But Sita had already risen to her feet and pushed off the step, diving into deeper water. She swam most of the length of the pool, then blew all the air out of her lungs, allowing herself to sink to the bottom. She sat there, the sun-warmed water soothing on her naked body, her hair hovering around her in a black, shimmering nimbus. The alternating blue and green tiles made her feel as if she were suspended in a multifaceted jewel, protected from the passage of time. She was tempted to stay forever in that glittering silence.
Eventually, though, her traitorous lungs cried out for air, and she had no choice but to push up from the bottom and back into the world. She tossed back her hair, sleek and shining, and wiped the water from her eyes.
Her mother strode toward her from the colonnade. One by one, the other women fell silent as they caught sight of Queen Bintanath’s approach.
The queen stopped at the edge of the pool, the kohl lining her eyes unblemished by tears. “He’s asking for you,” she said to Sita, loud enough for all to hear.
A collective breath was released. Everyone knew what those words meant.
The pharaoh—King Amunmose III, Son of Amun, Sacred ofAppearance, Lord of the Two Lands—was dying.
“Mery is gathering the viziers and will meet us there. But I must send a messenger to fetch Kenna.” The queen gave Sita an appraising look and sighed. “Get dressed,” she commanded, and turned on her heel.
Sita stared at her mother’s retreating back until it disappeared around a corner. Then she swam to the set of steps at the other end of the pool and walked out of the water. Nebet rushed over, wrapping a linen towel around her body and placing sandals at her feet. Sita stepped into them, her chest suddenly heavy and tight.
“Shall I help you dress, Sitamun?” Nebet’s voice was soft, like a caress.
“Thank you, Nebet,” Sita heard herself say, “But I’d rather do it myself.”
“As you wish.”
Sita took the quickest route back to her quarters. The passages were eerily quiet and empty, and the few maidservants she did pass bowed their heads, not meeting her eyes. She was relieved when she finally reached her rooms. She was pushing her door covering aside, trying to remember if her simplest white kalasiris was clean, when she saw someone standing in her bedchamber. It was a short, stooped woman wearing a mottled green robe and a pair of rough leather sandals that barely contained her wide, flat feet.
Sita stopped in the doorway, blinking at the stranger’s back as she stood examining the Hounds and Jackals board sitting on the table by the window. She had one of the jackal-headed pieces in her hand, and was moving it forward, one space at a time, until she finally placed it in the shen hole at the top of the board.
Sita stiffened. How had a peasant woman wandered into her rooms? She knew most of the guard were on call at the king’s chambers, but this was ridiculous.
“All these games, they’re much the same, aren’t they?” thewoman croaked without looking up from the board. Her voice was gravelly and slow, as if she had something stuck in her throat. “Snakes, hounds, jackals… a little strategy here, a little luck there, but they’re all a race to the finish. I don’t really like playing,myself, but I like watching. I like waiting to see who will win.”
Sita cleared her throat. “Excuse me, but who are you? I don’t know how you got in here, but I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. I don’t have time for visitors. I’ve been summoned.” She grimaced, realizing how much she sounded like her mother.
“I’m an old friend,” the woman said, unhelpfully, and looked up from the game board. Sita was shocked by the sheer unsightliness of the woman’s face. Her mouth was too wide, and her eyes, which had a yellowish cast to them, bulged from her head. The worst of it, though, were the dozens of warts that covered her leathery, sun-weathered skin. She took in Sita’s barely concealed dismay but didn’t seem to be bothered by it. She didn’t even blink.
“My two friends and I met your mother many years ago, on the night you were born. The queen was in quite a state without her nurses and priests, so we assisted her through her laboring. I came to pay my respects. And to see you.”
Then, her entire face split in two—or rather, that’s what it looked like, until Sita realized she was smiling. “The others wanted to come, but they were…” She paused, thinking, and at long last, blinked. “Busy.”
Sita was amazed. She’d grown up hearing Nebet tell the story of her birth, and of the three strange dancers who’d appeared to help bring the triplets into the world. In the seventeen years since, no one had ever seen them again, or discovered who they’d been.
Until now.
In her stories, Nebet had described the three women in detail. There had been the fair one and the dark one, who looked like sisters. The fair one, Nebet told her, had been the first person to hold Sita after she was born. And then there was the short one with bad skin, who Sita had to assume was the same woman standing before her.
She must be ancient, Sita thought, and yet the woman moved without a hint of stiffness, and her unusual yellowish eyes were bright and lively.
The woman began examining other items in the room, arranging Sita’s cosmetics palette and brushes in straight lines and tutting at an empty wine jar on the floor. Sita followed her, wanting to tell her to stop but sensing this woman couldn’t be controlled. The woman found the white kalasiris Sita had been thinking of wearing and set it out, along with a pair of fresh sandals, before glancing at Sita expectantly.
Feeling as if she had little choice, she allowed the woman to help her dress.
“Does the queen know you’ve come?” Sita asked as the woman slipped the kalasiris over her head. “I’m sure she’d be pleased to see you after all these years.”
“I came to seeyou,” the woman replied, as if that was an answer. “I came to remind you during this difficult time…” Shemoved to smooth the strap of Sita’s dress over her shoulder with small, dexterous hands. “That death is only the beginning.”
Sita frowned. To say that the phrase was a timeworn Khetaran maxim would be an understatement. It was like saying, “The sun is hot.” The concept of a glorious afterlife was central to Khetaran belief, beginning with the story of Osiris’s resurrection and ascension to King of the Underworld. Why someone would make a special trip after nearly two decades to tell her this… well, it made no sense.
Maybe age has addled her mind, Sita thought. She’d seen it happen before. “I appreciate the message,” Sita said carefully, “and I’m honored by your visit. But perhaps we could—?”
“My husband,” the woman croaked on, undeterred. “He always said you were meant for great things.”
