Ascension [A Yu-Gi-Oh! FanFiction]

19: Pride

By the time Satiah regained full control of her mind, the sun was already beginning to crest on the eastern horizon. It took her a long time to recognize her surroundings, and even longer still to recall why she was there. As she looked around, she found herself alone in her old room in the visitor's wing, sitting on a bench beside the window. She could feel herself shaking, her arms loosely crossed around her middle. She lifted her hands and looked down into her trembling palms to see that they were wrapped in fresh bandages. The white linen was already staining a faint rust color in the center, and Satiah's mind was suddenly flooded with flashes of memories — the sting of a blade passing between her hands, the cool ridges of the ivory comb slick with blood, the worried faces of healers cleaning and bandaging her wounds. With a sharp inhale, Satiah dropped her hands, revealing more blood stains splashed across the front of her white dress, from bodice to hem.

It came crashing back in an instant — the image of her husband's blood rushing forth and pooling thickly on the tile floor. Her breath caught in her throat as more memories built themselves back up in her mind — ending with Bakura's devilish smile as he took up the Millennium Ring. Satiah clutched her chest, trying to force her lungs to pull in air, feeling almost as choked as she had when she was lying on the bedchamber floor just a few hours earlier.

At the sound of the door opening, her body's biology lurched into action again, her heart suddenly hammering with panic. The beating slowed, however, when Isis stepped into the dawning light, holding a swathe of fabric to her chest. Isis swept closer with her free arm outstretched, and instinctively, Satiah stood to accept the woman's urgent embrace.

"Atem?" Satiah hissed into Isis's ear.

The priestess pulled away, her calm eyes suddenly a thrashing ocean. "He is stable," she said, and Satiah whispered a shuddering sigh. "He is very weak, but the healers are hopeful he will make a full recovery — with time and patience."

"Thank the gods," Satiah said.

"What about you, Princess?" Isis whispered, taking one of Satiah's hands in hers. "I heard you were injured as well."

"It's nothing."

Isis clicked her tongue, then lowered both herself and Satiah onto the bench. She laid the bundle of fabric in her lap and brought Satiah's hands to rest on top. "I don't know how I didn't see this," she whispered. "I had been so sure...so certain that Bakura was dead. How could I have been so foolish...?"

Satiah's stomach turned at the mention of Bakura. "What of the thief?" Satiah asked. "Was he apprehended?"

Isis looked up, pursing her lips. "No. He escaped, wounding several guardsmen on the way out of the city."

Satiah squeezed Isis's hands, making her frustrations apparent. She cleared her throat to temper herself. "Can I see my husband?"

Isis's eyes softened. "Of course," she said, releasing her grip to take up the bundle in her lap. "Here — I brought you a clean dress."

"Thank you." Satiah took the garment.

"I'll be just outside when you're ready."

Isis bowed her head and floated out of the room, leaving Satiah in deafening silence. She found herself suddenly smothered by creeping guilt. Among the flood of memories returning to her, she now recalled clearly the darkest of them: that with Bakura's blade hovering inches above the prince, she had faltered — she had almost let her husband be murdered before her eyes, without doing a single thing to stop it. Even though Atem had survived, the consequences of Satiah's hesitance were now cascading down into reality and carving the way for a sinister future. How could she look her husband in the eye, knowing she had very nearly condemned him to death?