Naími pushed her mind towards Soromeh’s and hit a wall of pain that left her breathless. She swayed on the branch and grabbed the trunk with all her strength.
A strangled noise caught her attention. Soromeh had come back to herself in a more brutal way. She breathed in, like she had just avoided drowning, and let out a noise that shook her entire body. Her breathing became faster with panic, and tears filled her eyes.
Naími could feel inside her a bottomless void that nothing could ever fill. She had lost a limb. She had lost her shadow. She would never smile again.
Harouk climbed up, making the tree shake, and he reached them both in a moment, frowning.
“I warned you,” he growled. “Your orders?”
“Take the princess,” panted Naími. “I’ll follow.”
Soromeh’s face was stuck in a grimace of agony, and her cheeks were covered in tears. She let herself be carried by Harouk and clung to his neck, sobbing. He climbed down quickly. In his arms, she seemed as small and fragile as a newly hatched chick.
Naími took more time, her equilibrium thrown off by the black tide she felt rising inside of her. Emptiness crushed in all around. There was no reason to keep going. She might as well let herself fall so that there would never be a morning again.
She reached the ground and almost fell. Harouk caught her with his other arm.
“What happened?”
“I underestimated her pain,” whispered Naími.
Harouk glanced at the princess, who was still crying on his shoulder. He waited for Naími to put her shoes back on and pick up the princess’s, then started walking.
* * *
The early hours of the day had seen the main corridor of the administrative wing of the palace fill up with members of the council, government heads, army leaders, and other members of the nobility. Dozens of servants went back and forth to accommodate them, in a background buzz of chatter and rumours.
Inside the conference room, the large wooden desk was only occupied by Prince Sethy, Sir Damon, and Senedjet, chief of the city police. He was a bony man with tired eyes, skin roughened by the years.
“It’s an overpopulation problem, your highness,” he concluded with a frown. “The outer neighbourhoods are filled to the brim, and people have too many children and abandon them. These children sometimes get organised in small packs of thieves and attack people and merchants.”
“Yes, I’ve been made aware of this problem,” said Sethy, rereading a papyrus scroll. “What about the illegal dealings of your men?”
Senedjet crossed his arms and let himself fall back on the chair with a sigh.
“Your new oracle only left a single witness. I understand. I’d have done the same if someone had touched her majesty your sister, but that complicates our investigation. If we believe the patrol chief, they were the only five that participated in this slave-selling ring. I don’t even have their buyer’s name because the one that dealt with everything was found with an axe embedded in his chest.”
Damon assembled several documents and lifted a finger to request the right to speak.
“I’m reading here that they released the children that bore a mark on their napes. What do you know about this?”
“The city is full of little mongrel gangs that kill each other over territories,” said the police chief with a grimace. “They like to mark themselves to prove their allegiance. Often with a branding iron.”
“Children,” repeated Damon. “You’re saying they’re children.”
“Sometimes as young as four, five years old. As soon as they know how to run and obey. They’re fast, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if her majesty’s new companion, the one with all the spots on his face, was one of them.”
The prince frowned and gestured to Damon, wanting his opinion. He took a moment to think before answering.
“It’s probable that little Onamu is a street thief. We also know nothing about the other, Iram. But I don’t think it’s wise to separate Soromeh from the only two companions she allows in her chambers, not this soon after Misha’s death. I suggest keeping a close eye on them until they prove their worth.”
“Wisely said,” said the king. “As Soromeh’s betrothed, you’ll be tasked with the evaluation of her new companions—”
A knock interrupted him. He frowned and allowed entrance to a guard, who bowed.
“Your majesty, your sister has been found and brought back to her chambers.”
“Excellent news,” sighed the prince.
“How is she?” asked Damon.
“She was crying, sire. A guard had to carry her to her room.”
Damon and Sethy exchanged a glance. The king nodded.
“Forgive me for leaving you with the whole kingdom at your door, my prince,” said Damon with a small smile.
“Beware the scorpion’s sting,” muttered back Sethy.
Damon left, and the police chief was allowed to leave. The next on the list was the tall and wide Master Scribe, whose shoulders and head almost touched the doorway.
“Is it true?” he asked. “They found the little princess?”
“She’s safe, if one doesn’t count her tears. Please sit, Master Pamiu.”
“I’m glad to know she’s been found,” he said, dabbing his sweaty brow. “Every time she runs away, I get a decade older! Sir Damon and you weren’t any better, always fleeing from your classes! It’s a miracle I managed to live so long with you three! At least Her Highness Kamilah had the decency not to climb trees.”
That made Sethy smile. He relaxed a bit and offered his tutor a cup of wine.
“This is exactly what I wished to talk to you about, Master. Your work at the library.”
“Oh, I’m too old to wait while you dance around the subject,” he said, waving his handkerchief. “I know you’re evaluating all those people standing in the corridor to prepare for your reign. Let’s save each other some time and admit that you just can’t replace me.”
“Really?” said Sethy with humour. “Some would say that you’re getting too old for your job.”
“If that old mummy Menefer Sef can still be Great Priest at his age, I still have at least one or two decades before retirement! My good prince, my work has been impeccable for thirty years. Every single peasant and every single grain of wheat is inventoried in my library. My scribes are better trained than Captain Debeheni’s soldiers. I was a tutor to the royal children, and I obtained excellent results three times out of four. Also, I’m not done preparing my successors. You see, my prince, you have no other choice but to keep me.”
Sethy burst out laughing and raised his glass in respect.
“You convinced me, you old indoor cat. You can stay among your dusty scrolls!”
“I should teach you manners again, my prince. This is not an appropriate way to address your tutor!”
“Peace, peace, my dear Pamiu. Don’t forget that I’ll be your new king!”
“How could I forget, my prince, when that fills me with pride?”
Sethy lost his smile and lowered his eyes, feeling once again like a student in front of his teacher.
“Keep your pride for now. Nothing says I’ll be up to the challenge.”
Pamiu placed a hand over the prince’s.
“My dear Sethy,” he said, voice full of warmth, “I have complete faith in your ability to govern. When I learned about your father’s choice, may his ka rest in peace, all my fears disappeared.”
“I thought Kamilah was your favorite.”
“I have great affection for my first student, I admit. She is wise beyond her years. But you, Sethy, you have the ability to love Egypt like no king has loved her before. I have faith in your heart.”
Sethy raised his head and looked at him but said nothing. Pamiu kept going.
“I spent many years close to your father, and I witnessed the weight of a crown. The throne is a lonely place, since you have to be suspicious of anyone trying to get close to it. To reign will be a hard and t
hankless task, my prince, but I believe in the strength of your soul. Know that you can always talk to me if you feel the need.”
Sethy nodded slowly. Pamiu poured him another cup of wine, which he drank with relief.
“Thank you, Pamiu,” sighed the prince. “I needed an extra cup in me. The next on the list is the main architect.”
“Does that mean I get to keep my job?”
“As if I could have done anything else,” laughed the prince. “Go, old cat, go prepare your successors. May they be ready before the next dynasty!”
The Master Scribe left the room. Sethy took a moment alone to gather his bearings and called the next name on the list.
* * *
A trumpet sounded the end of the alert. All members of Soromeh’s close guard, the old like the new, regrouped in front of the main door to her chambers. Harouk found himself surrounded by excited soldiers that elbowed each other to congratulate him. He saw Dewei and Silas over their heads and winced in shame.
“We had only one order,” groaned Dewei, his fists held tight. “One! Not to attract attention!”
Silas placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. They managed to get near their companion.
“What happened?” asked Dewei, swallowing back his foul mood.
Ookami, standing with a crutch, slapped Harouk’s shoulder.
“This son of a jackal climbed a tree in the royal gardens to pluck the princess like a fruit! We have to go drink to his health!”
While the others were getting enthusiastic at the thought of wine, the chamber doors opened, and Naími appeared, swaying in place. Silas stepped to her and helped her stay upright.
“Need I remind you there’s a grieving royal child on the other side of this door?” she grimaced. “If you lot want to make noise, do it in your barracks.”
“Lady Naími!” said Ookami, limping up to her. “My men don’t believe me. Tell them how you brought back the princess in town!”
“I tied her face-down over a camel, but I don’t see what—”
“Like a lamb!” laughed Ookami. “Come with us. We have to drink in your honor! Don’t worry, you won’t be the only woman. These drunkards will bring their girlfriends, too!”
“Maybe some other time, Ookami,” she said, wincing and placing a hand on her temple. “The princess kicked me while we were trying to get her down from that tree.”
The soldiers talked over each other to wish her well. Dewei pushed them back, exasperated.
“She mostly needs silence. Just go get Harouk drunk.”
Harouk opened his mouth to protest, but Ookami had already grabbed his arm and opened the way, limping. Once they were all gone, Naími let all her weight fall on Silas and buried a sob in his shoulder.
“...Naími?” whispered Dewei, not believing his ears.
Another sob answered him. Both soldiers exchanged a worried look.
“She’s crying,” Silas said, placing a hand over her head.
“Real tears?” said Dewei. “But she never cries! What are we supposed to do?”
Silas handed him Naími, who was now sobbing.
“She seems to have absorbed the princess’s pain. Bring her to her room, let her rest and separate her own emotions from the others, and I’m begging you—be patient.”
“Why don’t you do it?”
“I’m working,” he said, nodding towards the chambers.
A soldier came back from where they all had disappeared and took his spot on the right side of the door, looking at them with curiosity. Dewei swallowed back his annoyance and left with Naími.
The walk to the next wing was difficult because she was sinking deeper and deeper into her grief. They finally reached her chambers, a mere moment before he snapped and carried her the rest of the way.
He placed Naími on the bed and closed the thick curtains. He then stood there, looking at her, not knowing what to do.
She curled in a tight ball and chased him off with a frantic wave. He reluctantly obeyed, closed the door behind him, and sat on the floor, back against the wood. He stayed there, unmoving, for the greater part of the night, listening to the cries and muttered words that came from the room.
Silas joined him soon after midnight, and a bit after him came Harouk, smelling of wine and women’s perfume. When Dewei stared at him, Harouk rolled his eyes and just gestured towards the military barracks.
“How is she?” he asked, sitting next to them.
“She fell asleep. It wasn’t easy. The princess’s grief must have brought back some things that should have remained buried.”
“Meaning?” asked Harouk, fearing the answer.
“She was muttering the word ‘mother,’” admitted Dewei darkly.
The other two exchanged a glace. They did not speak of this often.
“It’s out fault. We should have acted sooner,” growled Harouk. “Leaving her alone with those mortals… I don’t want to imagine what would have happened if we’d waited even a single day more.”
“The Council of Archangels decided that we had to allow her a human childhood,” started Silas, “close to her mortal parents, so she could develop the free will and individuality we lack.”
“The Council did not predict such horrors!” said Harouk. “You were there, too, when we found her, unable to walk and her skin all bruised!”
Dewei jumped to his feet, entered Naími’s room, and closed the door behind him. Harouk hid his face in his hands.
“We cannot change the past,” muttered Silas. “We can only be grateful to have found her in time.”
“We should have been there years earlier and never let this woman, or these other mortals, raise a hand to her,” spat Harouk. “You should have let me tear the village down.”
“We are not creatures of revenge,” corrected Silas. “We have no right to judge human choices, even the most terrible ones. Only the Lord may judge them.”
Harouk stood back up, furious.
“No, I give up! There’s no discussing this with you. You’re too blinded by the Council.”
“And you’re on the path to perdition,” noted Silas. “Be careful, Harouk, to not forget your vows of obedience.”
“You know what? The company of humans sounds better than yours, right now. Maybe with another jug of wine or two, I’ll lose the need to twist your wings.”
He left. Silas, now alone, felt a deep sadness come over him. He went to sit on the balcony to watch the last stars of the night.
In the bedroom, Naími slept. Dewei sat in a corner, on the floor. If he concentrated, he could hear the beats of her heart. He counted them until the morning.
Chapter 6
The Netcheroos
Seventy-two days passed between the Pharaoh’s death and his funeral. While his body went through the lengthy process of mummification, the whole kingdom celebrated the passage of King Ramses to the afterlife and welcomed his son Sethy to the throne.
Soromeh had regained her strength. The morning of the funeral found her standing on a wooden stool in the middle of her living area, surrounded by a swarm of servants tasked with getting her ready. In the center of all these frantic women was Iram, handing her pieces of her morning meal. She devoured another honeyed bread, leaving her dress covered in crumbs.
The servant painting her eyes was despairing. “Your majesty, I’m begging you, please stay still.”
“No way,” she answered, her mouth full. “If I don’t eat now, I’ll have to wait until tonight’s feast. Iram, another cake, please.”
Iram hid a smile and turned to Onamu, who was carrying a huge platter covered in fruits, nuts, and pastries. He picked one and had to bite back a laugh when Soromeh snatched it from his hand to wolf it down.
“Your highness, please,” begged the woman in charge of the dress. “If you eat another bite, I won’t be able to sew your belt!”
The princess rolled her eyes. “Then place it higher. I don’t get why I can’t wear my usual dresses.”
“You are now a woman, your highness,” said the matron in charge. “You have to dress like an adult. Your new clothes are fitted at the waist instead of under the bust. The old ones would make you look pregnant and provoke many rumours.”
“So let them talk,” complained Soromeh. “Iram, cake. The nobles have little else to do. Who would I be to deprive them of their favorite pastime?”
“It would be best if such rumours started after your wedding. Young man, if I see you give Her Majesty a single pastry, I will throw you to the sacred crocodiles myself.”
Iram, staring the matron down, slowly extended his arm to hand the cake to Soromeh.
The matron sighed. “I see there’s no more hope for this one. Please, your highness, let my girls finish their work.”
The doors opened, and Naími walked in, looking impressive in her ceremonial regalia.
Soromeh shrieked with indignation, ruining the kohl line a servant was drawing over her eye. “What are you doing in my quarters? I thought I had forbidden you from entering!”
“My orders come from higher up, your majesty,” said Naími. “Her Highness Kamilah sent me to make sure you would be ready for the ceremony. I see there’s still work to be done.”
Soromeh opened her mouth to snap back, but Naími raised a hand to stop her.
“I’m also unhappy with this situation. Can we survive this day without fighting?”
They stared each other down. The servants held their breath.
“Stay in your corner, do not speak to me, and do not interrupt my servants,” said Soromeh.
Naími bowed with a bit of sarcasm and went to stand further away. The servants went back to their work, while the princess and the oracle ignored each other.
* * *
The king’s sarcophagus had been placed on a golden boat carried by fifty men. A long procession, going from the highest dignitaries of the kingdom to the lowest servants at his orders, would accompany it to the Valley of the Kings. The crowd had gathered on both sides of the road, from its starting point at the palace front door, through the city, then the fields, and even in the desert.
The Celestial Conspiracies Page 7
