Tentyrian Legacy
Authors: Elise Walters
Tags: #tentyrian legacy, #paranormal romance, #tentyrian, #paranormal, #vampire, #romance, #elise walters, #vampire series
A PERMUTED PRESS book
Published at Smashwords
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-61868-210-9
ISBN (eBook): 978-1-61868-211-6
Tentyrian Legacy
copyright © 2014
by Elise Walters
All Rights Reserved.
Cover art by Dean Samed, Conzpiracy Digital Arts
This
book
is
a
work
of
fiction
.
People
,
places
,
events
,
and
situations
are
the
product
of
the
author’s
imagination
.
Any
resemblance
to
actual
persons
,
living
or
dead
,
or
historical
events
,
is
purely
coincidental
.
No
part
of
this
book
may
be
reproduced
,
stored
in
a
retrieval
system
,
or
transmitted
by
any
means
without
the
written
permission
of
the
author
and
publisher
.
Table of Contents
Chapter 17 – Mission Deployment
Chapter 22 – Desperate Times, Desperate
Measures
Chapter 26 – Embracing Destiny
For my husband
- your love and encouragement
made this book happen.
And for my brother, who inspires me
- and doesn’t laugh at my vampires.
PROLOGUE
53 BC, August Tentyris, Egypt The Royal
Villa
The ivory comb slipped quietly through her
raven hair. Her scalp tingled from Hita’s washing, and her skin
glowed with balanos oil. Mixed with extract of lotus, myrrh, and
cinnamon, the oil infused Hathor’s body and bath chamber with the
essence of her power. She knew she would need every ounce of it
tonight. Temporary reprieve from company, except from Hita’s, was
welcome. The aching in her temples was reduced to a dull throb.
Fortunately, the warm bath in the marble basin made her feel almost
whole.
“My lady, you look radiant,” Hita
praised.
“Thank you. Your hands have worked wonders. I
feel much better,” answered Hathor absently. Her mind was
elsewhere.
“You should rest more,” Hita chastised.
Hathor secretly loved how Hita clucked at her like a mother
hen—despite the fact that Hathor had walked the Earth almost four
times as long as her.
“Oh Hita, there will be plenty of time to
rest when I’m dead, which may be soon enough. I will wear the
violet stola tonight,” Hathor said without pause.
Never one to make jokes, Hita knew Hathor
meant every word of what she said. Hita crossed the stone floor to
the ebony chest where the ceremonial robes were stored. Before she
unlatched the lid of the intricately carved chest, she ran her hand
over the zodiac symbol emblazed on top and said a silent prayer to
Bes. If any god could protect her mistress, it would be Bes with
his arsenal of swords and knives.
“Hita, my stola,” Hathor snapped. “We don’t
have much time.” “My apologies, my lady. It is here.”
Hita lifted the silk garment out of the chest
and gave it a light shake. After slipping the rich fabric of the
long robe onto her mistress, Hita straightened the linen tunic
underneath with a firm tug. Her hands had gone through these same
motions for almost half a century, just like her mother before her.
The love and duty Hita felt for Hathor weighed on her. How many
more years would there be? She knew Hathor was uneasy.
“I will wear my gold belt and bracelets,”
said Hathor.
“Just a minute, my lady—I asked Selene to
polish them.” Hita walked briskly to the door to call for the young
maid, only to find her patiently waiting outside with the
jewelry.
“Why didn’t you come in, Selene? Our lady has
places to be,” asked Hita.
“I’m sorry,” replied Selene with downcast
eyes. “I was afraid to interrupt.”
“No matter, run along now,” Hita said
kindly.
Ever since Selene joined the villa staff a
year ago, Hita encouraged her to be more confident, with little
result. However, Hita understood. Working for the Tentyrian royal
family could be an intimidating task.
The belt clasped together by two snakes’
heads soon encircled Hathor’s small waist, and her gold bracelets
gripped each pale wrist like manacles of strength. The zodiac
pendant that never left her neck draped gracefully between her
porcelain breasts—loosely shrouded by her vibrant garb. She reached
up to the pendant and traced the embossing with her fingers, each
touch a reminder of her responsibility.
“No palla, makeup, or hair intricacies
tonight. I will go like this,” said Hathor.
“But the embroidered palla with gold
completes your outfit. Perhaps some ochre for your lips?” Hita
fluttered about Hathor in her last minute attempts to ensure her
mistress looked perfect, although little was needed to enhance the
already flawless Hathor.
“No. Tonight is not about pomp and
circumstance. It is about reality. Please hand me my sistrum,”
Hathor commanded.
“As you wish.”
Hathor slipped on her leather sandals, and
with her favored ceremonial instrument in hand, she looked briefly
at herself in the polished copper Hita held for her. The eyes that
looked back were filled with knowing.
“Are my daughters ready?” Hathor asked.
“Yes. The Royal Luminaries are waiting for
you in the temple, along with the rest of the Council.”
It was time to make the announcement.
2001 AD, March
New Canaan, Connecticut The Parker Estate
Her head hurt. In fact, it always hurt.
Codeine, Imitrex, calcium channel blockers, you name it; she had
taken it to etase her headaches. At fifteen, Arianna Elizabeth
Parker had tried
almost every therapy available to treat her
diagnosed cluster headaches and schizophrenia. But they never
seemed to make a dent in the pain that pummeled her head or the
voices that drowned out her thoughts.
Fortunately, Ari—as she preferred to be
called—mastered the art of making it appear as if she took her
medication. She knew it didn’t work, so why take the pills that
made her feel like a zombie and more of a freak, she rationalized.
Under the watchful eye of her overbearing housekeeper Irena, who
executed her parents’ orders with unparalleled Russian efficiency,
Ari would put the pills under her tongue, after which she would
skillfully spit them into the toilet, but not before Irena (aka the
Iron Curtain) made her “wash them down” with a glass of orange
juice. It was fresh squeezed and organic, of course.
Ari could barely remember when she’d eaten
something that was not healthy for her. The Parker house was
gluten-free, sugar-free, and low-fat 24/7. Even the few times Ari
went to birthday parties as a child, she had shown up with her own
lunch bag complete with a slice of tofu birthday cake for her
enjoyment. It was humiliating. Usually she didn’t stay long, and
everyone ignored her. But Laura Delia’s birthday party had been
different, she remembered. Laura lived down the street, and Ari
viewed the invitation as a token gesture for the homeschooled
neighbor girl. She was excited, nevertheless.