darkened.
Maerya stood in the doorway. Her robes were layered in ochre and indigo, beads clinking when she stepped in. Her skin glowed bronze in the lamplight, her eyes rimmed in black kohl, unblinking. She looked like a vision from another time.
The temperature dropped when she entered.
“I’ve seen your kind before,” she said, voice cutting through the smoke. “Grave robbers. Fools messing with forces beyond their grasp.”
The man scoffed. “Who the bloody hell are you?”
“Keeper of the Forgotten,” she said. “Daughter of tombs sealed before your country had a name. I speak to the dead, and sometimes they answer.”
The man stood, puffing himself up. His friends pulled him back into his chair. “Leave her alone. She’s mad.”
“No,” she said calmly. “I’m the only sane one here.”
She reached into the folds of her robe, pulled out a small clay figurine, and set it on his table.
“The last man who stole from the Chamber of Breath wore this on a cord around his neck. Found it beside what was left of him.”
The drunk man paled. “Is this some sort of threat?”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “No. A warning. Leave the dead in peace—or I’ll let them finish what they started.”
He opened his mouth, but no sound came. His lips moved helplessly.
Maerya walked past the men who were quickly leaving the Viceroy’s Seat.
“Well, Ravenborn,” she said tiredly, “that was not exactly keeping your head down, right?” A small ivory pipe materialized in her hand, and she stuffed it with dry herbs.
“What about them?” I asked, pointing at the last of the men, who tossed a coin at the serving boy.
Maerya shrugged, puffing out a cloud of stinging smoke. “Oh, they’ll be dead within a month. They broke the wrong sigils, messed with the wrong dead.”
Chills ran down my spine. The thought that I’d walk those corridors soon, when one wrong step meant certain death, made me down my gin in one go.
“Anything suspicious outside?” Emrys asked, pouring us more.
“Nothing in the skies. Nothing on the roads. No Hollowborn. No sign of Cagliostro. But I feel it in my bones. The winds are changing. The snake is uncoiling. Something is coming.”
The man in the sand-colored suit still lingered at the doorframe.
When our eyes met, he pulled his hat lower and disappeared into the night.
Something flashed at his wrist. My blood froze as I recognized it.
His golden cufflink bore a symbol that haunted my nightmares: a snake whose tail was a string of human vertebrae curled around a skull.
“They’re here,” I said.
Calmly, Maerya finished her drink and pushed herself up. “You better get the back door. I’ll take care of those little snakes,” she said with a morbid grin.