Secrets in the Sand

by Lauren Lee Merewether

  “Come. No more talk of this,” she whispered, and motioned them to silence until Aitye shut them in alone in her chambers. Finally a sigh of relief escaped her lungs. “We can’t be too careful. There are ears everywhere.” She crossed her arms over her chest as she walked to the door to make sure Aitye had shut it behind her.

  “I am so glad to hear that! I didn’t raise my daughter to renounce Amun.” Tey let out the words with a deep sigh as her shoulders rolled forward.

  Nefertiti stopped in her walk back to her living area, watching her mother with a vacant stare.

  “Egypt believes I have,” Nefertiti said, avoiding her mother’s eyes.

  Instead of rejoining them, she walked to the window overlooking the sun as it sank over the Nile, beyond whose shores the desert looked as barren as her future. She had chosen this room for her living area and her bedroom behind it when they first moved to Aketaten, so she could wake to the rising sun’s reflection on the water. Being on the second floor of the palace, the guards only needed to guard her door and the royal road below. It allowed her an unimpeded view of the Nile. Her mother’s shuffling made her snap back to the present. She peered out the window and to the ground below, making sure no one lingered there to overhear their conversation.

  “My Nefertiti, I am sure they don’t believe that,” Tey reassured her as she came behind her, placing her hands on her shoulder. “At least not with certainty.”

  Nefertiti smirked at her step-mother’s frankness. But then her heart dipped as she wondered if her own mother, Temehu, would have been that way. She would never know.

  “What else bothers you, my child?” Tey asked her.

  “Everything,” Nefertiti said as she turned and fell forward into Tey’s arms. The warmth of Tey’s embrace made her feel safe again—a fleeting feeling in this nation, this city, this palace. Even the walls of her own chamber felt as though they had closed in on her in the stillness of the night. Ears always listened. Trust lingered only in some.

  “Come, child,” Tey soothed as she guided her back to the living area where Mut was seated. “Tell me and perhaps we can figure it out together.” She rubbed Nefertiti’s back before taking a seat herself.

  Nefertiti opened her mouth to speak, but no words could come.

  Where to even start?

  Her gaze lowered to the floor with a shake of her head. She opened her mouth again, lifting her eyes to Tey, but nothing came.

  “Why do you seem as if you have not slept”—Tey motioned to the circles under Nefertiti’s eyes—“and yet have not seen the sun lately?”

  Nefertiti bit her lip and rubbed her chin. Because everything is wrong! her heart screamed. She drew a frown and pulled back, slightly uncertain what Tey and Mut would think of her if she confessed her true thoughts.

  “My daughter, tell me.” Tey stroked her forearm and leaned in.

  “Each day,” Nefertiti began, and fidgeted with the beads on her collar. “Each day—” She cleared her throat. She closed her eyes and forced the words out—any that would come. “Each day, I wake up not knowing if death will strike us.”

  Tey jerked, not expecting those words, but leaned in again and continued to listen in silence. Nefertiti smiled at her; she loved the way her mother made her feel, the way she listened to her, as if what she said mattered.

  Mut sat too, leaning forward but staying mute, imitating her mother.

  Nefertiti’s voice wavered as she spoke, not knowing how her mother and sister would react. “If Pharaoh dies, it will be because of me.” Tears ran from her cheeks as she whispered, “I will have killed him.” The weight of her confession lifted from her chest as the words spilled into her mother’s lap.

  Tey’s brow furrowed as she tried to comprehend what Nefertiti meant.

  Mut’s eyes grew wider.

  Nefertiti studied Tey’s face and knew more explanation was needed. She bit her lip, but pressed herself to continue in a whisper. “There is a movement . . . a movement that wants to kill the royal family and start anew with the followers of Amun,” Nefertiti whispered as her shoulders slumped.

  Her father had kept this information from his family for a reason, and she knew she violated his will by speaking it. An eye for an eye. She thought back to him coaxing her to kill her own husband. I cannot keep this to myself any longer. I want to be able to sleep again.

  “Not my family,” Tey said with a force behind her voice and a shake of her head. “What movement?” Her voice echoed off of the stone walls.

  “Mother,” Nefertiti hushed. “Be quiet. You don’t know who is on the other side of the door listening. This is not a safe place.”

  “This is the palace. This is the safest place there is,” Mut retorted, her hands emphasizing every word.

  “Yes, I agree.” Tey nodded. “You shouldn’t feel—”

  “Both of you, quiet,” Nefertiti hissed. “Loyalties are split. The movement runs deep, even into the palace. They tasked me to take poisoned wine to Pharaoh.” Nefertiti gritted her teeth, thinking back to that night, and averted her eyes. She couldn’t bear to look her mother in the eyes, knowing what a shameful deed she had done.

  Mut gave a nervous chuckle. “You didn’t . . . did you? Not you?” The shrillness in Mut’s voice made Nefertiti only imagine the depths she would fall from Mut’s pedestal for her.

  “I did.” Nefertiti straightened her back, but her gaze stayed on the floor below, not wanting to give witness to the disappearance of the respect and admiration from her sister’s eyes. She finally lifted her own. “I said the movement runs deep. I had no other choice.”

  Mut gasped. “You always have a choice!”

  Tey shot her the look to quit, and Mut closed her mouth.

  But her half-sister was right. “I know,” Nefertiti whispered. “I could have refused . . . but they said a mob bent on murder lay in wait. One life or many—it was my choice to make. I chose one life.” Flutters in her stomach made her breaths shallow. Her hands closed and opened as she imagined what must be going through their minds.

  “Wouldn’t the guards protect you?” Tey asked, returning her focus to Nefertiti.

  “No.” The word came out as quick as a cat’s scratch; seeing the wound to her mother’s feelings, she softened her tone. “Some would, for they took an oath, but others feel their oath has been violated. They won’t stop anyone from removing the single most powerful threat to Egypt—Pharaoh . . . and anyone they believe supports him.” Nefertiti chewed on her tongue in their silence, then added, “He has let Egypt fall, Mother.”

  “Does that deserve death?” Mut asked as Tey stroked Nefertiti’s hand. Tey shot a cold stare to her youngest daughter, but not before Nefertiti rushed through her defense.

  “He let our alliances fall apart. There is threat of war between the Mitanni, the Libyans, and the Nubians. We had no choice but to try to strike an alliance with the Hittites. The Hittites! Our sworn enemies, who do nothing but try to take our northern Canaan border . . . we had to try to align ourselves with them, because Egypt is desperate!”

  Nefertiti’s heart beat against her chest wall as she realized her own voice echoed off the walls now. She regained her composure and looked to the door, hoping no one had heard her elevated voice. She dropped her head and held her next words as they trembled on her lips. Doubt from her past raised her voice as memories flooded her soul until, finally, the dam broke.

  “If Thutmose had lived . . .”

  She took in a loud sweep of air into her lungs. Thutmose. The true Crown Prince . . . the one who loved her and her him . . . the one she would have spent her life with if he hadn’t gone to Re at such a young age . . . the one who wouldn’t have betrayed her . . . the one who would have been good to Egypt. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as she brushed them away. But that life she would never know.

  “We would never be in this position! Thutmose would have been a Pharaoh his father would have been proud of!”

  Instead, eventually she fell in lo
ve with Thutmose’s brother after his passing, and let Akhenaten beat her down until she brought him poisoned wine to die. She cupped her mouth with her hands as she rocked back and forth, trying to steady her breath and hold her tears.

  “Where is my dignity?” she asked herself.

  Tey said nothing, but rather clenched her jaw and rubbed Nefertiti’s knee.

  “If Thutmose had lived, I wouldn’t be a murderer,” Nefertiti whispered as she looked to her mother, not trying to hide her tears anymore.

  Tey could not condone murder, but she felt the vibration of her daughter’s shakes and tears in her heart. Tey pulled Nefertiti’s arm to make her stand and enclosed Nefertiti in her embrace. “I will never understand the burden you carry, my daughter,” Tey whispered, but then fell silent as she gently rubbed Nefertiti’s back.

  They locked their gazes upon each other, and that was when Nefertiti saw the disappointment dripping from her mother’s eyes. Tey’s silence ate at Nefertiti’s conscience, but she rested her head on Tey’s shoulder anyway, letting the tears fall.

  “But Pharaoh lives.” Mut cut through the silence trying to heal her half-sister from her grief. “Perhaps the wine spilt.”

  “Oh, Mut,” Nefertiti whispered, and pulled away from Tey. Her chin trembled as she explained, “He lives for now, yes . . . I left the poisoned wine in his bedchambers. He drinks wine as he breathes air. He will find it one day.” Nefertiti turned to look to Tey. “Despite what you both think, I had no choice.”

  Tey opened her mouth to say she understood, but Mut was quicker. “Fine—but then what will happen?” Mut immediately shut her mouth at the sight of her mother’s stare.

  “Then I will be Pharaoh,” Nefertiti said, referring to her status as Coregent, and wiped her tears from her cheeks. She took a deep breath and sat back down again as she lifted her chin.

  I am Pharaoh Coregent. I cannot act in this way even with my family.

  “His son is too young and too sickly to take his place—or, in the very least, he will be my Coregent.” Her jaw clenched as she thought of that dreadful boy, the evidence of her husband’s broken promise to their bed. Akhenaten had yet to name a successor, but since she was Coregent, it would fall to her.

  “Would they allow a woman to be Pharaoh?” Tey asked, but backtracked her words at the annoyed look she received from Nefertiti. “I mean, you are more than capable, of course . . . but—”

  “But what?” Nefertiti crossed her arms and sat up straight.

  Tey tilted her head and let out a short huff of air, causing Nefertiti to shrink back a little. Nefertiti pursed her lips and leaned away from her mother as an apology of sorts.

  “I just don’t see the people accepting a woman Pharaoh.” Tey threw her hands up and let them drift back down to her lap.

  Nefertiti only stared at her mother. “Women hold equal status to men in this country.”

  “But we hold different roles. Pharaoh has been traditionally Amun’s divinely appointed man since the dawn of our civilization.”

  Nefertiti crossed her arms tighter across her chest as her mother continued.

  “The Egyptians—we . . . we are a proud people. We thrive in our traditions, do we not? Is that not why Egypt has failed in this new religion of Pharaoh’s? Do you think your crowning as Pharaoh would not cause more strife with the people?”

  Nefertiti bit her tongue and sat quietly for a moment. Her royalty began with such an auspicious future—to be carved in stone next to her friend and husband, Thutmose—but since he passed, she instead would be remembered next to this heretic Pharaoh, Akhenaten, if she was to be remembered at all. She folded her hands in her lap, not wanting to accept her future.

  “Then I suppose I shall have no legacy.”

  Tey turned and surveyed the room, praying to Amun that this not be the case for her daughter. She crossed her arms as well and dropped her head.

  Mut swallowed the dry lump sitting in her throat. “No, they can’t do that to you,” she protested as her muscles quivered at the unfairness. “You . . . you are Queen Nefertiti, Coregent Neferneferuaten!” Her eyes lit with admiration once again. “You sat in Pharaoh’s place while he rejected his duties! You said so yourself!”

  Tey turned to face her daughters, but said nothing, feeling both of their pain sink into the depths of her stomach.

  “Mut, Mother speaks the truth,” Nefertiti started, “it will—”

  “No!” Mut stood up with fists by her side. “You—”

  “Silence, Mut!” Nefertiti stood and towered over her small frame.

  Mut’s mouth contorted; she wanted to say more, but refrained.

  “Yes, I did sit in Pharaoh’s place,” Nefertiti continued as she sat down, having secured Mut’s silence. “But that doesn’t change anything . . . that doesn’t change what I did or what will most likely happen.” She bit her lip and slumped her shoulders. With a quick shake of her head, she let out a despairing sigh. Nefertiti looked to her half-sister as a heaviness overcame her body. “Mut, I don’t deserve your respect. Be better than me.”

  Mut’s lips turned into a frown as she clenched her jaw, and a tear escaped as Nefertiti accepted her fate.

  Tey rubbed her neck and closed her eyes, not knowing what to say. Words would not change the future. Words would not take away the shame and anger.

  Nefertiti lifted her chin. “The further you distance yourself from me, the safer you will be. Less tears you will cry for my sake.”

  Chapter 3

  The Time of Succession

  The sun rose the next morning as Nefertiti stood awake, Aitye having already dressed her in silence. Her heart ached for Merytre. In the dim candlelight, Nefertiti heard Aitye’s sniffles and knew she wasn’t the only one who missed her. They would entomb Merytre in the necropolis Akhe-Aten just east of the city Aketaten.

  The last walk she took there was a time of great grieving as well, four years ago now. Rubbing her hand against her heart, Nefertiti felt the same pang of sorrow in her chest as when she had to entomb her second oldest, Meketaten, who had died from the plague. Her fingers closed around her palm, curling into a tight fist, and her nostrils flared as she envisioned the past. On that same dark day, Akhenaten had named their third daughter, Ankhesenpaaten, his wife, as if Meketaten had never existed.

  Never mind the fact that Ankhesenpaaten was only seven at the time, with no business being married at her age, she thought. Then, shortly after, Kiya died . . .

  Her fist shook now against her corded neck.

  Kiya, she thought, I will never forgive myself for the way I treated you in your last times. I will never forgive myself.

  Angry tears pricked her eyes as she shook her head. Drawing in a deep breath, Nefertiti raised her chin against the past.

  Not today. I do not want to remember those days. They are behind me.

  This day would be, too, in time; but the more she thought about death, the more something gnawed at her—or rather, someone.

  Akhenaten.

  Was he dead? Was he alive? Every morning she asked herself this question, but every day he proved to be alive and a little piece of her soul perished. Would she find relief from her guilt when the morning sun came with news of Pharaoh’s passing? Relief. Such a weak word to describe a murderer who has finally completed her task.

  A rap-rap-rap came at her door, and Nefertiti’s stomach swelled as she held her breath. Aitye answered and a messenger came to declare that Pharaoh summoned Queen and Coregent Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti to the throne room. Hushed tones filled the room as Nefertiti strained to hear.

  Aitye came back and whispered to Nefertiti, “My Coregent, Pharaoh summons the royal family. He has had a vision.”

  Nefertiti’s eyes rolled as she dropped her head back in frustration. “Why today? Can we not send Merytre to the afterlife in peace?” She brought her head to her hands and again whispered, to no one in particular, “Why today?”

  “He doesn’t realize,” Aitye spoke.

 
Nefertiti shot her a deadly stare.

  Aitye hurriedly added, “He doesn’t know what she meant to you because he is lost in himself.”

  “And he wouldn’t care if I told him,” Nefertiti said as she pulled her shoulders up. “Is it wrong, Aitye, to want him gone?”

  “When someone causes you a lot of pain”—Aitye glanced down and twirled her fingers—“it is not unreasonable to want to remove the cause of your pain.” Her gaze rose to Nefertiti and she swallowed before continuing. “I see your tears, my Coregent. I see your tight jaw and swollen eyes. I see the burden of Egypt upon your shoulders.” She paused, taking in Nefertiti’s silence. “Coregent . . . may I speak freely?”

  “You may,” Nefertiti said, swaying slightly on her feet. Aitye had been with her for a long time, and Merytre was gone; someone needed to fill her place, and who better than Aitye? She had saved her life when the rebels attacked Malkata more than a decade ago.

  With her master’s permission, Aitye spoke again, saying, “There are rumors you were going to kill him.”

  Nefertiti’s eyes grew wide. “Rumors?” She bit her tongue. Pawah and Beketaten would spread the truth as rumors. Why did she ever go along with their plan? Because they threatened the lives of her and her children. Her feet stuck to the floor in much the same way as she was stuck in the middle of a unfortunate situation.

  “Yes. Rumors,” Aitye said, eyes searching her master, whose silence confirmed to her their truth, and the corners of Aitye’s mouth fell. “My Coregent . . . don’t become someone you hate because another caused you pain.”

  “Very wise words,” Nefertiti said as she patted Aitye’s cheek. “But I’m afraid, it’s too late for that.” A sad grin graced her face. “Put those rumors to rest.” Aitye bowed her head as Nefertiti walked past. “When I return from the throne room, we will send Merytre in peace and goodwill, despite whatever mindless thing Pharaoh Akhenaten decides to say this morning.”