“The Ottomans are too powerful for Russia to wage war against right now,” I said. “Even Empress Katerina realized this before she died. Capturing Byzantium was nothing but an old woman’s dream.”

Danilo glared at me. “You do not deserve to carry her name, Duchess.” He stood, pushing Mala to the side as he reached out and grabbed my arm. “It is time for you to retire to your cabin and meditate for the coming ritual.”

His fingers dug into my arm and he dragged me out of the dining room back out to the cramped deck. With a rough shove, he pushed me into my cabin. “You will be allowed out when we arrive at Abydos,” he said, locking the door behind me.

I stumbled toward my bed. I had no idea how to prepare myself for the ritual, other than worrying about it and working myself up into hysterics. That was not something I cared to do, so instead, I opened up the French edition of A Necromancer’s Companion the Grigori had given me and searched for information on the ka. Was it really one’s cold light? That would explain why a necromancer could manipulate that light, and shadows as well.

I flipped past the pages of incantations to Osiris that prevented the deceased from forgetting his name and past an incantation that allowed the deceased to take any physical form he wished, from a lion to a hawk. I flipped past the drawings of ornate inscriptions on ceremonial daggers and pictures of enchanted scarabs that were to be placed on the deceased’s breast.

And finally, I came to a chapter that mentioned the Morning Star.

28

According to the Companion, the Morning Star could only be carried by one who could walk both the worlds of the living and the dead. A necromancer who knew the secrets of the ka and the shadows. One who knew how to coax the ka back to the land of the living.

I was still reading the book when Mala knocked and opened my door well before dawn. “Duchess, these are your clothes for the ritual.” She handed me a white linen robe. I was surprised she did not have a golden headdress for me as well.

“Am I to appear as Cleopatra?” I asked, taking the robe and tossing it onto the bed.

“You are to dress as a proper Egyptian priestess.” She stopped at the door and turned around with a vicious smile. “A proper virgin Egyptian priestess.”

I wanted to roll my eyes at her. “How close are we to Abydos?” I asked, but she’d already closed the door behind her. I peeked out the tiny window and could see palm trees lining the dark green river. I had no idea where we were.

I ignored the priestess robe on my bed and was going to continue reading about old Egyptian gods when I spotted the medical text I’d found in Cairo. I opened it up instead. I was amazed at how far I’d come in my Greek lessons. I only had a little trouble reading some of the ancient Greek words.

The physician Galen wrote mostly of the organs of apes and pigs that he had dissected. The Roman Empire forbade human dissection, so he made do with animals whose anatomies were similar to our own. I soon grew tired of reading about intestines and lung tissue. I fell asleep dreaming about a pig that wore the headdress of a pharaoh.


A sudden lurch of the boat awakened me. My head bumped up against the wall. Rubbing the sore spot tenderly, I crawled out of bed and tried my door, but it was still locked. I could hear footsteps and shouting above as people scrambled up to the deck.