NINETEEN

I’m trailing behind Mother and the high priest. Benerib and Mother’s handmaids are at my back as we wind through the temple complex. Two slow weeks have crept past since I learned Senenmut lives. The knowledge that Mother knew, participated in the entire charade, and didn’t tell me simmers in my gut like lava. She promised not to keep secrets if I’d bear Thutmose’s child. But here I am, pregnant and still fooled.

Yet as angry as I am at Mother and Senenmut, it’s a relief to know my old tutor lives. I haven’t left him a message yet. I will when I’m ready. I want to look him in the eyes when I ask why I should forgive him for another, most brutal lie. I take perverse pleasure in making him wait on my response.

“Adoratrice,” Nebtah rushes up. She notices Mother and the high priest and pauses. It only lasts an instant before she’s back to the confident priestess I know, going about her temple business. “You forgot your sistrum.”

She holds a sistrum out to me, and my breath catches.

That sistrum can only mean one thing: Kamut is here and alive and has something to tell me.

Nebtah must have finally seen a red streamer on the flagpole and put whatever message he wants to deliver inside this sistrum. I tasked her with this duty. I’ve been waiting months for this moment. Yet somehow, it’s still unexpected.

I reach out and take the instrument from her. My hand is trembling, but hers is steady as an obelisk. I nod a thanks, then tuck the instrument in the pocket designed to hold it—Iset’s invention, included on all our newest gowns—and walk forward like the world didn’t just shift beneath my feet.

After months of my companions falling out of my life, now phantoms are returning. Miraculously, I manage to make small talk with Mother as we’re rowed back to the palace, where I rush to my quarters the moment I can excuse myself.

I lay the sistrum on my desk. Made of metal and painted blue with a goddess head at the top of the stem, it looks like an innocent instrument any wealthy woman would be proud to possess. I shake it. It’s not quite as tuneful as my usual sistrum, but it’s not meant to play. It’s meant to communicate. It was inspired by Senenmut’s seal ring, which also had a hinged bottom. He kept, of all things, ink in the small hidden compartment within.

My fingers tremble as I work the small door at the base of the sistrum open, then shake out the scroll and unroll it, worms twisting in my belly. The handwriting is Kamut’s brother’s. My breath hitches as I scan the page.

From the royal guard Kamut to the little princess, in life, prosperity, and health. I don’t know whether news has reached you that Iset’s husband Meriptah died in an accident on the site yesterday. I’m told Iset has taken it hard—so hard the villagers worry she risks losing the child, perhaps even her own life. She’s too fragile to send word to you, so I’m sending it via our arrangement to be sure you’re informed. I’ve sent word to the wisewoman as well. Hopefully Hathor will rush to Iset’s side once the news reaches her. Iset is strong. I pray, as I know you will, that she gets through it and delivers a healthy child to ease the pain of Meriptah’s loss.

I do wish I were writing with better news or could at least be with you to provide some comfort. I’ll keep an eye out for a response. If there’s anything I can do for you, do send word. I’ll reach out if I have more to report. I think of you always and, as always, serve you as I’m able, although I wish I was doing more.

“Benerib,” I cry out as I scan the letter again, wondering how long ago it was written. Yesterday, most likely, which means Meriptah died two days ago, and I’m just learning of it now.

Benerib opens my study door.

“I need to get to Iset.” I’m on my feet.

“What’s happened?”

“Her husband. He’s dead.” I hand her the letter. “And Iset is in danger. I need to go to her. Now.” I rush into my bedroom and grab a shift to cover the priestess robe I still wear, stepping toward the door.

“Adoratrice.” Benerib doesn’t follow. “Let’s take a moment to think. We only get one chance to make a good choice here.”

“There’s no choice to make. Iset needs me—”

“Yes. You must go to her. I do wonder, though, if you need to go in that.” She nods at my gown. “If you slow down, I can get you there undetected, if, that is, you have reason to believe Iset could be in some danger if your fondness for her was widely known.”

I suck in a breath, like I’m absorbing a punch in the gut.

Thutmose.

Iset would be another target for Thutmose to aim for if he knew how much I cared about her. I gape at Benerib, who reads the scroll in her hands. I’m surprised to learn she’s literate, though given her friendship with Thuiu, perhaps I shouldn’t be.

“You’re right.” My mind clears. “He can’t know how much I love her.”

She nods. “Then let’s be smart about this—”

“But I need to go now. Kamut must have written that yesterday. I can’t wait—”

“It won’t take long. I’ve made preparations in case the need arose.”

She ducks into her small bedroom that opens to mine. I follow her in and watch her drop to her knees and retrieve something from under her bed. When she has it, she marches out onto my deck. I follow her outside. Hand to mouth, Benerib trills a series of birdcalls. She waits to hear the call returned, then turns to me.

“Come.” She leads me inside and drapes the blue cape she brought from her room over me, pulling the hood low.

I’m jumping out of my skin, on fire with fear. I have no idea what’s happening with Iset right now, and the ignorance sits in my gut, heavy as a mastaba. I’m about to ask why we’re wasting time with this silly robe when the guard announces visitors.

Benerib opens the door and ushers two women in. They’re dressed in the same blue robe I’m wearing. “The queen needs a massage. Expectant mothers do require extra care,” Benerib tells the curious guard as she shuts the door. She pauses to flash me a small smile. “I knew your pregnancy would come in handy.”

I shift from one foot to the other as I watch one of the women remove her blue robe. She wears a dark blue tunic with red rosettes underneath. It matches one Iset made for me weeks ago.

“I was about to send word to you both,” the other girl says. Her eyes dart to me—they’re full of worry. “I assume you’ve heard about Iset and the child?”

My blood runs cold. “What—”

“They’re fine.” She holds her hands up, shaking her head. “Hathor has been with Iset since last night. She delivered the child. She sent word an hour ago, asking me to see that you were informed.”

“Is Iset all right? And the baby?”

The girl grins. “They’re both fine. It was a difficult labor. The baby is early, but with Hathor’s help, the little girl will be fine.”

I exhale, and the release flows through my body, from my head to my toes. She’s fine. The baby is fine.

And then I remember, Meriptah is still dead. Iset may not be in danger, but she’s certainly in mourning.

I turn to Benerib. “I’m still going. But I need to keep Iset and the babe safe. What exactly is your plan?”

She nods at the girl who just spoke. “This is Tentamun.” Benerib motions toward the other girl, the one who wears a dress that matches one of my own. “And this is Neith.”

Neith isn’t just dressed like me. She looks like me. She has my light brown skin. She’s the same size. She even shares a rounded belly, although I’m not sure if that is real or fake. Her wig is in her hand, revealing rows of short braids. She holds the wig out to Benerib, who takes it and turns to me.

“You’re both scorpions?” I ask, dipping low so Benerib can swap the wig I’m wearing with Neith’s.

“And friends,” Benerib says as she shifts the unfamiliar wig into place, handing mine to the girl. “Tentamun knows Iset well. She lives in the village too. She’ll take you to her. Neith and I will stay here until you return. I’ll say you’ve decided to spend the day in your rooms. You must be back in time for dinner with your mother this evening. We can’t keep this ruse up longer than that. Are you ready?” she asks.

I bob my head, fear replaced by nerves.

“Head down. Let the hood and hair cover your face,” she advises me quietly as she opens the door, lifting her voice as if she’s chiding the women. “Next time you come to the queen’s quarters, be better prepared. Go now. And be back later this afternoon. Be ready to please her this time.”

I follow Tentamun out, head bowed, wondering if she’s the village girl Iset mentioned in her letter. I don’t say a word as she leads me through the palace, out the front gate, and into the back of a cart. A silent driver whistles once, and the donkey pulls us forward.

The village isn’t far. The ride is short but bumpy, and it entails another costume change. Tentamun hands me a rough-hewn garment. We change silently, and she pulls a different hood over my head as a guard waves us into the village gate, where a group of boys hit a small circular disk with bent bats, jeering the poor boy who just missed a shot. We pass them quickly, and I turn my attention to the small homes that line the straight street, running from one end of the village to the other. Less than fifty houses stand in this small, gated community, home to the artisans who work on the tombs, including my own, under construction now. Although I know about the village, called Set Maat, the Place of Truth, by the locals, I’ve never been inside.

The driver crosses a road that runs perpendicular to the one we’re on before stopping before an unremarkable mudbrick home. Its red door and the two clay serpents that flank it guard the home from evil. Not well enough, I muse as I follow Tentamun inside. She opens the front door and waltzes in like she lives here.

A blood-soaked Hathor greets us. Her eyes widen with surprise, but it passes quickly and she nods with a grunt. “I should have known to expect you, Adoratrice. One would have thought Tentamun would have sent word.”

“Sorry, Mistress,” the girl says. “Benerib gave the signal. There was no time—”

Hathor waves away the explanation. “It’s fine. You did well. You can go, but stay close—you’ll need to see the queen back to her rooms later.” She excuses the girl and turns to me. “I’m glad you’re here.” She looks tired. For the first time, her true age is evident in the lines around her eyes, the droop of her lips. “Iset is doing well. It’s good I was informed so quickly. She was in shock when I got here. The baby was early. This could have turned out very differently.”

“Meriptah is still dead,” I point out.

“Yes, Neferura. But we averted the tragedy we had some power over. Let’s give ourselves permission to make an impact where we can without feeling guilty for all the things we can’t control.”

“I didn’t say I felt guilty,” I quip, stung by her criticism.

She relaxes into a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long night.”

“I’m sorry too,” I say. “I’ve just been so worried. Can I see her?”

I glance over at the small cubby, built into the wall of the front room. It’s painted with a colorful image of the god Bes, protector of childbirth. I can see a covered figure and assume the low breathing I hear is Iset’s.

“They’re finally asleep. We can wake them, but let’s speak for a moment first.” Hathor motions toward two small, low benches that hug the wall near the altar erected to honor Iset’s and Meriptah’s ancestors. I slump on one, and she lies on the other with her knees bent so her feet are on the floor as she stares up at the ceiling. “Are you worried about Iset alone? Or are you worried about yourself too?” she asks.

“I don’t need to be reminded that he’s going to kill me when the child is born,” I sigh. I can’t hide my exasperation. It’s tiresome, this ever-present threat. “But I do have more important things to worry about before I get that far.”

“I was thinking of the upcoming birth. Pregnancies are dangerous, Neferura. That can hardly come as a surprise to you.”

I pull my eyes off her bloody gown and rest a hand on my swelling stomach, anxious to avoid the topics of bloody pregnancies and Thutmose and all the terrifying things he might do to me once he has his heir and I’m expendable. “I’m aware. I suppose I just don’t care.”

She sits up. “Don’t care about yourself or your offspring?”

I glance over at Iset, sleeping soundly. The painting of a rotund Bes, with his large ears and long beard, floats protectively over her. I assume the child sleeps next to her, but I can’t see her from here. “I want my child to be safe,” I admit. “I’m trying not to get too attached to the idea of a baby to be honest. Any child I bring into the world will be scooped up by Mother and Thutmose.”

“A pity,” Hathor says. “You’re a far fitter parent than either of them.”

“Speaking of parents.” I change the subject and Hathor tucks her legs under her and sits tall in scribal pose. “There’s a priestess in my troupe. Her name is Meri. She’s pregnant and alone. No family. Can you check on her? Make sure she’s cared for?”

“As you wish, Adoratrice.” Hathor nods, the small grin adding a hint of sarcasm to her words. “I’ll see to your priestess and to you.”

“Will you sneak fertility figurines into her home too?”

“I certainly will.” She smiles wider. “It’s a dangerous business, bringing people into the world. You expectant mothers need all the protection you can get.”

I relax at that. Perhaps Hathor’s meddling is well intended. She just saved Iset after all. “Thank you.” We’re silent for a moment, the appreciation hanging in the air. The pile of things I have to thank the wisewoman for is growing. “Thank you for saving Iset. And for finding Satiah the perfect uncle.” I pause before adding, “And thank you for saving Senenmut as well.”

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry you weren’t informed.” Her lips curl into a snarl. “Sorry and disappointed.” She blows out a breath. “To be honest, I had half a mind to rescue him before you asked me to. He didn’t deserve the fate Thutmose demanded. I kept reminding myself that Kemet is full of people who suffer fates they don’t deserve. But I was relieved you asked me to intervene. It gave me the excuse I needed to take the risks necessary to pull that trick off—”

“Teni?” Iset turns over in her bed, and the bundle cuddled tightly in her arms squawks.

I stand up, and Iset gasps.

At first, she looks happy to see me, but her brow instantly crinkles. “What if you get caught?” She goes right to the point, direct as always.

“I couldn’t stay away.” I move toward her and the baby. She swings sideways so her feet rest on the steps that lead up to the small cubbyhole. Soon my feet are on the bottom step, arms around Iset and babe. “I’m so sorry,” I croon.

The baby gurgles, and Iset breaks into big, racking sobs. I hold her as she cries. Hathor comes to take the baby, but Iset waves her off. “My dearest friend will want to meet her. Won’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

Iset scoots over, and I climb into the pigeonhole—there’s barely room for the two of us in this elevated bed—and take the child gently into my arms, cradling her to my chest. She’s so small and fragile, I’m worried I’ll break her.

“I named her Neferu,” Iset says.

Now I’m crying. And Iset is crying again. And soon the babe is crying.

“I’ll leave you two,” Hathor says. “I’ll check on you tonight, Iset. If you feel anything strange or have any reason at all to be concerned about little Neferu, send Tentamun to fetch me sooner.”

Iset nods and thanks Hathor, who walks out, shoulders drooped in exhaustion.

“I’m so sorry about Meriptah,” I say when the door swings shut, examining the bags that ring Iset’s pretty brown eyes.

She sits up, resting her back against the wall, head nearly touching the ceiling, and stares down so her long, black braids fall over her face like clouds covering the sun. “I didn’t expect to see you. Hathor said Kamut sent word to her. I don’t think Neferu and I would have survived if she hadn’t come.”

“Was it terrible? The birth?”

“I lived.” She shrugs. “That’s more than my mother got.”

I reach out a hand and twine my fingers through Iset’s.

She gives them a squeeze.

“What can I do for you?” I ask.

She shakes her head, eyes bright with tears. “You’re here. That’s enough.”

I run my finger down the baby’s cheek, then lean close to take in her scent. “My estate will cover the funerary costs. We’ll see that Meriptah’s funerary goods are perfect.”

“Thank you. That would help. Meriptah worked so hard on our tomb. It would make him happy to know it will be well supplied. We were just beginning to…” She swallows hard, picking at the hem of her gown as she begins, slowly at first, talking about the shock of learning Meriptah was dead, much like what she’d experienced when her mother and baby brother died.

I know what grief feels like, having mourned both Thuiu and Senenmut. The latter uselessly, as it turns out. “I wish I could do more.”

“You’re here,” she whispers, taking the baby to feed her. “That’s more than enough. I hate the risk you’re taking, but a visit from my closest friend is the best possible balm.” She smiles down at Neferu, suckling at her breast. “I remember the first time we met. I thought I was the luckiest girl in Kemet. I was full of fantasies of a life spent at your side.”

“I thought Mother would boot you from the palace before nightfall.” I smile at the memory. “I was stunned you were so young.”

“And a commoner.”

“A commoner with a flair for luxury. Who would have guessed that we’d reunite? Once again, you’re making me up in a wardrobe that could make the most well-dressed noblewoman weep with envy.”

“As if you care about your wardrobe,” she says. Her voice is lighter now, less heavy with grief for the moment. After a pause, she asks if I learned about Meriptah from Kamut, and if he’d sent a letter through Nebtah’s sistrum according to my scheme.

I confirm her suspicion, and then I tell her about Senenmut.

“Alive?” she gasps.

I squirm with guilt. She’s just lost the man she loves, and here I am talking about my father figure’s resurrection.

“It’s a second chance,” she says.

“If I can forgive him.”

“Of course you can forgive him,” Iset chides me. “Even Anubis weighs our good deeds against our bad after we die. No one’s heart is weightless.”

“He let me mourn him for months,” I remind her. “I thought he was dead.”

“What should he have done? He was leaving, and your mother was staying. She obviously didn’t want to tell you. If she’d wanted you to know, you’d have known months ago. Was he to disregard the woman who birthed you—a pharaoh no less—even as he planned to never see you again? When one has no good options, even their best option is bad.”

“We don’t know that Senenmut wanted to tell me either.”

“He told you about the doctor, Khui. Maybe that was his way of telling you.”

I reach out and touch Neferu’s toes, then lean close to press my lips against the soft skin of her cheek. “When someone shows you who they truly are, you have to believe them.” I say it as much to remind myself of this hard-won lesson as to inform her. “You can’t pretend like they’re someone they’re not just because you want them to be.”

“Senenmut has shown you who he is a million times. I’m not saying he’s perfect or blameless. But he is a good man.”

I weigh her words in my mind. “I said the same of Mother. And Thutmose when we were younger.”

“Did you? Surely they both showed themselves to be selfish and cruel long ago. I understand if you can’t forgive them. But Senenmut is different. No one is all good or all bad. But he’s much more good than bad. Can you say the same of your mother or husband?”

“No,” I sigh. “But—”

“Girl.”

I flinch as a man barges in, shattering the intimate moment.

Iset sits up, pressing the baby into my arms. “Father. You shouldn’t be here—”

“It’s my house.”

“No,” she reminds him. “It’s my house. I’m in mourning. I’ve just given birth. Is it really too much to expect privacy—”

“I heard voices. Who is this?”

I should follow Iset’s lead. But I’m so irked by his attitude, I can’t stop myself from putting him in his place.

“Neferura,” I say as I turn to him. The shock on his face is priceless. For good measure, I add, “The queen.”

He drops to his knees, prostrating himself.

“This isn’t necessary, Father—”

“You may rise.” I speak over Iset, voice as commanding and arrogant as I can make it.

He stands but keeps his eyes down. I’m already regretting my rash behavior—I’m here to help Iset, not create new problems for her to manage once I’m gone. I glance at her, and the small smile dancing around her lips gives me courage.

“I cherish your daughter. Our relationship is private—she would be in danger if my fondness for her was well known, so do not go bragging about it, whatever you do. But I will see to it that she’s taken care of, and you as well.”

“What does that—”

“Father!” Iset hisses, stopping the man from haggling, I suspect.

“As you wish, Great Royal Wife.” He backs up, eyes on the floor, leaving through the door he entered through.

Iset and I snuggle back into position, the baby between us. We lie face-to-face. She cries quietly and I hold her hand, crooning whatever soothing words come to mind until Tentamun returns and calls me back to the palace.

Two nights after I meet Iset’s child, I wake with a fire of determination filling my belly. The palace is dark as I creep through it, Benerib quiet as a spirit behind me. Only guards are awake at this hour, and they believe Benerib when she claims I need to feed my pregnant belly in the middle of the night and want to raid the kitchen myself. The court falls over themselves to make my stomach happy.

Fortunately, no guard stands at Senenmut’s door.

Benerib follows me into his study, holding the lantern to light our way. Her eyes crinkle in confusion when I drop to my knees to stick the scroll in Senenmut’s secret compartment. The scroll contains few words:

Kamut is still in Waset. See that he’s protected. I’m making plans to see you. I’ll tell you more when I’m ready.