TWENTY-TWO

Waiting for news is agonizing. Kamut sits next to me on my bed, holding my hand. Benerib pours wine, drinking more than Kamut and I combined, though it doesn’t seem to affect her. This is the second time Iset has been in danger. Only this time, it’s my fault.

“She’s here,” Benerib finally whispers, back stiff as a was scepter.

Kamut and I stand, skin prickly with fear as Senseneb reappears.

My heart drops when I see her.

Kamut wraps an arm around me, pulling me close.

“She’s gone,” Senseneb says simply. “Her house is empty. There’s no sign of Iset or the baby. Teni saw them earlier tonight. She says they were fine. She swears Iset planned to stay home tonight. Teni promised to bring her breakfast in the morning.”

“Thutmose has her.” I choke on the words, on the knowledge. If only I’d kept my mouth shut. I shouldn’t have revealed my identity to Iset’s father. “Where would he take her? And what does he want from her?”

“I know where he’ll take her.” Kamut’s hands are tight on my shoulders. “There’s a cave. The men use it to torture people. That’s where she’ll be.”

“You think he’s…?” My hand flies to my belly. How odd that my instinct is to protect the unborn child I hadn’t even hoped to conceive.

“We’d be fools to put anything past Thutmose. If he knows you went to the trouble of visiting Iset in the village, he’d assume she’s important to you. That alone may make her worth torturing, especially if he doesn’t know why she matters to you.”

“He thinks I’m up to something. Just the other night, he said…” I stop and put up a hand, ordering the world to still. I need a moment. Just a moment to think, to plan. I blow a heavy breath, then turn to Kamut. “Take me to the cave. Now.”

He shakes his head. “It’s too dangerous. Thutmose would be perfectly happy to torture you too.”

“Not tonight.” I touch my stomach. “Not while I’m carrying his heir.”

Kamut’s eyes fall to my stomach, then jump back to mine. I see the question lingering behind his gaze, but there’s no time for that now.

“I need to go to her—”

“How are you going to help her exactly?” he interrupts me. “Can you kill the men who torture her? Because there’s a good chance that’s the only way we can rescue her. In all those hours we spent in the yard with my father, I don’t recall you wielding a sword.”

“I can’t just sit here, wallowing in luxury while Iset is tortured on account of me.”

“No one is asking you to—”

“I need to alert Hathor.” Senseneb says, loudly enough to drown out my argument with Kamut. “I’ll go as quickly as I can.”

“No.” I turn to her, mind clearing. Kamut is right. This is about Iset’s safety, not my ego. Senseneb and Kamut can help Iset now better than I can. “You two go to the cave. Find Iset. You can fight. I assume you’re willing to kill if necessary?”

“I’ll kill the men with my bare hands if I must,” she swears.

“As will I.” Kamut’s voice thrums with rage.

“Go,” I say, rigid with fear. “Rescue Iset if you can. Benerib and I will fetch Hathor. But how will she know which cave?”

“Tell her it’s the one with the old graffiti,” Kamut says. “She’ll know it.”

“Fine. Go.” I push Kamut away.

He cups my cheeks in his hands. “Stay safe.” He kisses me on the forehead, whispering “I love you” in my ear.

My heart aches as I watch him walk away, Senseneb at his side. Hopefully she’s as fierce as Hathor claimed. The thought of losing Kamut and Iset both tonight is too much. But if I dwell on imagined losses, I’ll be frozen. I can’t afford inaction now.

Benerib shoves my warmest tunic into a bag. “The desert is cold at night.”

“How are we going to get out of the palace?”

“The hard way,” she says.

I pull my light tunic tight around me and follow her through the open wall and into the night. Fear courses through me like tides flooding the river. Benerib turns right and drags herself over the short wall separating my wide deck from the narrow, pillared deck that runs the length of the palace. I follow her, weaving past pillars, staying near the wall, where we’re less likely to be noticed by the guards who prowl the grounds night and day.

She pauses when we reach the end of the long row of pillars where the palace’s deck ends, scanning the empty space before turning to me. “I hate this part. It’s been years.” She sighs. “I suppose there’s no way forward but ahead.”

I don’t have time to ask what she means before she holds her nose and steps off into thin air. I bury a scream, hurrying to the edge to look down, relieved to see that she’s landed in the water, where the river juts into the shore. The royal barge is parked in this small pond of river, moonlight bouncing off the white sail. I’m relieved when Benerib’s head pops out of the water. She motions to me, and I hold my breath and jump, shocked by the cold that swallows me.

I struggle against the water until Benerib grabs my arm, hauling me to the surface. We hold on to each other, moving forward, into the river. Finally, she pulls me to shore, where we crawl onto a small boat, choking on river water until we catch our breath.

Iteru is silent as the temple before the dawn ritual. It’s just the two of us and a bright moon as Benerib pulls our dry cloaks from her bag. I shiver as we sail down river before docking, then weave our way to a small, indistinct hut on the west bank.

“Stop.” Hathor steps out from behind a small shrine behind the hut. Seeing it’s us, she waves us into the shrine.

The space is small. It’s an ancestral shrine, dedicated to a local family. Their names and titles and images are carved into the walls, mounds of offerings shown in front of them, sustenance to ensure their healthy afterlife. There’s barely room for the three of us. It’s private and dim, lit by a single lantern.

“Speak,” Hathor commands.

Benerib speaks for us, reporting on the night’s events in clipped, organized sentences. It’s clear they’ve done this a million times, a soldier reporting to her general.

I lean against the dirty wall, still damp and vibrating with fear. When Benerib’s recitation is done, I stand taller. “Benerib must return to the palace with Neith.”

Hathor nods.

“Adoratrice, I—”

I raise a hand to stop Benerib’s argument. “We don’t know what the night will bring. We may need a cover by morning. If we can save Iset and make Thutmose believe it wasn’t us, that would be the best possible outcome. You can keep everyone out of my rooms. Let Neith be seen from afar—even I’d believe that girl is me.”

Benerib frowns, but after a heartbeat, she nods and turns to Hathor. “Can I use the doctor?”

“Only if you need to.”

“Hesi-Ra reports to you?” I ask.

Hathor shakes her head. “I told you before, Neferura. Not everyone who owes me favors enjoys doing them. He’ll cover for you if he must, as long as he believes we’re helping you and not putting you in danger.”

“You’ll take me to the cave,” I say to Hathor.

“I will,” she agrees. “But I’ll remind you that I’m an expert at all the things tonight may bring, and you’re a novice. If you come, you’re to follow my commands. Agreed?”

My fear combined with the flicker of candlelight must be playing tricks on my eyes: the goddess’s head tattooed on Hathor’s chest seems to spring to life, examining me with a wary stare.

“Let’s go.” I sidestep her question. She’s not wrong—she’s more experienced than me at sneaking and fighting—but I’ll decide what commands I follow and what I choose to ignore. I only want to see Iset safe.

Benerib drifts back into the night to find Neith so she can take my place in my rooms as I follow Hathor out to greet the two donkeys tied behind the shrine.

I’ve never ridden a donkey. I’m uncomfortable as we make our way through the white cliffs. The clip-clop of my donkey’s hooves matches the hammering of my terrified heart.

The peak looms large. It hugs the bodies of my father and grandfather tight, protecting their tombs. I pray it holds Iset tight tonight too.

Ages pass, stuffed with countless terrible thoughts of the things that could be happening to Iset as the beasts plod forward. Hathor finally stops her donkey. She dismounts gracefully, then helps me slide off mine. My stomach is big enough to render me clumsy.

“The cave is close,” she whispers.

Scurrying sounds erupt to our right, and I startle, only to be soothed by the tattooed woman.

“Snakes and other desert creatures. The real danger is ahead.”

I rub the bulge of my belly.

Hathor’s eyes shift to my stomach briefly, then she flashes a commanding glare. “Stay silent. And stay close.”

Close, I manage, but silent is beyond me. I have no idea how the wisewoman moves through the night so soundlessly. Nor do I know how far we’ve gone when Hathor pulls me to the cliff wall.

She peers around soft stone into a valley far beyond where my sore feet have traveled before. “We’re here.”

Iset! I want to spring into the night and dash to my friend’s rescue, but Hathor wraps long fingers tightly around my wrist, holding me in place.

She whispers low before I can move, “Recite your favorite maxim three times, silently, then join me.”

“But—”

“Do as I say, Neferura.” She’s imperious as she yanks her shoulder straps to the side and steps out of her clothes. She stands straight and regal—her body looks like that of a nubile young woman rather than the old lady I know she is—and she steps around the corner out of view.

The night grows darker and tighter now that I’m alone. My heart is full to bursting with questions and fears. I take Hathor’s advice and close my eyes, muttering to myself, “Cleanse yourself before your own eyes, lest another cleanse you. Let your name go forth while you are silent with your mouth. When you are summoned, be not great of heart because of your strength.” I imagine Senenmut chastising me for mixing the words of two wise men. Senenmut’s voice in my ears strengthens me.

“Anyone want to play with me?” I hear Hathor, followed by masculine voices. Their laughter is soon cut short by a grunt, a curse, then silence.

I grab Hathor’s shift. Attempting to mimic her perfect posture, I step into the valley opening.

Two bodies lie on the ground in front of a small cave.

Hathor is standing in the cave opening, moonlight bouncing off her naked back. She sheathes a long, sharp needle in a wedjat eye amulet that dangles from the gold cuff circling her upper arm. The amulet houses poison, I assume.

Something moves to her right, and my heart jumps into my throat.

“Hathor!” I cry.

“It’s me.” Kamut jumps down from a ledge, wiping a blade on his kilt, which is covered in blood.

“There were six more nearby.” I don’t know where Senseneb came from, but her sword is in her hand, drenched in gore. “They’re not nearby anymore.”

“Is that all of them?” Hathor asks.

Senseneb looks to Kamut.

“I think so. I can’t be sure.” His eyes dart to the cave opening.

“I’ll stand guard,” Senseneb says.

Before I can force my terrified feet to move, Hathor rushes in. I follow to find her on her knees in the dark cave—it smells like evil. Iset’s head rests in Hathor’s hands.

I drop down and struggle to loosen the ropes that bind my friend’s legs and arms. One arm is turned in a painful angle, and her face and hair are covered in blood. Bile surges up my throat. My hands tremble as I touch the small tattoo on her thigh, barely visible in the dim light—I didn’t even know she had one. The delicate scorpion is curled up, unlike the others I’ve seen with the creatures shown poised to strike. I push Iset’s clotted hair aside to examine her pale face.

“Is she alive?” I ask, voice shaky with fear.

Hathor holds Iset’s wrist, eyes closed in concentration.

“Barely.” Hathor shifts to inspect another woman, lying unconscious at Iset’s side. “The seamstress.”

“Maia?” I ask. “Why? Iset’s employer is an innocent. She knows nothing—”

“Thutmose doesn’t know that,” Hathor points out. “He doesn’t know what you’re doing or who might be loyal to you. He’ll torture all Waset if he thinks there’s a chance you can take his hard-won power away from him.”

“Where’s the baby?”

“Here.” Kamut steps forward, Neferu in his arms. “She’s fine.”

I breathe a sigh of relief, reaching for the child.

“Neferura.” My name slides from Iset’s mouth like a fish slipping from a fisherman’s fingers. Her eyelashes flutter, then her eyes flicker open: one eye is familiar but the other is a stranger, bright red with blood.

“I’m here.” My vision blurs. I wipe blood off her cheeks with filthy fingers. “Hathor is with me. She’s going to help you. You’re going to be fine—”

“We said nothing.” Iset’s voice is low and scratchy. “Poor Maia.”

“I know. That doesn’t matter now. You—”

“They wanted information from her she didn’t have. They asked about you. A million ways they asked. She told the truth—she knew nothing. I stayed silent.”

Iset sees the child and whimpers. Kamut drops to his knees to set the child gently on her chest.

She closes her eyes, like she’s concentrating on feeling the child’s skin against her bloody torso. Her voice is weak. “Take care of Neferu, Mistress. I know you will… Find somewhere safe.” Her voice fades, and her eyes blink shut.

“Iset!” I grip her shoulders, willing her to wake up. I can barely see past the tears and blood. Everything is blurry, fuzzy.

Let her live. Let her live.

The words course through me.

Hathor pushes me gently aside, running her hands over Iset’s stomach, up her arms, down her neck. Irrationally, I realize Hathor is clothed again, and I wonder when she managed to pull on her shift. She turns to me and shakes her head; a wave of dizziness rolls over me.

“She’ll be fine,” I stutter.

Hathor places a tattooed hand on each of my cheeks. “Iset is dead.”

“No,” I mumble. I can’t see. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. “We’re here now. You’ll save her, like you saved Mother. And Senenmut.”

“I can’t. It’s too late for Iset. But we can save her child. And Maia. And ourselves. And we can bar your husband from feeling the joy of Iset’s death.” Her voice is as cold as my husband’s heart. “Breathe, Neferura. And come.”

I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to save Iset. I fall on my friend’s body, chanting ritual words that aren’t supposed to be uttered outside the most sacred chamber of Amun’s temple. I don’t know why I do it. Perhaps I’m used to believing the god hears me. Perhaps I think if I get his attention, Amun will intervene to save my dearest friend.

Kamut’s arms are around me, his heartbeat banging against my back as his hands cradle my stomach. This is the second time his presence has brought me comfort me when someone I love died.

But Senenmut wasn’t really dead.

Maybe Iset will return to me too.

“Neferura.” Hathor’s voice strikes me like a lash. “We don’t have time to mourn now. You must think of the child.”

My hand falls to my stomach, and Kamut twines his fingers in mine.

But the tattooed woman shakes her head. “Little Neferu is now motherless. We must act now before your husband’s villainy spreads.”

She’s right. Iset wanted me to focus on her child. Her last words… But I can’t accept this. She can’t be gone.

Kamut shifts away from me, and my back is suddenly cold with the loss of him. He’s back a moment later, the babe in his arms again.

“Kamut, you must get Maia and the baby to safety,” Hathor tells him. “Neferura, you must—”

“No,” I sob. “We have to help Iset.”

“We cannot.” Hathor is stern. “And unless you want to add to the pile of bodies tonight will bring, we must go. We’re all in danger here. There are more guards in the hills nearby. They’ll figure out their friends are dead soon. They’ll notice Kamut is gone. When they realize what he’s done, they’ll come for him. His position is exposed. He will be their next target.”

No. I can’t be the cause of Kamut’s death too. My fingers tremble as I release Iset’s body and push myself up. Tears slide down my cheeks.

“Breathe,” Hathor repeats.

Kamut puts one hand on my shoulder, babe sleeping in his crooked arm. “I’ll see to the child. I promise I’ll keep her safe.” He leans in and breathes deeply, like he’s taking in my scent. “Be safe, Neferura,” he whispers.

And then he’s gone, vanishing with the babe he cradles. Senseneb appears to scoop Maia up gently and follow Kamut into the night.

“You can do this,” Hathor vows.

“I can’t—”

“You can. And you must. For Kamut and Neferu, if not for the two of us.”

“Iset is dead,” I say, voice cracking with grief.

Hathor nods. “She is. And her heart will be light. You’ll reunite, but tonight we must act to save her daughter.”

Neferu.

She’s right. I must save the child. “What do I do?”

The wisewoman whips out commands—commands I follow as if she truly is my pharaoh. My actions are a blur. My mind is like mist drifting over the marshes. I have no idea how Hathor summons the donkeys, but they’re back. We secure Iset to one and Hathor insists I ride the other while she walks.

My eyes won’t stop wandering to Iset, limp on the donkey in front of me, as we plod through the night. Images play before me: the wholesomeness of her face the day we met, her feigned innocence when I chastised her for being presumptuous, the looks of joy dancing in her eyes when we were reunited. I hear her hushed voice, teasing me about my crush on Kamut, and her concern when I explained the pain her joke caused. I see the letters she dictated, telling me she was married and then with child. I recall her enthusiasm when I gathered my friends together to make a plan to stand up to Thutmose. I remember her chiding me when I appeared at her house and her proud grin when she told me she’d named her daughter after me.

Now, because of me, the child is alone and in danger. Thutmose knows I care about the baby—I snuck out of the palace to visit them. He’ll kill Neferu without losing a moment of sleep, if only to cause me pain.

I’m worrying over the babe’s fate when we finally reach the shrine. A pink sun is peeking over the horizon. Hathor helps me off the donkey and carries Iset’s body inside, setting her gently on a bench that stretches the length of the far wall.

She puts her hands on my shoulders, steadying me. “Kamut will get Neferu to safety. My scorpions will see to Maia. In the meantime, Thutmose must not know you were here tonight. He must not know that you know about Iset’s disappearance. Do not let on that Iset is dead. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

That demand penetrates my fuzzy thoughts. I look over at Iset, her lifeless body—bruised, bloodied, and crooked—slumped on the dirty bench. “No. No, I won’t give him that.” The promise settles in my gut, igniting every part of me with determination.

“I’ll have someone lead you back to the palace when it’s safe. You were wise to send Benerib back to cover for you. It buys you time—”

“For what?”

“That’s up to you, Neferura. Hesi-Ra might grant you a few days alone. You can trust him, with your health at least, but there’s no reason to share anything that went on tonight with anyone but Benerib. That includes your mother.”

The snakes squirm in my belly at the thought of Mother. “Was Mother involved?”

Hathor shakes her head. “No. This was Thutmose’s work. And I don’t think Iset and Maia were the only victims. Because of Satiah’s warning, I sent a scorpion to keep eyes on Iset. I suspect we’ll find my scorpion dead too.”

“Iset’s friend?”

“No. It was another.” Hathor squeezes my shoulders. “You need to rest here until one of my girls returns to fetch you. I need to go. Sleep.”

Hathor mutters a spell under her breath. Suddenly, I’m too tired and sore and angry to keep my eyes open. I sink into a chair.

“Sleep,” she repeats, and the world goes dark.

It’s late morning when I wake to find Iset’s body clean. I slip her mother’s bracelet off her arm and onto mine. She’s with her mother now after all. Iset would want me to keep the bauble to remember her by, I think as I lay myself over her and cry until a girl I’ve never seen before comes to lead me back to my bed, where sleep takes me again.

When I wake, a single desperate thought burns bright in my heart: Thutmose did this. And if he gets the chance, he’ll do it again—to Kamut, to Neferu, to me, to everyone I love. If the child I carry is a girl, quite possibly to her as well.