When we stepped out of the hall, we kept our faces calm, as if we had only carried out routine duty. No one had any idea of the weight we carried. We left the captured assassin in a storehouse near the northern side of the palace, where grain and beer jars were usually kept. It was a place with little movement and guards only passed through occasionally.
Karem shoved her back against the wall and tied her more tightly, making sure she couldn't move. I checked the knots, then closed the heavy wooden doors and pushed a simple wooden peg into place as a lock.
"She stays here," I said quietly. "Until we decide what to do next."
Karem turned on me sharply, his eyes burning. "Decide? We already know what to do. We should take her straight before the Pharaoh and show her what happened."
I shook my head. "Not tonight. Not in front of everyone. You don't want to see the panic it would cause. Word of assassins would spread among the people faster than fire. It would destroy trust in the army, in the festival, in everything we've built."
"So what do you suggest?" he hissed.
I leaned against the stone wall, feeling the blood running under my cloak but showing nothing. "First, we need to learn who she's working for. Then we decide when and how to announce it. For now, she stays here. No one else can know."
Karem clenched his fists. "And what if she has accomplices? What if they strike again tonight?"
"That's why we're keeping her secret," I answered. "They'll think everything went according to plan. Two got away — they'll wait for a report from the third. When she doesn't return, they'll start to worry. That buys us time."
For a moment, we just stared at each other. I could see him wrestling with it, but finally he exhaled and nodded. "Fine. But I'm telling you, this is a dangerous game. If this leaks, it all falls on us."
"I know," I said. "That's why I need you here. You'll guard this storehouse. No one else, only you. I'll return tomorrow when it's dark. We'll question her ourselves."
Karem rubbed his face, clearly tired but resigned. "All right. But if your wounds open again and you collapse, I can't handle this alone. Promise me you'll at least try to rest."
I shrugged. "I'll try."
"No. Promise," he pressed.
I lifted my eyes to his and nodded. "I promise."
For a while, silence hung between us. From outside came the distant songs of drunk celebrants who were still rejoicing. As if the world had no idea that inside the palace sat an assassin ready to talk.
Karem sat down by the door, laying his sword across his knees. "I'm not going anywhere. You go and rest. Tomorrow, we begin."
I turned to leave. Each step hurt, but I kept my back straight. He was right — I needed the rest. But I also knew tomorrow would begin another stage of the game.
And this one would not be about celebration
The following night, I slipped back into the storehouse. My cloak was wrapped tightly around me to hide the stiffness in my movements. Karem was already there, sitting on a crate with a jug of water beside him, sword resting across his lap. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, but he was alert.
"She hasn't said a word," he muttered as soon as he saw me. "Not even when I threatened her."
The assassin sat against the far wall, hands tied behind her back, legs bound at the ankles. Her mouth was gagged with cloth, but her eyes glared at me with pure hatred. She was young, perhaps no older than Karem, her skin painted faintly with ash from the festival to hide her face.
"Untie the gag," I said.
Karem frowned. "She'll just spit in your face."
"Then she'll spit," I replied.
He pulled the cloth away. The woman coughed and spat immediately, just as Karem predicted, but I didn't flinch. I crouched down in front of her, my knees cracking.
"Tell me who sent you."
She bared her teeth like an animal. "You're already dead, old man. You just don't know it yet."
I didn't answer. My eyes moved to her arms where the ropes rubbed her skin raw. And there, faintly visible beneath the smears of sweat and dust, was ink.
"Hold her still," I ordered.
Karem pressed his hand on her shoulder. She tried to pull away, but I yanked her sleeve up. What I saw made my chest tighten.
A crocodile's head. Crude, rough lines, but unmistakable. The jaw open, teeth sharp. The ancient symbol of Sobek.
Karem's eyes widened. "That… that's a god's mark."
I nodded slowly. "Not a god. A beginning. This isn't the work of common mercenaries."
The assassin laughed, a dry, bitter sound. "Sobek rises. And your Pharaoh will drown when the river takes her."
Karem tightened his grip until her shoulder bone popped. "You dare speak of Pharaoh—"
"Enough," I cut him off. "Let her speak."
Her gaze turned to me, sharper than any blade. "You build temples. You whisper laws into the Pharaoh's ear. But the river is older than stone. Sobek has always waited. You can't stop him. None of you can."
For a long moment, the room was silent except for her breathing. Karem looked at me, confused, searching my face for answers.
Finally, I straightened. "Bind the gag again. She won't tell us more tonight."
"But—" Karem started.
"Do it," I repeated.
Reluctantly, he shoved the cloth back into her mouth. She fought against it, but the ropes held.
As I turned away, my stomach churned. Sobek's shadow was here already, creeping into the hearts of people before the other gods even had names. This was proof.
And if he rose fully, Egypt would bleed again.
The cellar was suffocating. The lamp in the corner had long since burned down, and the smoke hung low near the ceiling. I sat on a stone step, while Karem stood against the wall with his arms crossed, watching the prisoner.
It had taken days, but today something was different. Her eyes no longer burned with pure hatred—they held exhaustion, weariness, and a strange calm, as if she had finally decided to speak.
"Untie her mouth," I said.
Karem pulled away the rag. The woman gasped for air, wetting her lips with her tongue. Then she laughed. It was hollow, harsh.
"What's so funny?" Karem snapped.
"You," she said. "You've kept me here for two days, hammering me with questions… and yet you already know the answer."
I leaned closer. "Say it aloud. I want to hear it from you."
She closed her eyes briefly, as if gathering strength. Then she spoke: "The war you waged in the south years ago… it was your mistake. You thought you had broken resistance, that you had brought peace. But by spilling so much blood, you gave birth to something. Every river needs a source. Sobek got his."
Karem clenched his teeth. "Lies! We ended that rebellion, we protected Egypt!"
The woman looked at him with scorn. "Yes. You ended it. But with death and blood. Sobek is not a god who thrives on temples or hymns. He feeds on fear, screams, and torn bodies in the murky water. And you gave him all of that."
She turned her eyes to me, as if she knew I understood more than Karem. "He wants you," she said, her voice quiet but sharp. "He knows your name. He knows your scent. He knows you walk the path you drew for yourself. Sobek hates you. He wants your blood, your immortality. Without you he never would have been born—and so he must devour you."
She paused, then added with a twisted smile: "And your friend as well. He's too close to you. If he dies, it weakens you. Sobek knows exactly where to strike."
Karem froze. He looked at me, but I didn't move. Inside, though, my stomach tightened. What she said was exactly what I had feared.
"You know a lot," I said. "Maybe even the truth. But you don't understand one thing. Just because I'm afraid doesn't mean I'll let you or your kind take another step."
I rose from the steps. My footsteps echoed hard enough to make Karem flinch. I stood in front of her, staring down at her sweat-covered face. Despite everything, she still looked defiant.
"What now?" she asked with a crooked smile. "You'll kill me? It changes nothing. It's too late. Sobek already towers above you."
I turned to Karem. "Yes, it's too late. But your mouth will never open another wound."
Karem understood at once, though his eyes flickered with hesitation. "You want me to do it?"
I nodded. "Yes. It's my order. And it's your lesson. You're a soldier, a commander—and this is your duty. Show that you can be hard when it's needed."
For a moment, silence filled the cellar. Karem inhaled deeply, then stepped toward her. She laughed in his face.
"You too, boy," she whispered. "The river will swallow you one day."
Karem didn't hesitate further. He drew his blade and, with one swift stroke, slit her throat. Blood splattered across the floor, her laughter twisting into a gurgle that quickly faded.
We stood there for a while, listening only to the dripping of blood.
"It's done," I finally said.
Karem turned his head, but stood firm. "I took no joy in it."
"You're not meant to," I answered. "But sometimes there is no other way."
We wiped the blade clean, covered the body, and prepared for the next steps. Sobek had his people. And now we knew he would come for us