The Egyptian Royals Collection (22 page)

“Three?”
My father rose in anger. “It was six and now it’s three? How can an army complete a temple in a year?”

“I am with child!” Nefertiti clasped her stomach. “He
has
to be consecrated on the altar of Aten.” My father glared at her. “It’s Amunhotep’s wish,” she added. “And if I don’t do it, then Kiya will. What if she gives him a son?” she asked desperately.

“She will be brought to bed within seven days,” my father warned. “If it’s a prince, he will celebrate. There will be feasting and processions.”

Nefertiti closed her eyes, willing herself to be calm, but my father shook his head.

“Prepare yourself for it. These next few days must belong to Kiya.”

I could see the determination in my sister’s face. “I’m going with him this morning to the Arena,” she declared. She turned to the closet where she kept her riding clothes and called for Merit.

“You’re going to ride with him?” I exclaimed. “But you haven’t ridden in days!”

“And now I will. It was a mistake to think I could settle comfortably into pregnancy.”

She tore through her closet until Merit came. Even at this hour of the morning, her body servant’s kohl was perfect and her linen crisp. Nefertiti said sharply, “My gauntlets and helmet. Quickly. Before Amunhotep’s awake and wants to ride.”

My father confronted Merit. “Is she endangering the child?”

Nefertiti glared at Merit from behind my father’s shoulder, and Merit said immediately, “It’s early, Vizier. Only a few months.”

Nefertiti tightened the belt around her waist. “Perhaps if I ride my blood will quicken and make it a son.”

On the twenty-eighth of Thoth, Ipu came running into my chamber where Nefertiti and I were playing Senet.

“It’s happening!” she cried. “Kiya is having the child.”

We both scrambled out of our chairs and rushed down the hall to our parents’ chamber. My mother and father were sitting together, speaking quickly in hushed tones.

“She is going to have a boy,” Nefertiti whispered.

My father looked at me, as if I had told her something I shouldn’t have. “Why should you say that?”

“Because I dreamed it last night. She is going to give birth to a Prince of Egypt!”

My mother stood up and shut the door. The palace was overrun with messengers who were waiting to make a proclamation to the kingdom.

Nefertiti panicked. “I can’t let it happen! I
won’t
let it happen.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” my father said.

“There’s always something I can do!” she proclaimed. Nefertiti added calculatingly, “When Amunhotep returns, tell him I’m not well.”

My mother frowned, but my father saw what game she was playing at once. “How unwell?” he asked quickly.

“So unwell …” Nefertiti hesitated. “So unwell that I could die and lose the child.”

My father looked to me. “You must confirm her story when he asks.” He spun around and instructed Merit. “Take her to her room and bring her fruit. Don’t leave her side until you see Pharaoh.”

Merit bowed. “Of course, Vizier.” I thought I saw a smile at the edge of her lips. She bowed to Nefertiti. “Shall we go, Your Highness?”

I remained at the door. “But what should I do?”

“Tend to your sister,” my father said meaningfully. “And do as she asks.”

We walked in procession to Nefertiti’s chamber, slowly, so that if anyone should see us, they would know something was wrong with the queen. In her room, Nefertiti lay like an invalid. “My sheath,” she said. “Spread it for me.”

I gave her a long look.

“Across my legs and over the sides of the bed.”

“This is terrible, what you are doing,” I told her. “You’ve already displaced Kiya in Amunhotep’s affections. Isn’t that enough?”

“I’m sick!” she protested.

“You’re taking the only time that she has!”

We looked at each other, but there was no shame in Nefertiti’s gaze.

I sat by her bed while Ipu stood guard outside the door, harassing servants for news from Kiya’s birthing chamber. We waited all evening. Then, finally, Ipu came running, and when she opened the door her face was grave.

“Well? What is it?” Nefertiti sat forward in her bed. “What is it?”

Ipu lowered her head. “A prince. Prince Nebnefer of Egypt.”

Nefertiti sank back on her pillows, and now her face became truly pale. “Send word to Pharaoh that his Chief Wife is ill,” she said immediately. “Tell him I may die. That I may lose the child.”

I pressed my lips together.

“Don’t look like that,” she commanded.

When word reached Amunhotep, he came at once. “What is it? What’s wrong with her?” he cried.

I thought that the lies would stick in my throat, but they tumbled out quickly when I saw his fear. “I don’t know, Your Highness. She took ill this morning, and now all she can do is sleep.”

Terror darkened his face and his joy at having a son was gone. “What did you eat? Was it prepared by your servant?”

Nefertiti’s answer was soft and weak. “Yes … yes, I’m sure it was.”

He pressed his hand to her cheek and turned to me. “What happened? You must know. The two of you are thick as thieves. Just tell me what happened!” I saw that he was not trying to be cruel. He was afraid. Genuinely afraid for his wife.

My heart raced. “It might have been the wine,” I said quickly. “Or the cold. It’s very cold outside.”

Amunhotep glared across the room at the windows, and then at the linens on the bed. “Give me blankets!” he bellowed, and women came running. “Blankets and wool. Find the Vizier Ay. Have him bring the physician.”

“No!” Nefertiti sat up.

Amunhotep brushed the hair from her brow. “You are unwell. You must see a physician.”

“Mutny is all that I need.”

“Your sister is not a physician!” Then he leaned across her bed and grabbed her arm desperately. “You
cannot
be ill. You
cannot
leave me.”

She closed her eyes, her dark lashes fluttering against her high pale cheeks. “I hear you have a son,” she said quietly and smiled, resting her small hand on her stomach.

“You are the only thing that matters to me. We are going build monuments to the gods together,” he swore.

“Yes. A temple to Aten.” She smiled weakly, playing her part so well that tears welled in Amunhotep’s eyes.

“Nefertiti!” His cry of anguish was so real that I felt sorry for him. He threw himself across her bed and I panicked.

“Stop it! Stop it or you will hurt the child!”

There was a knock on the door, and my father appeared with the physician at his side. Nefertiti passed him an anxious glance.

“Don’t be afraid,” my father said meaningfully. “He can only help.”

Something passed between them, and she allowed the physician to draw blood from her arm. He swirled the dark liquid in a pan to see its color, and we all stood and waited for him to read the signs. The old man cleared his throat. He looked once at my father, nodding briefly, then at Pharaoh.

“What is it?” Amunhotep demanded.

The physician lowered his head. “I am afraid she is very ill, Your Highness.”

The color drained from Amunhotep’s face. His champion, his wife, his most ardent supporter, sick now with his child. Amunhotep stole a glance at his beloved Nefertiti, whose hair spilled over the pillows like black ink. She looked beautiful and eternal, like a sculpture in death. He turned on the physician. “You will do
everything possible
,” he commanded. “You will do
everything
in your power to bring her back.”

“Of course,” the man said quickly. “But she must have rest. Nothing must disturb her with the child. No terrible news, no—”

“Just heal her!”

The physician nodded vigorously and rushed to his bag, producing several bottles and a vial of ointment. I peered closer, to see if I could recognize them. What if they were dangerous? What if they truly made her sick? I passed a look to my father, whose face remained expressionless, and I realized what it must be. Rosemary water.

The physician administered the draft and we waited the rest of the night with my sister, watching her drift into sleep. My mother came, then Ipu and Merit brought fresh juices and linens. As the night wore on, my mother returned to her heated chamber while Amunhotep, my father, and I remained. But as I watched her repose, I grew resentful. If she wasn’t so selfish, my father and I wouldn’t have to partake in such a charade. We wouldn’t have to stand like sentinels around her bed, warming our hands by the fire while she tucked herself neatly into her covers and Amunhotep caressed her cheek. When even my father left, he turned and said significantly to me, “Watch her, Mutnodjmet.” He closed the door, and Amunhotep went to stand over Nefertiti’s bed.

“How ill is she?” the king of Egypt demanded. His face was long and angular in the shadows.

I swallowed my fear. “I am afraid for her, Your Highness.” It wasn’t a lie.

Amunhotep looked down at his sleeping queen. She was a perfect beauty, and I knew in my own life I would never be loved with such obsession. “The healers will bring her back,” he vowed. “She is carrying our child. The future of Egypt.”

Before I could stop myself, I had asked him, “What about Nebnefer, Your Highness?”

He looked at me strangely, as if he had forgotten about Kiya’s heir. “She is Second Wife. Nefertiti is my queen, and she is loyal to me. She understands my vision of a greater Egypt. An Egypt that is guided by the Almighty Aten. Our children will embrace the sun and become the most powerful rulers the gods have ever blessed.”

My voice caught in my throat. “And Amun?”

“Amun is
dead
,” he replied. “But I will resurrect my grandfather’s dream of Pharaohs who aren’t cowed by the power of the Amun priests. I will honor his name and be remembered forever for what I’ve done. What
we’ve
done,” he said forcefully, looking down at Nefertiti, his battle consort, his staunchest ally. For any advance Kiya made, Nefertiti was there suggesting a new statue, a new courtyard, a glittering new temple.

He remained at her bedside the entire night. I watched him, wondering what would possess a man to destroy the gods of his people and raise in their place a protector no one had heard of.
Greed
, I thought.
His hatred of everything his father believes in, and his greed for power. Without the Amun priests, he will control everything
. I sat on a thickly cushioned chair and watched him caress my sister’s cheek. He was tender, brushing his hand across her face, inhaling the lavender scent of her hair. When I fell asleep, he was still beside her, praying to Aten for a miracle.