Sphinx's Princess (13 page)

The messenger gave him a look that said
That’s what
you
think
, but since he couldn’t do a thing to sway Father’s decision, he submitted to it. “Lord Ay, I am your servant in all things. My mistress, Queen Tiye, also commands me to give you this.” He reached into the leather pouch hanging from his belt and pulled out a many-stranded necklace of gold, lapis lazuli, and rock crystal beads, with an enameled pendant of the goddess Hathor. It was far more impressive than anything Mery owned. When he held the regal gift up for us to see it in all its splendor, the gems captured the shafts of sunlight pouring down from the hall’s high windows. All of us gasped at such a rich gift, even Father.

“My sister is too generous,” he said, holding out his hands.

The messenger looked uncomfortable. “Lord Ay, this gift—that is,
your
gifts from Queen Tiye await you in Abydos. It is the desire of her heart to fill your hands with riches, so that you will never doubt how much she favors you. But this—this is sent as a gift for your firstborn daughter, Nefertiti. I am commanded to place it around her neck with my own hands and let her know she has Queen Tiye’s eternal love.”

“Eternal, is it?” Father raised one eyebrow. “Well, do what you must. Nefertiti, receive your aunt’s gift.”

I rose from my stool and allowed the messenger to put the necklace on me. It was even heavier than the one I’d borrowed from Mery. Bit-Bit gazed at me with a mixture of
admiration and envy. I smiled at her and made signs to let her know that I’d let her try on my gift. She bounced in her seat and grinned, all envy gone.

The rest of the morning became a flurry of work as Mery saw to the preparations for our departure. All of our best clothing was taken out of the storage chests, inspected, and given to the servants and slaves for any washing or mending that might be necessary. There was a moment of absolute panic when Bit-Bit discovered that she had outgrown her leather sandals. No one wore shoes unless there was a special occasion, so it was easy to lose track of such things.

Luckily for us, the news of our coming journey had raced through Akhmin like a fire in a dry field. Old Anat found a sandal maker who was more than happy to drop everything in order to make Bit-Bit a pair of shoes that might draw the attention of the queen. He brought them to our doorway by midafternoon.

He wasn’t our only visitor. Every one of the most highborn families to Akhmin came to wish us a safe journey to Abydos. Some of them were our true friends, some suddenly had a reason for wanting a closer relationship with our family. The same three girls who’d taunted me before we danced at the Festival of the Inundation showed up with baskets of honey cakes and armfuls of flowers for me. They made a loud fuss over my necklace, tried to kiss my cheeks, and begged me to remember all the happy times we’d shared. I didn’t know whether I wanted to slap them or laugh in their faces. After they left, I ran back into my room,
where Mery was folding my dresses, and flung myself across the bed with a dramatic groan.

“Is anything wrong, dear?” Mery asked playfully.

“Why is everyone so eager to be my friend
now?
They’re like
fleas,”
I declared. “I don’t want them, but they keep swarming all over me.”

“It’s not that they want to be your friends, Nefertiti; it’s that they’re afraid of being counted as your enemies. Everyone in Akhmin knows that Queen Tiye has shown you special generosity and no one knows why. But they
do
know how powerful she is, so they’re playing it safe and trying to stay on your good side.”

“They think that if they make me mad, the queen will punish them? Ha!”

“Don’t sound so skeptical. Your Father’s told me a lot about his royal sister. She casts a big shadow and we’ll all have to learn to walk cautiously around it.”

A servant came into the room with word that we had yet
another
visitor, someone else who’d come asking specifically to see me. I groaned. “Tell them to go away. Whoever they are, tell them they’re not my enemy. I don’t
have
any enemies—I just hate all of my new ‘friends!’ ”

“Nefertiti, stop acting like a child,” Mery chided. “Go and greet your guest.”

“But it’s such a waste of time, Mother,” I protested. “Every time a new visitor comes, we have to stop packing. We’ll never be ready to go!”

“I’m the one doing the packing, Nefertiti,” she replied calmly. “You’re just the one complaining about it, and since
it’s you they’ve come to see, this visit won’t delay our preparations at all.”

“But—!”

“Now listen, it isn’t that far from Akhmin to Abydos and we haven’t got
that
much to pack. It would be easier to get ready for the trip if I had some idea of how long we’ll be gone, but even if we haven’t brought enough clothing, I’m sure Queen Tiye won’t let her kinfolk go around naked. Go.”

I couldn’t argue with Mery’s reasoning, so I pushed myself out of the bed and dragged my feet into the great hall, ready for another “friend.” I wasn’t prepared for what awaited me.

“Ikeni?” What was the high priest’s son doing in our home? Possibilities whirled through my head like bats at sunset. Clearly his father’s hand was behind it, but what was that man’s scheme? To have Ikeni claim me as his “bride”? To have him confront me, in his father’s name, for having wrongfully entered the temple grounds that night? To bring a false claim that I’d stolen something while I’d been in the priest’s house? I wouldn’t put it past the old bullfrog.

Then I saw the child. She was standing behind Ikeni, and she was so small that I hadn’t noticed her until she peeked out at me. I recognized her from the Festival of the Inundation. Like poor Mahala, she was one of the temple slaves who’d made music to accompany our dance. I remember being impressed that someone so very young could already play the harp so well, with such sweetness. Why was she here?

“Hail, Lady Nefertiti. May holy Isis, queen of all the
gods, lady of life, the most mighty one, favor you with all her blessings.” Ikeni bowed as deeply to me as he recited the stiff, formal greeting. He held that uncomfortable pose— bent sharply at the waist, his arms outstretched, his gaze fixed on the ground—the whole time he spoke to me. The words came out like a lesson that had been beaten into him until he had it memorized perfectly. “May she protect you and your august family on your journey. May you go in safety, abide in joy, and return in triumph. May you—”

“Ikeni, look at me,” I said. He turned his head a little at my words but held his pose. “Ikeni, stand
up.
”

“As—as my lady wishes.” He straightened slowly, relieved and uneasy at the same time. “I have more that I’m supposed to say to you, but it’s hard to remember it. If anyone asks—”

“—you were perfect,” I finished his timid plea for him. “We’ll both be happier if you deliver your message in your own words. Why are you here? If your father thinks he can claim we’re married—”

“Oh no!” Ikeni was even more horrified at the thought than I was. It was almost insulting. “He wouldn’t dream of that. Not now. Not when your father is back in the queen’s favor so much that you’re all going away to join the royal court.”

“We’re only going to pay a visit,” I said. “We’re coming back.”

Ikeni gave me a strange look. “If you say so. I hope you’re right. Even if you’re too pretty to marry me, I’d hate to think that I’d never get to see you again.”

“Ikeni, that’s not why I won’t marry you,” I said. Then I
bit my tongue. What if he asked for the real reason why I’d never marry him? I didn’t want to tell him such a cruel truth, that his attractive face and his father’s powerful position as high priest of Isis were his only good points in the marriage market. Plenty of other girls would jump at the chance to have him for their husband, but if I ever married, I wanted a man with whom I could talk, plan, share dreams, and even enjoy a friendly argument now and then.

I changed the subject as quickly as I could: “Who’s your little friend? I don’t know her name, but I remember her music.” I crouched to be on eye level with the child and offered her a smile. “Hello, dear. Have you come to play the harp for me, as a farewell gift from Ikeni?”

“
She’s
the gift!” Ikeni blurted. “And my father’s very sorry about what he did—I mean, what
happened
to her sister, but it was the will of the gods, and we can’t do anything about it, and her name is—um—I forget.”

I stood up and stared at Ikeni as if frogs had just streamed from his mouth. “She’s Mahala’s sister?”

He nodded, cheerful as a well-fed dog. “Father thought that since he can’t bring back that one and give her to you, the way you asked, this one will be all right instead.”

I told myself that he wasn’t being deliberately heartless; he simply didn’t know any better. “This is … generous.”

“I’ll tell Father you said so!” Ikeni was beaming. “Oh, he’ll be so happy! He was worried you’d complain about him to Queen Tiye, but you won’t do that now … will you?” he added, still not entirely sure of me.

“By Ma’at’s truth, I hope I never have to speak his name again,” I replied. Ikeni gave a joyful yelp, bowed to me
once more, and ran out of the house like a boy half his age. I turned to the high priest’s “gift.” The child gazed at me with large green eyes, her thin body trembling. “Why don’t you tell me your name, little one?” I asked in a soothing voice. I got no reply.
She’s scared and shy
, I thought.
The high priest’s house was probably the only home she ever knew. I’ll give her time to get used to this house, and to me.
I offered her my hand. “Are you hungry? Come with me and I’ll get you some food.”

The little girl continued to stare at me with owl’s eyes, but after a little hesitation she took my hand. I led her out of the hall to the kitchen. The other slaves and servants regarded her curiously. She cowered under their stares and pressed herself against my side as if she were trying to vanish. I explained who she was and how she’d come to live here; they were unimpressed.

“Scrawny thing,” old Anat muttered with a disdainful snort.

Our cook was no slave, and a valued servant, so he wasn’t at all bashful about demanding, “What can she
do?”

“She plays the harp,” I replied.

“What
harp?”

As if in answer to his sharp question, at that instant Ikeni came barging into the kitchen, led there by the same servant who’d first announced his visit. The high priest’s son cradled the girl’s small harp awkwardly in his arms.

“I almost forgot!” he said, setting down the instrument. “I ran all the way home and all the way here so I could give you this, too. I think she can still play for you, even if she can’t sing anymore.”

“Why can’t she?” I asked. A dark uneasiness fell over me. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer. It couldn’t be anything good.

Ikeni shrugged. “She can’t sing because she can’t speak. Not now. When they took her sister away, she cried and cried for her until the cook’s son said it wouldn’t do any good because that slave had been tied hand and foot, then tossed into the river, so the crocodiles probably got her and—”

The child began to gasp, soundless sobs racking her thin body. She dropped to the ground in a tight ball, hands clamped to her ears, and a ghostly wail of pure grief escaped her lips. I thought my heart would break from that woeful sound.

“Get out of my home,” I told Ikeni. “Never come back.
Never.
”

“What did I do?” he protested weakly. I took one step toward him, my hands curling into fists, and again I was Sekhmet, the lion-headed goddess of war and destruction. Even though I was much smaller than he, Ikeni saw the ferocious rage in my face, turned white as linen, and ran.

I dropped to my knees beside the child and tried to put my arms around her, but she pushed me away and crawled under the table where the cook chopped vegetables. I sat cross-legged beside her until she slowly uncurled her body and looked at me.

“It’s all right,” I told her. “He’s gone. You live here now. No one’s ever going to hurt you again.” I held out both my hands. “I’m Nefertiti.” She nodded, as if to say she already knew who I was, but she never made a sound.

I brought the child to Mery, who was just finishing the preparations for our journey. Bit-Bit, always inquisitive and enthusiastic, rushed up to greet us, scaring the little one into hiding behind me. She clung so hard to my dress that I thought she was going to pull it off. It was all I could do to have my sister calm down, get the child to loosen her grip on me, and explain matters to Mery.

“A fine apology from that man,” Mery said tartly when I finished. “If ever there was proof that the gods don’t choose their servants—! I pray that the divine ones find a way to repay the high priest
properly
for all he’s done.” She smiled kindly at the girl. “I’ll also pray that this little one will recover her tongue someday and be able to tell us her name. In the meanwhile, we must find something to call her.”

Her words provoked Bit-Bit into an eager burst of suggestions, though before Mery and I could say yes or no, my sister rejected each one as quickly as she proposed it. At last she exclaimed, “Let’s call her Berett!” It was the name of the instrument she played, and as good an idea as any.

“Will that please you?” I asked the girl. “May we call you Berett?” She gave an almost imperceptible nod, and I added: “Only until you tell us your true name, of course.” As if to prove her consent, Berett picked up her harp and began to play. I knelt beside her, my feet wanting to dance to the slow, sweet, tentative melody. In my heart, I made a promise:
Your sister gave me back my life, Berett. I will give you yours.