THE PHARAOH’S PROMISE : THE BLOOD OF THE PACT Kindle Edition

The ferry from Cyprus had left them in Heraklion just before dawn, the sea mist clinging to Sahira’s cloak like the memory of battle. She hadn’t slept. None of them had. The ankhs — one gold, one obsidian, were tucked into a sealed satchel now, wrapped in layers of linen and buried beneath layers of protective sigils Nefera had drawn herself. But even wrapped, their presence was a weight Sahira could feel through her bones. It pressed against her ribs with every breath, humming faintly in her ears when the wind fell quietly.They moved inland by nightfall, crossing through the olive groves that clung to the Cretan hillside. Their destination was a half-buried palace ruin forgotten by most historians — a place Nefera claimed once housed the Garden of Broken Thrones, a mythic courtyard where the Pact’s first kings met to divide their dominion. It was also where the next heir was said to sleep. “Are we sure he’s still alive?” Anaiya asked, tightening her cloak. “Every one of these heirs we find comes with a new funeral.” “He’s not dead,” Sahira murmured. “Not yet.” “How do you know?” Sahira didn’t answer. But the white calla lily blooming from a stone crack in the path ahead told her everything.They reached the palace ruins just after midnight. The moon was low, casting a ghostly sheen over the toppled columns and shattered archways. Statues of forgotten kings loomed in silence, their faces eroded, their thrones cracked and empty. “Heirs supposed to be somewhere below,” Nefera said, consulting the scroll Asima had left behind. “The text says he guards the Gate of the Tethered Sun. Whatever the hell that means.” A rustle sounded ahead. Anaiya drew her blade. Sahira held her hand out — not in warning, but recognition. A man stepped into view. Robes of dark linen. Face weathered but sharp. Eyes like ancient bronze, watching her as if from across centuries. “You’ve come,” he said. His voice was dry wind over sand. “Finally.” Nefera narrowed her eyes. “You’re him. The heir?” “I was once. Now, I am the Keeper.” Sahira stepped forward. “The Gate of the Tethered Sun—what is it?” The man’s gaze flicked toward the center of the ruins, where a sunken courtyard glimmered with old tile and dust. “It’s not a gate you open,” he said. “It’s a gate that remembers.” Sahira’s fingers brushed the ankh at her side. And the ground trembled.They descended into the ruined garden, torchlight flickering over walls painted with scenes of old rituals — a sun tethered by gold chains, a woman cloaked in flame standing before a monstrous shadow. The Keeper moved to the center and raised a silver dagger, pressing it to his palm. “With this blood, I grant you entry,” he intoned. “To the Pact before the Pact.” The stone beneath them shifted. A low grinding sound echoed as the tiled mosaic split apart, revealing a spiral stair descending into blackness. Sahira moved to follow. But the Keeper caught her arm. “You must be careful,” he whispered. “The truth sleeps below. And once awoken, it does not close its eyes again.” She nodded. And together, they descended into the forgotten heart of the Pact, where the ancients and kings had bled their secrets into stone. And where, far below, something began to stir. Read more