What is he suggesting? He can’t possibly think that I would, that we would…
“Y-you can’t,” she stammered. “I’m your sister, Mery. No one does that anymore, not for a thousand years!”
He pulled back to look at her, his beautiful face inches from hers. “But that’s exactly why wemust.” he purred. “Khetara lost its soul when it rejected the old ways. It’s up to us to bring them back, to restore our kingdom’s prominence—andyouare part of that, Sitamun. Of all the women in the land, your blood is the purest, the closest to the divine. The priests must bend their noses to papyri to learn the ways of Heka. But not us. You and me, our very flesh is godsflesh. We have magic in our veins. Don’t you see? We belong together—it’s our birthright. Just as Osiris had his sister-wife Isis, and Set had Nephthys, so will I have you. My twin. My mirror.”
His arms around her were suffocating. He was so close that the only air she could draw came from his lungs as he narrated her fate. She had no choice but to breathe it in.
“Once I am crowned, Khetara will have a god-king once again, in name and in action. This kingdom has been crumbling while Father buried his face in cakes and concubines.”
His lip curled in disgust, but only for a moment. Then he smiled, his hand moving from the back of her head around to her face, his fingers soft and fragrant. “No more. With me on the throne and you by my side, Khetara will be powerful once more. You’ll see.”
He let her go, then strode away, off to attend to the multitudinous duties of a king-in-waiting, to plans and decisions and fittings and ceremonies and condolences followed by pledges of allegiance. He gathered a crowd around him as he went, guards and viziers and officials swarming like moths to a flame.
Sita watched him go, and her mind traveled once more tothe night of the Bast Festival. She thought of her prayer to the goddess, the one she’d made instead of asking for her father’s salvation. Not that it would have mattered. Even Bast could not have saved the king.
It had become abundantly clear that Bast wasn’t going to answer her prayer either.
Sita wasn’t free. She never would be.
The net had snapped shut around her.
23
Neff
Neff had never known such quiet.
Since the king’s death the night before, it was as if a mourning shroud had been thrown over the Temple of Amun. Priests went about their daily tasks, speaking in whispers, their heads bowed as they moved from place to place. The Wabet had disappeared from the women’s chambers in the early hours to begin the lengthy preparations for Amunmose’s funeral ceremony, which would take place in exactly seventy days. Even the birds in the pleasure garden seemed to sing in muted tones.
Through her reading, Neff had learned that the time between the death of a pharaoh and the crowning of a new one was fraught with peril. The currents of time continued to flow, pulling Khetara toward an uncertain future. But until the prince’s coronation, there was no man at the prow, no one to navigate the kingdom through dangers that might lie ahead.
Perhaps this was why the priests were so hesitant to raise their voices. Perhaps they feared attracting the attention of evil forces that roamed the land, emboldened by the king’s death.
In the silence, Neff daydreamed about home. She imagined waking up on her mat, going upstairs, and seeing her mother sweeping the sand off the roof in the morning sun. She imagined sitting down at the breakfast table and telling her father that she’d met the king. That she’d been summoned to the palace, and he’d asked her to interpret his dream.
I knew he was going to die, she imagined saying to her father,but I was afraid to tell him. So I lied. I lied to the king and now he’s dead.
She pictured the horror on his face. The disappointment.
Her father’s words before she boarded Bast’s boat echoed in her mind. His voice and the voices of the gods melded together into a great cosmic condemnation.
Nefermaat.
Perfect justice.
That’s you.
You’re going to make us proud.
Every word stung like vinegar in an open wound.
Master Montuhotep and the chief scribe were busy with preparations for the king’s funeral and Prince Meryamun’s coronation, so Neff was excused after her daily tasks were complete. With the day to herself, she found herself back in the women’s quarters, alone. After washing her hands and face in the basin, she knelt on her sleeping mat and prayed, sending her plea to the goddess who had brought her to this place.
“Help me, Bast. What do I do now? How can I make it right?”
She waited for a sign, but none came.
After a while, she moved to get up and heard a couple priests coming down the hallway.
