The Egyptian Royals Collection (42 page)

“He is furious with you.” The anger on her face froze the guards in their positions. But I refused to care.

“Then let him be furious!”

Nefertiti sat up and hissed, “You should never have said that! No one in Amarna believes such a thing.”

“Because no one in Amarna is foolish enough to tell you the truth. But I will not lie! I am going home.”

“To Thebes?” she cried, scrambling out of bed in the birthing pavilion. I shouldn’t have let her. She held on to my arm to pull me back. “Don’t go. Please don’t go, Mutnodjmet. You can’t leave me like this.”

“Like
what?
” I demanded. For a moment, I thought she wouldn’t answer.

Then she replied, “So vulnerable. Akhenaten never goes to see Kiya when I’m pregnant. He will go to her now.”

I couldn’t do this anymore. Be her spy, play her games, want what she wanted. I moved to go again.

“Mutnodjmet, please!” She scrambled so that her legs became twisted in the linens. “I can’t do this without you.”

“What exactly do you do?” I asked scornfully. “You don’t till the land, you don’t fish the Nile, you don’t fight to keep the Hittites at bay the way Tiye did when this was truly an
empire
.”

“No! I play the goddess to the people!” she cried. “I play the savior of this kingdom when masses of Egyptian soldiers want to revolt and are stopped only when I can convince them that Aten has spoken through me and assured them of prosperity.
I
am the one who must hold the puppet strings in this play, and only Father”—her lower lip began to tremble—“only Father knows how hard and tiring that is.”

She closed her eyes and the tears hung suspended on the edge of her lashes. “Please. Stay with me. Just for a while.”

“Not forever,” I warned her.

“But a little while.”

As soon as Nefertiti knew that I would stay, she did her best to make sure I thought very little of my husband in Thebes as he was working on our tomb, carving our likenesses into the stone so that the gods would know us when they returned. She made sure she was full of laughter and praise, showering me with gifts: emerald pendants to match my eyes, golden cuffs for my ankles, even turquoise beads for my hair, which was thick and lustrous—the only feature I possessed that Nefertiti ever envied. Every morning we rode to the Temple of Aten, where she made obeisance to the sun and Akhenaten shook the sistrum to the holiest of holies.

“You can’t stand and do nothing while we worship,” Nefertiti admonished.

But Pharaoh didn’t argue when I refused, for I was the one who reined in Nefertiti’s vicious temper, playing Senet with her, reading myths to her, bouncing the precocious Meritaten on my knee, while for three nights he went to see Kiya. So I stood in the cool shadows of the columns and watched. I would not worship a disk in the sky. Hidden in my chests, I had brought my own statues of Hathor and Amun to Amarna, and those were the gods I bowed to every morning.

“What?” A voice echoed across the empty hall as I watched. “The Sister of the King’s Chief Wife doesn’t worship Aten?” Panahesi emerged from the shadows. “Aten is the god of Egypt,” he said warningly.

But I wasn’t afraid of Vizier Panahesi anymore. He was nothing more than the father of the king’s second-favorite wife. “So you believe in a faceless god?” I demanded.

“I am the High Priest of Aten.”

My eyes lingered on his jewels. He caught my meaning and stepped closer to me.

“You know that Pharaoh has been to visit Kiya for three nights now,” he hissed. “He went to her as soon as the princess was born. I thought you’d be interested to know,
little sister
, that Kiya is certain she is pregnant. And this time, like the last, it will be a son.”

I studied Panahesi’s deceptive face and challenged him. “How do you know that she is pregnant? A woman can’t tell for two months, even three.”

Panahesi turned his eyes to the courtyard where Nefertiti and Akhenaten were kneeling. He grinned. “I have been given a sign.”

I did not tell Nefertiti what Panahesi said, but I went to my father, who counseled me to say nothing. “She is recovering from birth. Do not disturb her with gossip. There is enough to think about with the Hittites so close to war in Mitanni.”

“But Akhenaten has been to her palace for three nights,” I complained.

My father started at me as if he didn’t understand the problem.

“For three nights!”

“And he must have sons. Even in his foolishness, Akhenaten knows that. If Nefertiti cannot produce one, then he will turn to someone else.”

I looked at my father in horror.

“It’s not disloyal.” He read my thoughts. “It’s the way of the gods.” He put his hand on my shoulder to placate me, and I noticed how many scrolls were unrolled on his table, waiting to be answered. Many of them bore the Mitanni seal.

“Will there really be war in Mitanni?” I asked, studying the parchments.

“Before the month is out.”

“And then?”

“Then if Egypt sends no soldiers to their aid, Mitanni will fall and we will be next.”

We watched one another, both understanding what this meant for Egypt. Our army was not ready; our greatest generals had either been imprisoned or sent away. We were a kingdom great in our history and in our gold, but in might, we would be crushed.

I went back to Nefertiti in the small studio Akhenaten had built for the princesses. Pharaoh was there, and they were arguing. As soon as Nefertiti heard the door open, she beckoned me angrily. “Ask her,” she demanded.

Akhenaten looked at me with loathing.

“Ask her!” Nefertiti demanded louder this time, and Akhenaten replied that he didn’t need to ask me how many nights he had been to see Kiya in the Northern Palace. She stormed past me toward the door and Akhenaten sped after her.

“Wait! I’ll be with you tonight,” he promised.

“I should hope you would be!” Nefertiti seethed. “Or have you forgotten you are
their
father, too?” She jerked her chin toward Meritaten and Meketaten, who had stopped playing with their paints to watch the scene.

“I won’t return to her palace,” Akhenaten apologized.

Nefertiti hesitated at the door. “Will we ride out tonight?” she asked him, already knowing his answer.

“Yes, and we can take Thutmose with us,” he said.

“Good.” Her gaze softened.

“And will we be going, too?” Meritaten asked.

I held my breath, waiting to see how Akhenaten would react to being questioned by a child, but Pharaoh swept Meri up into his arms. “Of course, you will be coming, my little princess. You are the daughter of Pharaoh. Pharaoh does not go anywhere without his precious ones.”

The family filed out. Nefertiti pressed me to join their expedition into the city, but I refused.

“I’m tired.”

“You’re always tired,” she complained. “You would think you were queen the way you drag yourself around.”

I threw a sharp look at her and she laughed, wrapping her arm around my waist. “I’m only playing.”

“Who rubs your feet, who makes you juice, who brushes your hair?”

She rolled her eyes. “But you’re eighteen years old. What will you be like at forty?”

“Probably dead,” I said acerbically, and her dark eyes narrowed.

“Don’t say such things. You want Anubis to hear you?”

“I thought there was only Aten.”

Fifteen days later, my sister shrieked. “A festival for
what?
”

The doors to the Audience Chamber had been shut to everyone; only our family was in attendance. Akhenaten muttered, “A festival in honor of Kiya’s second child.”

Nefertiti threw her scepter of reign across the dais, listening to it clatter against the tile floors. She exploded with rage. “Does that mean you will be eating
as well as
sleeping in the Northern Palace tonight?”

Akhenaten hung his head. “It’s a feast in her honor, and it can’t be refused. But you are Queen of Egypt.” His reached out to her. “You are welcome, of course.”

For a moment, I thought she would say she would go. Then she stood violently and moved past him. The double doors to the chamber swung open, and with a commanding look in my direction she was gone. As the doors banged shut, I glanced at my mother.

“Go,” she said immediately.

I ran after Nefertiti and found her in the antechamber leading to the Window of Appearances. She was looking down over the city of Amarna. The temples of Aten reared up in the distance, their columns like dark sentinels in the dusk. I was afraid to disturb her, but she’d already heard my footfalls.

“I
am the one they want,” she said.

I moved closer to see who she was talking about. Below, wealthy foreigners in jeweled turbans stood staring up at the palace, as if they could see her shape in the window. But the dark of night shielded her from their view. “They love him because of
me
,” she said.

“He has to go to Kiya,” I replied. “He has to have sons.”

She spun around. “And you think I can’t give him one?”

I stepped closer so that we were both looking down over the city. “If you don’t, would he stop loving you?”

“He adores me,” she said heatedly. “Who cares that Kiya is pregnant? He’s only going tonight because it’s Panahesi who called him. He
thinks
Panahesi is loyal.” She stiffened. “So while Father slaves away procuring ships and avoiding war, Panahesi whispers into Akhenaten’s ear, and it’s as if Aten himself has spoken. And his influence is growing.”

“Not above Father’s?”

“Never
above Father’s. I make sure of that.” She looked down at the people who couldn’t see her. They moved across the city carrying baskets of harvested grain on roads that twisted like white ribbons. “Only Hatshepsut ever had such influence as I have. And Kiya is not a queen. She could have five sons and never be queen.” The rage returned to Nefertiti’s eyes. “I should attend,” she said viciously. “I should attend this feast and ruin it for her.” And I could see by the look on her face that she meant it.

There was a noise behind us and Father entered the antechamber. “Come, Nefertiti.” He drew my sister away from the Window of Appearances and they conversed in low tones. While they spoke, I passed my fingers over the paintings that decorated the walls of the palace. I wondered what Nakhtmin would think if he could see the gold from the temples staring back at him in gilded images of my family, myself in some of them, all faces that Thutmose had drawn from memory.

I studied one of the engravings, an image of my father receiving golden necklaces from Pharaoh. It was symbolic, of course, since my father had never received such gifts and would have only needed to raise his hand to command them. But in the scene, Nefertiti had her arm around his waist, her other arm resting on Akhenaten’s shoulders. The two princesses were there, and someone had begun painting a third child held in a nurse’s arms. Tiye and I stood off in the distance. Our arms were not raised to Aten the way everyone else’s were. We were dressed in open kilts, and the sculptor, Thutmose, had emphasized the green color of my eyes. We were everywhere, my family, and only the absence of Panahesi and Kiya was conspicuous in Amarna. If the Northern Palace ever fell, their tombs would be the only testament to their existence.