Daughter of the Gods (13 page)

“This is it.” If she craned her neck she could just make out the pinnacle. “Can you build here?”

“You
would
have to pick the most dangerous spot in the valley, wouldn’t you?” Senenmut shielded his eyes from Re’s glare as he looked up. She could see his architect’s mind take measurements as he surveyed the site. “It will definitely require some fancy engineering, but Ineni and I can make it happen. If this is what you want.”

“It’s what I want,” she said. From the entrance she would be able to see not only Re’s daily ascent, but also have a bird’s-eye view of the tomb that housed her father’s
ka
.

It was perfect.

“Then I’ll make it happen.” Senenmut’s eyes caught hers as he spoke. Something about the way he spoke hinted that only for her would he attempt such a monumental task.

She looked away.

Out here in the desolate valley they were alone, surrounded by silent and ancient cliffs. The only witnesses were a pair of buzzards that circled the sky and the gods’ whispers in the wind.

The warm breeze whipped the hem of Hatshepsut’s sheath, bringing her the faint scent of cinnamon and honey. Senenmut didn’t move; he stood as rigid as stone until she reached up to touch the narrow white scar on his forehead, wondering for a moment where it had come from. She wanted that moment to last forever, standing on a precipice from which they could never return.

“Kiss me,” she said.

When their lips touched, it was as searing as the winds of a summer
khamsin
, leaving Hatshepsut breathless in its wake. Senenmut’s arms slipped around her and she clung to him, never wanting to let go.

And yet she was Egypt’s Great Royal Wife. This was treason.

She gasped. “We can’t do this.”

The blood coursed through her veins and made her light-headed, his hands in her hair as he clutched her to him. His chest heaved as Hatshepsut pressed her forehead to his heart, feeling its furious beats mirror the pounding of her own heart.

Senenmut would find his entrails missing and his body impaled on a pike in the main square of Waset if Thutmosis were to discover them. Hatshepsut would endure a life locked in the Hall of Women, if not worse.

Nothing like this could ever happen again. And yet Hatshepsut both hoped and feared it would.

“I’m sorry.” She gave a shaky exhale. “In another life—”

He stepped back and ran his hands over his scalp. “Never apologize. I’ve waited since the day you fell in the fountain to do that.”

She couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face. “Have you really?”

“I probably shouldn’t have told you that.” He rolled his eyes, then fell serious. “But I’d face your brother and an army of
medjay
to do it again.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” She stood on tiptoes, brushing her lips to his. It was reckless, but she didn’t care. This time the kiss was only a whisper, one that tasted of tears. A final good-bye.

Senenmut groaned. “Amun’s blood, woman. You’re going to be the death of me.”

“We should get back before Dagi suspects something.” She broke his gaze, not trusting what would happen next if she continued to look into his eyes. He touched her cheek, then his hands fell open at his sides.

The trek back to the barge was silent, heavy with the burden of many words left unsaid. The gods toyed with them, dangling happiness in front of them before they yanked it out of reach.

The speck of the boat grew larger as they approached the dock, until Hatshepsut could see the contents of Mouse’s baskets spread about the boat. A look askance at Senenmut showed his face set in rigid lines, his jaw clenched tight.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Dagi asked merrily. He offered Hatshepsut his hand as she walked back up the narrow wooden plank, setting each footstep carefully this time.

“I think so.” She took her seat close to the prow. She felt a stab of remorse as Senenmut sat on the opposite side of the deck, still close enough that she could smell cinnamon on the air.

She tasted none of the pomegranate salad or melon stuffed with raisins that were offered to her, heard none of Dagi’s constant chatter as the little boat skimmed the green waves. When they arrived at the palace’s dock, she paused to thank Dagi and his crew.

By the time she finished, Senenmut was gone.

H
atshepsut floated in the dark waters of the pool in the Hall of Women, a white sliver of moon hanging high in Nut’s belly. Despite the cool air, the water still held a trace of the day’s warmth, yet the remembrance of Senenmut’s lips made the blood hot in her veins.

She’d avoided returning to the Hall of Women all afternoon, but eventually had grown tired of wandering restlessly up and down the palace corridors. She had arranged for a new flock of geese for the Place of Truth and then sent for Ineni as a welcome distraction. The old architect had been close with her father, but Hatshepsut had always been struck by how differently the gods could sculpt two men. Where Osiris Tutmose had been wiry and muscular, even in his final years, everything about Ineni was pale and round, like a soft roll pulled fresh from the oven. He often even smelled like just-baked bread.

“Ineni,” she had exclaimed as he entered the palace aviary, ignoring his
henu
amidst the cooing of doves and twitter of songbirds. “I’m afraid I must pull you from your retirement. I require your expertise in building my tomb.”

The architect’s pudgy cheeks had dimpled with his smile. “I’m happy to be of service to the royal family once again.”

“Senenmut was adamant he wanted to work with you on the project.”

“He’s already seen me. I’m glad for his strong back.” Ineni chortled. “You’ve chosen a rather ambitious undertaking,
Hemet
. But, then, you are your father’s daughter.” He held out a tiny papyrus scroll tied with brown string. “I almost forgot. Senenmut asked me to deliver this to you. He sought me out before I received your summons. He seemed in a bit of a hurry.”

“Thank you.” Hatshepsut had pocketed the message, where it now lay tucked in her sheath, discarded on the tiles near the pool, taunting her and tempting her.

An invitation or a farewell? Or something else entirely?

She turned in the water to swim a bit more in what was proving a vain attempt to clear her heart. The sheet of warm water rolled over her body when a shout penetrated her waterlogged brain.

She looked up to see Mensah struggling within the clutches of two guards who protected the Hall of Women. They held him by the arms, his face as red as a beet as they attempted to drag him toward the ornate gilded gate. “The pharaoh is ill, you dimwitted jackals,” he yelled. “The Great Royal Wife needs to come now, before it’s too late!”

“Our apologies,
Hemet
,” one guard stuttered. “The cupbearer pushed past us—”

“Let him be.” She motioned impatiently, wiping water from her face. “Thut is ill?”

“Very. You must hurry.”

She motioned for them to turn around, and pulled herself from the water. Her fingers seemed to be tied in knots, the linen towel gnarled together. “What happened?”

Mensah peered over his shoulder. “He complained of a headache, then started slurring his words as if he’d had too much wine. He was ranting about trade agreements with the Hittites when he fell. He hit his head—there’s blood everywhere.”

“Blood doesn’t scare me.”

Mensah’s hand was clammy on her wrist, but she ignored the breach of etiquette. “Gua isn’t sure if he’s going to wake up,” he said.

Amun’s breath.
This was her fault, punishment from the gods for her betrayal today.

She ran through the corridors, wrapped in the damp towel and almost slipping several times on wet feet. Slaves stared at her open-mouthed as she ran through patches of shifting moonlight.

She’d betrayed Thut and now he might die. Anubis had already claimed Neferubity and their father; the jackal god couldn’t be allowed to take her brother, too.

“Please, Sekhmet,” she whispered. “I’ll do anything.”

She rounded the last corner before the pharaoh’s apartments and skidded to a stop.

Thut had no heir, no one to take his place on the Isis Throne. If he died, she would be the last surviving child of Osiris Tutmose, the only possible successor.

She choked at her blasphemy. The gods should strike her dead and feed her heart to the demon Ammit.

Mensah yanked her arm so hard that he almost pulled her shoulder from its socket. “Hurry, Hatshepsut. We might be too late.”

Two
medjay
guarded Thut’s apartments, their bronze spears and black-and-white ox-hide shields held at attention. One had a face as blank as the desert sands, but the second man’s face and arms were painted with primal black swirls of permanent war paint, a sign of his foreign birth.

The first guard banged the butt of his spear on the door, but the painted man stopped his comrade. “Forgive me,
Hemet
,” he said, “but you can’t go in there.”

“Don’t be a fool. The pharaoh is ill and I must attend him.”

His eyes bore into hers, his mouth set in a firm line. “I’m sorry,
Hemet
, but the pharaoh gave specific orders that he wasn’t to be disturbed.”

She stopped, taken aback. “What? But Thut hit his head.” She turned on Mensah. “How could he—”

He shoved the guard out of the way. “Stand aside, you worthless dog. The pharaoh requested the presence of his Great Royal Wife.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Mensah kicked open the door and pushed her into the room. The door slammed shut behind her.

Thut was most certainly not unconscious.

He stood at the far end of the chambers, partially obscured by the two-headed stele from the Phoenicians, his chest heaving and smeared with blood. And yet his teeth shone white in the torchlight, the grin of a hyena.

Nothing made sense until her brother raised his cane. There was a flash of ivory and a crack like a whip. A spatter of crimson blood on Thut’s face. A moan.

Two thick
medjay
hauled a man to his feet, arms pinned as Thut raised the cane again. “You were my brother!” he screamed, spittle flying. “I trusted you!”

Senenmut.

His nose gushed a river of scarlet and his left eye was swollen shut. His head lolled against his chest, a dark stain blossoming below his ribs.

“Thutmosis.” Hatshepsut could barely hear her own voice. A cool hand touched hers and she turned to see Aset beside her, shaking her head, little bells tinkling from far away.

Her brother froze, the cane hanging in midair as if ready to strike the head from one of Egypt’s enemies.

“How kind of you to join us, sister.” Thut’s eyes narrowed. “Now our party is complete. I do wish you’d thought to fully inform me of your jaunt into the Red Land today.”

She swallowed hard. “We went to choose a location for my tomb.”

Thut clenched and unclenched his fist. “Yes, I’m well aware of your plans. Mensah told me everything, about your trip into the Place of Truth and the liberties you allowed this foul
rekhyt
with your body.”

So it was Mensah she had seen in the market, a face so hidden in shadows she had doubted her own eyes.

Thutmosis slammed the flail into Senenmut’s nose, producing a dull crack like a melon breaking. This time there was no moan, no sound at all. “How long has this been going on?” he demanded.

“Only today. And it was only a kiss—”

He was before her in an instant, his face so close she could smell the incense on his breath. The storm in his eyes could have obliterated every village in all of Egypt. “Don’t play coy with me, sister. I was willing to overlook your whoring before we married—” He sneered. “Yes, you think I’m a fool, but I knew you didn’t come to my bed a virgin. It didn’t take long to ferret out the truth from the girl-slaves. Why do you think I promoted Mensah?” He gave a strangled laugh. “I wanted to keep an eye on both of you. I thought you might betray me, but not like this. Not with him.” He raised the cane again, poised to beat Senenmut once more.

“Stop!” Her voice trembled. She wanted to throw herself between Senenmut and her brother, but that would only ensure Senenmut’s death sentence. “Please. You’re above this.”

Thut’s fingers curved around her throat. “Do you know what I could do to you, Hatshepsut, what I
want
to do to you? I could kill you with my own hands. Deliver you to Anubis so you could never betray me again.”

She shoved him away. There would be a necklace of bruises ringing her neck tomorrow. “I made a mistake.”

“You betrayed me!” Thut roared.

An unexpected blow to the side of her face sent her stumbling back and exploded white fire in her eye. She braced for another blow, but it never came. Instead, Thut’s cane clattered to the floor and he gave a strangled sob. Aset was at his side, her pale hand on his arm. “Perhaps your Great Royal Wife tells the truth,” she murmured. “Or perhaps her offense is worthy of your forgiveness?”

There was a long silence, Thut’s cheeks fading from purple to the shade of parchment.

“I can never forgive her. And I don’t want her excuses.” Thut studied Hatshepsut, his eyes flat. “You might care to know that I didn’t have a chance to summon Senenmut after Mensah told me of your little excursion. He showed up at my door to ask my permission to leave court.” He gave a hollow laugh. “Your precious lover planned to abandon you.”

He was lying, she was sure of it. Thut was only trying to hurt her.

But then she recalled the letter from Senenmut still hidden in her pocket, and Ineni’s mention of him being in a hurry. She glanced at Senenmut, slumped unconscious between the
medjay
, his chest barely rising and falling.

He would have left her.

Thut cleared his throat. “Senenmut will die a traitor’s death, impaled on a stake and his body burned. His name and
ka
will disappear from both this world and the afterlife. The court will be told he left the City of Truth to return to his family in Iuny. You shall never speak of this and will never again leave the Hall of Women. Do you understand?”

The law gave Thutmosis every right to execute Senenmut, but it would be her actions that led to his death. Another stain on her
ka
.

“Please, Thut, not his
ka
. It was my fault—”

“I’m well aware whose fault it was.” He turned to the
medjay
. “Get that thing out of here.” He touched Aset’s cheek tenderly, then grimaced and turned his hands over. They were wet with blood. “Leave us.”

Aset seemed about to say something, but stopped. She frowned at Hatshepsut, then bowed to Thut and disappeared into the shadows. The guards followed, the door closing with a final thud.

Thut jerked his head toward the ground. “Lie down.”

Hatshepsut hesitated, her skin prickling with dread.

“I said, lie down. And take off that towel.”

Her life was no longer her own; today’s events had taught her that.

She took her time folding the damp linen, willing her hands to stop shaking. Slowly she lay on the cold tiles. Her nipples puckered, the tremors spreading up her whole body now.

“Am I not man enough for you?” Thut undid the rope at his waist. “It’s not enough that I’ve been cheated of my leg, but now you’d rob me of my manhood, too?”

She let him push her legs apart, and he slammed into her with a grunt. Hatshepsut swallowed her cry, but that only enraged him more, and his fingers dug into her shoulders, his thrusts growing increasingly impatient. Her mind became numb, then her body. Still not finished, he finally rolled away, his member soft and flaccid, and scrambled for his bloodied kilt. “I loved you. I’d have given you everything.” His voice cracked, his hard eyes shining in the torchlight. “But I wasn’t enough, was I?”

He hobbled off, and she curled into herself, touching hesitant fingers to her swollen eye and looking down at her bruised body. Blood coated her legs, her breasts, her hands.

Senenmut’s blood.

•   •   •

The next morning she received a message from Thut, delivered by one of the guards who had dragged Senenmut away. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

The punishment is complete.

She bit her lip and nodded, hands clasped tight in her lap. She refused to cry before this man.

Before snapping to attention and departing, he set two small packages on the table: a small linen bundle and an ebony box tied with worn leather thongs. Her mind still numb, she unwrapped the linen first.

Inside was a leather band, damp along the edges and embossed with the ibis-headed Thoth, god of knowledge and writing. Her fingers came away with a vibrant streak of fresh blood.

She clasped Senenmut’s armband to her chest with a moan, hands trembling as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. It took some time to muster the strength to open the box. As she peered inside, her
ka
fled her body, unable to bear the horror. She slid to the floor, choking for breath.

A meaty organ, dark red and the size of her fist, slick with fresh blood and covered by a loose web of blue veins. The top contained several white, wide holes where it had been severed from its owner.

A heart. Senenmut’s heart.

The heart controlled the body and housed a man’s memory, his personality, his
ka.
Without his heart, Senenmut could not be judged in the afterlife and would simply cease to exist, as if he had never been. She would never see him again, not even in death.

Eyes closed, she slammed the box shut, but couldn’t find the strength to leave the floor. Sitre and Mouse helped her to her bed sometime later that day, but still she clung to the box and armband, the last remnants of Senenmut’s existence. The room had gone dark when the haze finally lifted from her mind and she realized what she must do.

Fumbling to strike an oil lamp, she blinked against its sudden flame and dug frantically through a reed basket to find what she needed: a slender bone needle, one that Sitre often used to mend the hems of her sheaths.

By the light of the lamp, she began to carve the worn side of Senenmut’s armband, the leather shiny where it had rubbed against his skin. Skin that was no more. Her eyes filled with tears and her finger slipped, and the needle stabbed her opposite wrist, a fresh cut atop those she had carved into her flesh when Neferubity had died. She continued on, not caring when her own blood smeared the leather.