Jake stood, brushed the seat of his pants, and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “That sounds like a good plan.”

33

LAST PROPHECY

A week later, a grand celebration spread from one land to the other.

As the sun shone brightly, Jake strolled by himself through the courtyard of the castle in Kalakryss amid the pomp and glory of two worlds slowly coming together. Horns blared and drums beat, accompanied by the strums of lutes and lyres. The battlement walls had been draped with a mix of tapestries from both Calypsos and Deshret. Banquet tables overflowed with delicacies from each land as cooks from two lands competed to show their best.

Off by the steps to the castle, the members of the Council of Elders sat atop a raised dais, alongside the retinue of Pharaoh Neferhotep. The old king’s health was slowly returning after the poisoning, but he was still weak. To get here, he had to be carried across the portal atop a cushioned palanquin. Jake watched Pindor’s father, Elder Marcellus Tiberius, bow his head in conversation with the old man. There would be much more talking before the two lands truly got to know each other, but it was a start.

Farther down the dais, Djer laughed with the Viking Elder, Astrid Ulfsdottir. He seemed very intrigued by the woman. She, in turn, couldn’t seem to get enough of the baby being bounced on Djer’s knee. The Egyptian had decided to raise his cousin, Kree. Perhaps with such a positive role model, Kree would grow up to be a better man the second time around. But right now, Djer had his hands full and had explained to Jake why.

Poor Kree is in pain. He’s teething quite badly.

Jake felt no sympathy.

Jake came to a section of the yard where a makeshift dance floor had been roped off. Musicians from both lands took turns playing. Laughter rang out loudest here as dancers attempted to learn the steps of foreign dances. At the moment, a rowdy song—sounding vaguely Scottish to Jake’s ears—played while dancers hopped on one foot with their partners.

Jake spotted Pindor out there. He was wearing his usual Roman toga, but he’d clearly gone to great lengths to dress it up, with straps of braided leather and bronze medals, including one marking him as a legionnaire of the city’s Saddlebacks. He was clearly trying to impress his dance partner—though he spent most of his time hopping with one hand holding the edge of his toga down, trying to keep it from flapping up and exposing himself.

His partner seemed oblivious, smiling as she sought to learn the dance. Nefertiti had painted her face in true Egyptian style, but she wore a resplendent hunting outfit with matching cloak. She saw Jake, and her smile broadened.

But it was not directed at him.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned.

Marika stood shyly a step away, dressed in a long white linen dress, with a short embroidered vest. Her black hair hung loose, combed to the middle of her back. At her throat hung a piece of jade carved into the image of a jaguar. In the sunlight, the stone glinted an emerald green, a brilliant match to her eyes.