Gingerly, she touched her head. It was smooth and warm. It didn’t feel quite like part of her yet, but maybe someday it would.
Then she took a deep breath and called, “I’m here!”
6
Sita
“Is it time?” Sita asked anxiously.
“Patience, sister,” Mery said. “Ripe fruit is sweeter, you know.”
They sat opposite each other at a small table near the front of the palace, waiting for the signal to begin the procession to the Temple of Amun. Sita and her brother were to offer their greetings to Bast as representatives of the king before joining the festival celebrations themselves. She could hear the crowds outside the gates—a constant murmuration of excited voices and beating drums—and longed to be among them, to throw herself into the blaze and burn, and burn, and burn.
The waiting was torture.
She stared at the ivory gaming board on the table between them, trying and failing to concentrate on her next move. They were playing Hounds and Jackals, which had been—along with Mehen and senet—one of their favorite games since childhood. She tossed the four throw sticks, counted up the black sides, and stared at her jackal-headed pieces, trying to decide which one to move. Mery had already gotten four of his five hounds into the protective shen hole at the top of the board, whereas Sita only had three. After a minute, she threw her hands up in defeat. “I give up! I can’t win.”
Mery was leaning back in his chair, one shapely leg crossed over the other, as relaxed as she was tense. He studied her with affectionate amusement. “Sitamun, Sitamun,” he tutted. “You look at the board, but somehow you don’t see it.” With that, he picked up one of her pieces and moved it across the board intothe shen.
Sita studied the new configuration and huffed in irritation. With that one move, Mery had cleared the path for her victory.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, sister,” Mery said with a wink. “What you lack in strategic brilliance, you make up for in charm and wit.”
Sita stuck out her tongue at him, but it was impossible to stay mad at Mery. Ever since they were children, her brother had been the one person who was always there for her. When, at the age of seven, she was ill from a snakebite and their father didn’t even come to visit, Mery had been there to hold her hand. When Sita couldn’t sleep, she knew she could always sneak into Mery’s bed, where they’d curl up together like a pair of kittens. It was Mery who shared her love of stories, Mery who helped her choose what dresses to wear to the banquets, Mery who was always up for a game, no matter the hour—as long as he was playing with her.
He stuck out his tongue back at her, and they sat like that, laughing, their bodies mirrors of each other. They’d always been this way, matching each other’s expressions and movements without trying. It often annoyed her that, despite their similarities, Mery was the one people worshipped. In general, Sita did what she was told. Mery, on the other hand, could be extremely demanding—he’d been known to fly into rages if his needs weren’t met, or if anyone dared contradict him—but when things went well, there was nothing more wonderful than his praise. He was, in every respect, a prince destined for the throne, and everyone in the palace basked in his light.
Sita did too.
Mery grinned. His features were like masculine versions of her own—though Sita always thought they looked better on him. “Keep in mind, dear sister, things get a little wild at this festival. As soon as we leave the temple—”
She interrupted him. “I know, all right?I know.Mother already gave me the lecture. ‘People come from all over… Not all of them share our values…’” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t need a lecture from you too.”
“Fine, fine,” Mery said. “Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Sita snorted. “That isn’t saying much.”
One of the guards approached. “Excuse me, prince, princess.” He bowed his head. “The palanquins are ready to take you to the temple.”
Fifteen minutes later, after a twilight ride down a private temple road, Sita and Mery stood shoulder to shoulder in the open courtyard of the Temple of Amun. All around them, assembled under a purpling sky, priests and other servants awaited the goddess. Since her arrival from Bubas earlier that day, Bast had been kept in Amun’s sanctuary, the Holy of Holies, until her festival night began.
Sita squirmed, working hard to keep a noble expression on her face while her belly fluttered with anticipation. She felt shy and exposed in her filmy gown and bead-net dress, but at the same time, she was excited too. Her sheltered life in the palace had kept her more girl than woman, but that night, everything was going to change.
Scanning the gathered throng, she spied Kenna standing with some dour Sem priests who looked as if they hadn’t seen the sun in several seasons. Other than his messy thatch of black hair, her brother looked exactly like them. Gaunt, unsmiling, strange.
How could he have shared the womb with me and Mery, and yet share so little else?
He caught her looking at him and nodded in silent greeting. Sita nodded back, stifling the irritation she often felt when he refused to take part in his royal duties.
It’s fine if he wants to hide away here in the temple.But on dayslike this, the least he could do is stand with us as our brother.She closed her eyes and gently pushed her annoyance aside.Not worth it. Not tonight.
The crowd rippled with low chatter. Something was happening. One of the lowly Wab priests ran up to Master Montuhotep and whispered in his ear. The high priest nodded and waved the younger man away.
Sita scowled. She’d never liked Montuhotep. He was so…clean. Sure, all the priests maintained similar standards, but the high priest was different somehow. Every time she saw him, with his shiny skin and his crisp white robes, she had a sudden desire to throw mud at him.
Despite her feelings, Montuhotep was her father’s right hand. The viziers were meant to be the king’s most valuable advisers, but everyone knew role belonged to Montuhotep alone. His interpretations of her father’s dreams, as well as his portents of the future, were sacrosanct. No one could speak against the high priest’s word without earning themselves painful—and often permanent—consequences.
Montuhotep turned toward the sanctuary, and everyone else followed suit. Sita’s pulse quickened. The goddess was on her way.
