Daughter of the Gods (28 page)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? Allow me to refresh your memory, then.” He pulled her to a cedar bench, pinning her on his lap so she could feel the hardness between his legs. “You may recall that you banished me to the Temple of Amun after your brother’s death, that I served there first as
wa’eb
and then as Second Lector Priest.”

She struggled against him, but it was no use. “I don’t see the point of this.”

Binding her wrists with one hand, he stroked the hollow of her neck with the other. “While serving the Great Cackler, I worked under the supervision of the High Priest, a man marked by the gods.” He touched her right cheek. “Right here, a purple stain like a thumbprint.”

She fell still and her body grew cold.

“That’s right.” He continued to caress her cheek with his rough thumb. “You bribed him the day the invisible god cast you off.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“I don’t have to prove it, Hatshepsut. All I have to do is mar your name and you’ll be thrown into obscurity. That’s your greatest fear, isn’t it?”

“You can’t bully me into marrying you.”

“No? Amun rejected you, but you bribed the High Priest to hide that fact. You may not realize how thoroughly many of your nobles detest Senenmut and would rather see one of their own share the power of the Isis Throne. All of Egypt knows you consort with that foul
rekhyt
and shower him with undeserved titles, but do they know the Great God rejected you or that you bribed the High Priest to cover it up? How do you think your people would feel to realize Sekhmet’s daughter has deceived them all this time?”

The metallic taste of defeat filled her mouth. A woman controlling the throne was an aberration, one the
rekhyt
would not tolerate long if they believed her to be corrupt. She swallowed hard, looked at him through her lashes. “You make a convincing case.”

“Does that mean you accept?”

She smiled and leaned toward him as if to kiss him, but stopped short of his oiled lips, smelling the garlic on his breath. “It means you’d best get out of here before I scream for my guards. Get out of my palace.”

His grip on her wrists tightened and his lip curled in the sneer of a feral dog. “Think carefully, Hatshepsut. I won’t make this offer again.”

“And I won’t ask you to leave again.”

He shoved her off his lap so hard that she fell to the ground, smashing her elbow into a table. He spat at her and stormed off.

She scrambled to her feet and rubbed her elbow, grimacing at the film of oil from Mensah’s chest that covered her arms. The door slammed behind him, but reopened, and Nomti’s huge frame filled the door.

“Is everything all right,
Hemet
?”

“No. Plans have changed.” She had given strict orders that Mensah be allowed to go free, but his attempt at blackmail had changed all that. “Follow Mensah. I want what’s left of his body to summon the crocodiles by morning.”

Surprise flared in Nomti’s eyes, followed by an eager flash of pleasure. He pressed his fist to his chest. “As you wish,
Hemet.
”

He slammed the door and footsteps pounded down the hall. She sat on the same bench Mensah had vacated, the wood still warm from his body. Everything suddenly felt too tight—her crown, necklace, ribs, heart. Faience beads fell like a shimmering rainstorm onto the tiles as she yanked the woven collar from her neck, shed the matching bracelets, and tore the wig and crown from her head.

She hated Mensah for his threats, for destroying everything she’d worked so hard to achieve. But more than that, she hated him for what he would turn her into.

A murderer.

•   •   •

She didn’t sleep that night, haunted by images of Mensah’s sightless eyes staring up at her from the murky waters of the Nile, his rotting arms reaching up to drag her into the river with him. Her ears pricked at every rustle in the dark as she awaited word of Mensah’s final moments, imagining his men coming for her, or, worse, an angry mob arriving to demand her removal. Finally, unable to control her impatience, she dressed herself and left her rooms, ignoring the silent guard who fell into step behind her.

Senenmut and Nomti found her in the Royal Treasury before Re had heaved himself over the horizon, counting burlap sacks filled with gold. Torches flickered to illuminate black hieroglyphs painstakingly printed on the bags, marking each with its place of origination.
Gold of the Delta. Gold of Nubia. Gold of the Mountains.
The stacks brushed the ceiling in some areas, enough gold to melt down and cover the pyramids if she chose. But would there be enough to buy the army’s loyalty? The priesthood’s?

She prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

“Mensah is gone.” Senenmut’s voice echoed off the rafters of the treasury, frightening two speckled pigeons from their roost. A downy gray feather floated in lazy circles to the ground.

“Gone?”

“Disappeared,” Senenmut said. “Without a trace.”

“Sekhmet’s breath!” She kicked one of the burlap sacks and was rewarded with a sharp pain that ratcheted through her big toe. She grabbed it and sat down on the bag, swallowing the rest of the curses on her tongue.

Senenmut exchanged a look with Nomti, then sat down next to her. “What happened with Mensah? What made you change your mind about him?”

She didn’t care to spill her secrets of Amun rejecting her or of bribing the High Priest. Or the god’s words in her head. Never that.

“Nothing important,” she said.

He scoffed. “We need the truth, Hatshepsut. You rejected his plan, didn’t you?”

“Yes. And told him to leave the palace.”

“Well, he didn’t follow your orders,” Senenmut continued.

“What do you mean?”

Nomti scowled. “A girl-slave reported seeing Mensah sneak out of Aset’s chambers and leave the palace this morning. It was one of the few places we didn’t search last night.”

The implication filled Hatshepsut’s veins with lead. Mensah and Aset. It simply wasn’t possible.

“Where is Aset now?”

“Gone.” Nomti shifted from one foot to the other. “And Tutmose, too.”

The stab of betrayal cut Hatshepsut deep. Aset was the closest thing she had to family, a sister made from the same clay. There had to be some mistake. Surely she wouldn’t have joined with Mensah. Would she?

“If Mensah bribed the mother of the pharaoh to join his cause, he’ll have a strong case to drum up support from the nobility.” Senenmut rubbed his face, his eyes haggard. “Tutmose will be set aside, but he’ll be safe, at least for now.”

“But I’m still regent.”

She didn’t have to ask what that meant for Mensah’s plan. The answer was clearer than the writing on the sacks of gold.

Senenmut touched her hair, his jaw clenched. “Mensah will come after you.”

This was no longer a struggle for the throne, but a fight to the death like the famous battle between Set and Osiris.

Nomti’s lips curled up like a hyena closing in on a kill. “You’re not in danger,
Hemet.
My men will spear Mensah before he can come within a stone’s throw of the Great Double Gate.”

And she would continue as regent until Tutmose came of age, then retire to some sun-drenched estate, forgotten by the world. It was a fate worse than death.

“No. Let him into the palace.”

“What?” Senenmut and Nomti both gaped at her with naked disbelief.

She shook her head slowly, her mind jumping several steps ahead to anticipate Mensah’s next moves as if this were a simple game of
senet.
“Let him set into motion whatever plot he’s hatched.”

“Have you lost your mind? He’ll try to kill you,” Senenmut said.

“Exactly. We have to catch him in the act. There can’t be any doubt of what he intends.”

Realization lit his eyes. “You’ll convict him of treason, expose him publicly?”

“Mensah won’t wait long to reveal himself, and when he does we’ll be there to crush him. Afterward, the people will see that the Isis Throne is vulnerable, that Egypt needs a true pharaoh.”

She took a deep breath, daring the gods with her next words. “And that pharaoh will be me.”

There was no bolt of lightning, none of Sekhmet’s golden arrows to smite her for her heresy. Instead, she swore she could hear the goddess’s laughter in her head.

Senenmut moved to protest, but she stopped him with a gentle shake of her head. “Don’t you see? I’ve waited seven long years for this opportunity. Only now the winner of this match receives the double crown.”

Senenmut motioned to Nomti and her guard stepped back, leaving her alone with Senenmut. “This isn’t some game, Hatshepsut. This is your life.”

“A life lived for the glory of Egypt, or a life lived in disgrace. There’s no other option.” She would be ruined if Amun’s rejection and the bribery got out. She clasped Senenmut’s hands, let them hang loosely between them. “Please. This is what I want.”

He frowned. “We don’t always get what we want.”

She stood on tiptoes, brushed her lips against his. “I do.”

“I can see I’m not going to win this argument.” He turned away from her, his fingers still woven with hers and a look on his face as if she were already dead. “But I want you surrounded by
medjay
day and night.”

He let her go and walked to a broad window looking over the palace gardens, his scarred back and strong shoulders already carrying this extra weight. Senenmut was a survivor; he would continue on in this life even if Mensah succeeded in sending her to the next. She wouldn’t think on that now.

The trap was set. Now let Mensah—and anyone foolish enough to follow him—stumble into it.

•   •   •

Hatshepsut rolled over and reached across the bed for Senenmut, but her arm found only the softness of the goose-down mattress. Mouse’s usual snores continued from the other side of the door, but tonight there was something else: a constant hum in the air. Outside, the wind tore through palm trees and cascaded over the garden walls, thick with sand that blotted out most of the light from the full moon, the stars tucked deep in Nut’s black belly from the force of the
khamsin.
A furious howl of wind like a pack of starving wild dogs slammed the wooden shutters against the wall.

“Are you all right?” Nomti burst into the room, spear pointed, but relaxed when he saw her at the window, fumbling with the latch. Angry hot air and a spray of sand slapped her face, robbing her of the breath to answer. Together, they finally secured the window.

“I haven’t seen a
khamsin
since I wore a youth lock,” she said, rubbing the grit from her eyes and rinsing the sand from her mouth with a glass of warm wine. It was no use—the wine had sand in it, too. “I got yelled at by Sitre to come away from the window while my sister spent the entire night cowering under our bed.”

Nomti didn’t smile. “The gods must be angry tonight.”

She didn’t care to find out who had upset them. Instead she padded back to bed, pausing to brush grains of sand from her feet. She’d get an earful from Mouse in the morning about the mess.

“In peace, Nomti.”

“In peace,
Hemet.
”

He shut the door just as she saw something move out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t react fast enough before she was slammed to the ground so hard the air flew from her lungs. Something soft and scratchy covered her face so there was no air, nothing but hot wool filling her nose and mouth. She bucked under the pressure, shoved at her assailant, tried to scratch, kick, punch—anything to free herself, but it wasn’t enough. A heavy weight pressed on her lungs, and sunbursts exploded in her eyes. Her arms were pinned to her sides while something heavy pushed on her throat. The strength seeped from her muscles and lethargy overtook her limbs.

Her final thoughts were for Neferure. Senenmut. Tutmose.

Her chest grew light, her
ka
slipping free from her broken body to fly to the sky. Then the wool was yanked from her face. The air in her chambers was as sweet and cool as chilled honey wine on a summer afternoon. She coughed, choking as she curled into a ball, fingers clutching her battered throat.

“Hatshepsut!” Aset’s face hovered above her, vague in the darkness and all the wrong colors. The oil lamp in her hand chased away the darkness. “Are you all right?”

Hatshepsut only nodded, unable to speak. Aset helped her to sit, a monumental task as Hatshepsut tried to drag air into her lungs again. It took a few moments to make out the scene before her. Nomti stood in the corner, hands on his knees with chest heaving and tattoos rippling like black waves. She followed his line of sight to the floor, but recoiled from what she saw there.

A man lay sprawled facedown on the floor, crimson blood seeping from his chest to creep like red fingers across the shadowy tiles. Hatshepsut had seen blood like that before when her father had slaughtered a bull at Karnak. She’d been riveted then as she was now, entranced as the stain spread across her floor. She couldn’t see the man’s face, but there was a stain on his cheek, one that might have been taken for blood at first glance. But it was darker, more like wine, and matched the larger stains on his arms.

“It appears the High Priest decided to pay you a visit,” Nomti said, straightening and wiping the back of his curved blade on his kilt. It came away streaked with red. “Quite an honor.”

Shocked, she looked to Aset. “How did you know to come?”

“Mensah came to me with a plot to get rid of you. I pretended to go along with his plan to find out the details.” She shuddered and stepped away from the body with its still-expanding pool of blood. “I almost got here too late.”

Not a traitor at all, but her savior. How could she have doubted Aset?

Hatshepsut winced as she touched her neck. “I’m grateful you got here at all, or I’d be on my way to Amenti right now.”

Nomti inclined his head toward the window where the wind still howled, as loud as if the gods themselves were fighting. “The storm gave them the perfect opportunity.”

“Was anyone else involved?” Hatshepsut asked.

“Only a few.” Aset gave their names, several priests and a handful of inconsequential courtiers, including the one from the scroll that Senenmut’s spies had intercepted. Nomti stepped out to bark orders to the other
medjay
to round up the traitors.