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The sun beat down on Nehesy as he wove through the narrow, dusty lanes to his parents’ home. He’d said he was going to see his mother, so that’s what he’d do, however much he’d rather leap into the cool river to clear his head – and his simmering temper – after the visit with Ludim and his vile mother. Questions had been brewing in Nehesy’s mind for years now, and his mother might be the only person to answer them. If he could convince her to.
Heat rose from the ground in a shimmering haze. The air smelled of scorched sand and rotting refuse, and Nehesy missed the open sea to the north of Kemet. There, the air was salty, fresh, and fishy. He wondered what Imi and her refined olfactory sense might make of it.
As his fury over Ludim began to abate, disquiet niggled at Nehesy. Ludim had implied it was Nehesy’s fault no one wanted to marry Imi. Was it true? In breaking their betrothal, had he ruined Imi’s chances of having a family? Surely any man deserving of her would see there was absolutely nothing wrong with her.
Yes, she was full of energy, stubborn, and a little reckless, but she was also wickedly funny, determined, easy-going, and plain good fun.
Imi deserved a man who would allow her to be herself, but would also ensure she didn’t get hurt, and remind her to relax sometimes.
Someone to lay on the rooftop with her and look at the stars.
Someone to laugh with. Or sneak sweet buns from the kitchen as they had as children, darting in together to grab sweets from the table, and then fleeing together, laughing like wild hellions as they climbed a tree to eat their stolen treasure. Even if it were her own house and the cook in her employ.
The sort of man who would suit Imi ought to look on her antics with fond amusement.
And that man would be the recipient of all of Imi’s wild, untamed passion.
Holy gods above. The notion hit him like an obelisk falling from the sky. Imi would be beyond amazing to bed. Imagine being the focus of her nights. Giving and receiving pleasure with every fibre of her being. It would be unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
Nehesy blinked as a bead of sweat stung his eye, and he realized he was standing in the middle of an empty lane with no memory of when he’d stopped walking. Another bead of sweat rolled down between his shoulder blades.
He drew in a breath of air that suddenly felt more oppressive. Painful, even.
Imi still had plenty of time to marry. If she even wanted to. For all he knew, she’d had offers and turned them down. Ludim might’ve been lying about no one wanting to marry Imi. He probably was, in fact, just to excuse his behaviour.
Nehesy set a brisk pace back across the temple grounds. He needed to focus. He had to deal with his mother, and that required all his attention and fortitude.
Nehesy knocked on the door of the large manor he and Betrest had grown up in, and which he hadn’t visited in four years. While waiting for a servant to answer, he resisted the urge to shuffle his feet or adjust his wrap skirt, like a little boy waiting to present himself to his parents after their return from a long trip, hoping for some sign of affection or, at the very least, approval. He was a man now. One who had built his own fortune, who had worked hard to earn the respect of hardened sailors and merchants and foreign diplomats. What did it matter that his now-deceased father had refused to acknowledge that? Or that his mother hadn’t cared to see him after his father cut him out of their lives?
An unfamiliar servant answered the door, and Nehesy was forced to introduce himself. The man’s eyes widened in surprise before he schooled his expression and told Nehesy his mother was on the rooftop.
No surprise there. His mother loathed the heat of the flood season. When she wasn’t staying up north, along the cooler coast of the great northern sea, she preferred to rest in the shade of a large linen tent on the rooftop, where the air was cooler.
On his way up the stairs, Nehesy looked out over the city of Thinis. White-washed mansions and large, tree-lined courtyards interspersed with smaller, beige, mud-brick homes sporting vegetable gardens and livestock.
For years now Nehesy had hated his parents’ house. During the rare times his parents were in residence he lived under the weight of his father’s scorn and his mother’s quiet contempt. Every day in this house served as a reminder that Nehesy was an interloper, an unwanted guest that could not be gotten rid of.
But today, some good memories surfaced. No doubt a result of Imi reminding him of the times she and her brother stayed over when Nehesy’s parents were away. During those time, the cloud of his parents’ discontent lifted, and he was content. Happy, even, with his sister and his friends and people he cared about and who cared about him.
Nehesy almost smiled at the remembered emotions, but by then he’d reached the rooftop – and his mother’s tent. He swallowed against the knot of anxiety that always rose in him before he faced his mother.
A servant announced him before pulling the linen flap back to allow him entrance. Nehesy stepped inside and took a moment to allow his eyes to adjust from the searing sun to this cooler, blue-tinged shade.
The large tent sported two carved wooden chairs, potted papyri plants, a woven rug, and a padded bench with raised arms. Nehesy's mother stretched out on the bench, fanning herself with an ostrich feather fan. A spotless, bleached linen robe draped over one shoulder. Not a single strand of hair was out of place in her elaborately braided wig of very expensive human hair.
"Nehesy," she said coolly. “I wondered when you would visit.” A reprimand. As if she hadn’t participated in his ejection from her life. Yet she held out her free hand, and he took it up, kissing the back of it then pressing it to his forehead in a show of respect.
"Hello, mewet,” mother. “My ship landed in town just yesterday afternoon," he said tightly.
Her mouth flattened at the mention of his profession. Nehesy had been raised to follow in his father’s footsteps, to be an official advisor. And he had, for a time. But he’d hated it. He’d wanted to set out on his own, so he’d scraped together the capitol to purchase his own ship and supplies and become a merchant seaman. Although his parents had disapproved of him lowering himself by going into trade, he thought eventually he’d win their respect with his success.
Instead, they’d disowned him.
Rather than acknowledge his answer, his mother set about adjusting her beaded faience necklace to lay just so across her chest before shaking her wrist to shimmy her gold bangles to just the right spot so that she could admire them with a glance.
His mother made a portrait elegant enough to be painted on a pharaoh's tomb. And she was just as cold and impermeable.
He pressed on anyway. “How are you, mewet? Are you... well?” Grieving? Happy? He had no idea how she might feel about his father’s death. There had never been a hint of affection between them, yet they were always together.
"I'm leaving after your father's interment," his mother said after a pause.
"Oh?" Nehesy asked, keeping his face devoid of expression. It ought not to hurt that she didn't ask how he was. He should be used to it by now.
He spread his shenti out to avoid wrinkling the linen fabric as he sat on a high-backed chair. The fronds of a potted papyri plant – placed artistically in the corner – brushed his cheek, and he shuttled his chair away from it, causing a ripple to form in the rug beneath him.
His mother frowned down at the rug. "Mmm. I'll be moving in with my sister on the coast. I'd be there now, if not for this business with your father.” She paused in her fanning. "You may take possession of the house after I'm gone. I shall take the servants with me, of course."
Nehesy shrugged. "I suppose I can wait until then to raze the place to the ground."
His mother narrowed her eyes at him, pursing her lips. "Really, it was that sort of sarcasm that so irritated him."
"Huh. I always thought it was my very existence that irritated him. If I'd known it was just the one thing I might have made more of an attempt to rectify it."
His mother heaved a sigh. "There you go again, Nehesy. You didn’t make things easy you know. Especially after - " she trailed off, waving her fan in a vague gesture.
She meant he didn’t make loving him easy. Or even liking him, it seemed. He ignored a stab of guilt, coupled with resentment. It was true that he’d acted out after he’d learned the truth of his birth – or a semblance of the truth – but it was partly because his parents refused to speak of it or explain what had happened.
Defiant, he said, “You mean after I learned about Father’s affair?”
She gave him a sharp look. "Discussing it goes against your father's wishes. There is nothing to gain from it. The one good thing, I suppose, is that you didn't marry beneath you, like your sister did. At least you had the sense to end your betrothal to that girl."
That girl meaning Imi. One of the reasons he’d broken his betrothal was at his mother’s urging. She’d implied that she wasn’t in favour of the match. She’d led him to believe that, despite Imi’s low-born status, she would be better off without a bastard of unknown origins. He’d given up Imi, and in the process lost her and her brother as friends.
He still suspected his mother was right. But Ludim’s accusation rang in his ears, and doubt had crept in. He might have done Imi more harm than good. If they’d married, she wouldn’t have had to flee Ludim in the first place.
Imi’s situation wasn’t his mother’s fault. It really wasn’t.
Still, his voice was gritty with anger as he said, "Imi is not beneath me, or anyone else. Her father was a renowned and skilled perfumer. She is a skilled perfumer. There is nothing wrong with her." And why does everyone keep acting like there is? Nehesy's fingers ached, and he realized he was clenching his fists on his thighs.
His mother lifted a weary hand in dismissal, indicating she was done with the topic. She was always weary, even when she chastised him or was angry. Right now, she was looking drowsily into the corner of the tent and fanning herself. Rarely did she look directly at him.
Nehesy took a deep breath. "I’d like to know who my birth mother was."
The fan stopped. The ostrich plumes quivered in mid-air. His mother’s dark, unreadable eyes finally turned to him. "No."
"Father is dead. You are leaving Thinis. What difference does it make now, after all these years?"
"Exactly! It makes no difference."
Nehesy tamped down his frustration. "I'd still like to know."
"Have you no regard for your father and all he's done for you? And what about me, the woman who raised you?" The hand clutching the fan pressed to her breast. "We gave you everything a child could need. A beautiful home, the finest linens, the richest foods, servants, social connections. And what did we get in return? An ungrateful child who tossed it all away to become a... a... well, little better than a slave."
As if this quiet outburst had exhausted her, her head sank down onto the raised arm of the bench. The fan rested on her chest now, the handle gripped in her hand.
Nehesy smiled coldly. "Yes. We had all the material comforts one could ask for. What shocking disappointments Betrest and I both are to you."
The fan on her chest rose and fell with a great sigh, as if relieved he'd finally understood.
He did feel some sympathy for her, despite all her dramatics. His father had wronged her, and she’d taken in the results of that affair as her own. She’d never beaten or starved him, either, but instead had provided a life of relative luxury. Nehesy knew he was luckier than most.
He just didn’t always feel that way. He’d been made to feel like a tiresome, disappointing burden his entire life.
Even now, though, he didn’t like to distress the woman who’d raised him. But this could be his only chance to find out the truth of his birth. He had no choice but to be ruthless.
He said evenly, "I should like to know what happened, and who gave birth to me. If you will not tell me, I will be forced to ask elsewhere. Father's friends and associates. Yours, too, if necessary."
The elegant, composed woman sat up like an arrow shot from a bow. "You wouldn't dare." A tremble of fear marred her indignant tone.
Nehesy held his palms up, feigning innocence. "What choice would I have?"
Outrage, and possibly a glimmer of admiration, tightened his mother's cold, lovely features. Admiration from one manipulator to another, he supposed. Her knuckles were white where they gripped the fan in her lap. Silence reigned as they stared at one another. Nehesy kept his expression blandly determined.
He wasn't certain he'd make good on his impromptu threat. This woman was the only mother he'd known, and he wasn't prepared to drag her name through the mud. And what would it do to his relationship with his sister? He'd never told her what he'd overheard all those years ago. He couldn't stand to lose her.
And Imi? How would she react if she knew? Wasn't that part of the reason he'd ended things all those years ago? He couldn't be honest with her, and that hadn't seemed right.
"Fine." The fan fluttered up again. False tears, or so he presumed them to be, thickened his mother's voice. "If you're so willing to hurt me and your father's good name, if this is the thanks I get for trying to do a good deed, I'll tell you. Only what I know for certain. And that will be the end of it, do you understand?"
Nehesy lifted one brow, keeping his emotions in check. He wouldn't let her dictate everything. She looked away, her face as fearful as he'd ever seen it. Another stab of guilt flashed through him. He'd never thought he could truly hurt or frighten his parents. The only emotions he'd ever seen from them were disappointment and anger.
"You won't ask anyone else questions, or search any longer, do you understand?" she spoke to a clump of potted papyri in the corner of the tent.
"I can’t promise that without hearing what you know."
She gave a short nod. The fan fluttered furiously as she spoke to the papyri, her features tight. "Your father had an... indiscretion. I was ill after your sister was born. It was difficult for me to... anyway, your father had needs,” she said with disgust. “The woman was common. Just a distraction. Her family was already gone, so there is no one for you to look for. She died giving birth to you and since I hadn't borne your father a son... he decided... well, he didn’t give me any choice in the matter. I had to pretend you were mine."
Nehesy body reacted as if he’d been punched, flinching and hunching, the air leaving him in a wheeze. Hands on knees, head bowed, he hauled in air.
He’d killed his birth mother. A poor woman, alone in the world. Unnamed and unacknowledged.
He’d wondered if she was prostitute or mistress. The night he’d learned the truth of his origins he’d heard his mother make some comment to his father that Nehesy's behaviour was his fault. His and his little peasant whore.
But the rest... he hadn’t known.
There was no one to look for. And no one looking for him. No one wanting to claim him as their own.
And the woman before him had never wanted him, either.
Guilt and shame and nausea flooded him, and he closed his eyes against the tidal wave of it all. When he looked up again, his mother’s face was hard, looking off into the distance.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry he put you in that position. And that I have been a constant reminder of what must have been a painful time for you.”
His mother was blinking rapidly, her fan in the air but unmoving. Forgotten. By Ra, those were real tears glittering in her eyes. Nehesy’s gut clenched all over again. His father had hurt her badly, and so had he.
She drew in an unsteady breath, glanced at him and away again before giving a sharp nod. An acknowledgement of his apology, he supposed.
Still, he had this one chance, and so he pushed on, because they’d shared a real moment and perhaps she would relent a little now. “Who was she? A villager? A prostitute?” he asked, trying to gentle his tone.
His mother’s eyes narrowed. “She might as well have been. She was a grasping, low-class woman who thought she could trap your father into leaving me and marrying her. But he was my husband." The fan's handle slammed down on the cushion next to his mother's hip. “I refused to be tossed aside for that... that woman. All because she could bear him a child when I couldn’t.”
Shock rippled through Nehesy. “Father planned to leave you?” While divorce wasn’t unheard of, his mother despised scandal – unless it was someone else’s. The prospect of being the brunt of people’s gossip would have been like her worst nightmare come to life.
A bitter smile twisted her face. “No. In the end, your father knew his duty was to his family.” With that cryptic remark, she sank back against her cushions and waved her fan in his direction. “I am weary, now, Nehesy. Close the tent flap on your way out.”
So dismissed, Nehesy knew he wouldn’t get anything more out of her. He hadn't learned all he’d hoped for, and he and his mother hadn’t exactly reconciled. But he knew much more than he had before.
Instead of feeling better, he felt much worse.