“Because you sent me into exile. Exile! We starved for years and . . .” Beketaten trailed off and looked between Pawah and Nefertiti, the end of her sentence unspoken—and my husband desires you—before she continued in a different direction. “You left me to die in a foreign land. You stripped away my title as King’s Daughter!”
Nefertiti slammed her hand on the table. “I did no such thing! Your brother and mother wanted to kill you for treason—impalement in front of the temple! I saved you!”
Beketaten swallowed. Her skin flushed. “You speak ill of my late mother too? You liar . . . I hate you.”
“Believe what you wish.” Nefertiti shrugged her shoulders, throwing off her rage; she was done playing their games. “You will find a way to get rid of Smenkare, or I will tell the people that I witnessed the Vizier of the Upper devoting his life to the Aten by putting to death hundreds of worshippers of Amun—even some in front of me in the great hall. Since I am deemed to be a follower of the Aten, what reason would I have to lie about these happenings?”
Pawah’s grin fell. “The people would believe me.” His voice contained confidence, but his eyes held concern.
“Would they?” Nefertiti snorted. “False witness can go both ways, Vizier of the Upper.”
Pawah tilted his head toward Nefertiti. “Well played, Coregent.” Her power and wit struck in him a familiar chord of desire.
Some moments of silence passed as the four of them stared at each other. It was finally broken as Ay spoke.
“Then we are at an impasse?”
“No,” Pawah replied. “I will see to it that Smenkare is removed from the throne. I don’t mind dirtying my hands.” He shuffled his hands together as an unnerving smile crossed his face.
“Don’t enjoy it too much,” Nefertiti said.
“I am willing to do whatever it takes to see power returned to the throne and Egypt at her height. With Smenkare gone, you will be Pharaoh, Coregent Neferneferuaten . . . but we must act quickly before he names another his successor or removes you from his succession.”
Pawah suppressed a smile. He had already planned to tell the people a woman Pharaoh is no Pharaoh after she succeeded Smenkare. Then she would be forced to marry Tut, whom he would kill, and then she would have to marry him, Pawah, the last living male royalty. The crown would be his. He rocked back on his heels and lifted his chin.
Nefertiti cringed at the name her husband gave her, but said nothing, because he at least used her title with respect. It was more she would be able to garner from Beketaten.
Horemheb chimed in, leaning over the table toward Pawah and Beketaten. “You might be willing to do whatever it takes, but you must make Smenkare’s death look like an accident.”
“Agreed,” Ay said with a tilt of his head.
“Of course, Commander and Master of Pharaoh’s Horses,” Pawah said, sneering. “I don’t want to tarnish the position of Pharaoh. Future rulers are depending on his divine status.” He thrust out his chest, envisioning himself on the throne. His plan was so clear now. He could almost taste his victory.
“And Pawah, you mustn’t harm Meritaten,” Nefertiti added. “She is not Coregent. She poses no threat.”
Pawah and Beketaten nodded in agreement, and she nodded back, wondering what plan they would implement to see Smenkare dead. Looking to her hand, she saw a little scar from where she had hit Horemheb almost a year prior, and suddenly remembered his words.
Am I reopening the same wound?
Ay touched his daughter’s shoulder after they left the council room. Nefertiti knew his touch from anywhere, and she paused before turning to face him.
“My lotus blossom,” he began as he looked to the floor. “I’m sorry this has happened.”
“You were supposed to protect me,” Nefertiti whispered, feeling her heart shrink inside her chest. “And yet you coaxed me into the lion’s den and let me fend for myself. You’ve only continued to do the same today.”
“You held your own.” Ay raised his chin. “I did what I thought best for Egypt.”
“What about your daughter? What about your family?” Nefertiti snapped, and she felt the sting that came with her father’s lack of apology for again not standing up for her, not protecting her yet again.
“What about your family?” Ay cocked his head and wrinkled his forehead. “They would have been slaughtered in the pending rebellion, and if you had done it that night—” Ay drew in his breath. “I did not mean—”
“I know, Father. If I had killed him when I was supposed to . . .” Nefertiti trailed off and clenched her jaw. She shook her head, then found his eyes again. “Would you have killed Temehu? Would you have done the same if the roles were reversed?”
Ay’s jaw dropped ever so slightly, and Nefertiti knew that memories of his wife were flooding his mind. He had always told Nefertiti that her laugh mimicked Temehu’s and that he missed it so. Her laugh made his heart whole.
“I don’t know what I would have done,” he finally said.
“Then don’t pass judgment on me,” she responded, and pushed his shoulder to move him out of her way.
“I am not,” Ay said as she walked past him.
“My lotus blossom,” he called after her, but she rounded the corner.
As the sun began to sink, Commander Horemheb found Nefertiti walking alone in the corridors, and smiled. He had feigned walking with a purpose around the palace, hoping to catch her alone.
He had managed to push her to the very back of his mind during his battles with the Nubians, but most nights she would surface again. He often wondered how she would receive him when he came home. He had seen her watching him leave, so she must have seen him glance back at her.
Would his absence cause her to forget him or miss him?
He tried to keep thinking of Amenia when he thought of Nefertiti, because Amenia was his wife, but he had only seen her a handful of times in the past years. They wrote letters every now and then, but she was more of his head household steward than a wife or even a lover. He tried to imagine himself with her instead of Nefertiti, but he found his thoughts drifting back to Nefertiti and the way she’d looked that night in the lotus garden. With Amenia, there only existed a mutual admiration of friendship between them. On her part, she admired him for not divorcing her and making known her infertility; he in turn admired her for not divorcing him for his absence.
But with Nefertiti, there was a longing in his heart.
He knew he shouldn’t entertain any interest in the Pharaoh Coregent, but she allured him. After the council meeting, he had nodded to her and had seen that Ay wanted to speak to his daughter, so he went on his way to let them talk. But his curiosity about her possible feelings toward him kept him walking about the palace throughout the day. He needed to know, so he could put to bed his thoughts; and if he found she did miss him, then, well, he would deal with it if it happened.
“The Pharaoh Coregent really shouldn’t be walking alone without an escort. There could be persons about who wish harm to her,” he said while walking behind Nefertiti.
Her heart fluttered at the deep tone in his voice. Wetting her lips and thanking Amun for his safe delivery home, she said, “Perhaps I just needed some time to reflect,” and peered over her shoulder. She had spent the greater of the last two seasons convincing herself she felt nothing for Horemheb, but at his footsteps behind her and the way he defended her in the council room earlier that day, she realized her toes and fingers tingled with excitement that he was home.
“Would Pharaoh Coregent prefer continuing her solitude?” He held his distance, in case her actions toward him before he left for war were only moments of weakness during a difficult time. The thought brought about a suspended disappointment that hung over his head.
She spun around to face him. “No,” she whispered breathlessly. Her arms wanted so badly to wrap around his neck; she was so happy to see he was alive and well.
Horemheb smiled, finally letting go of the condi
tions he’d put on his thoughts toward her. He watched the freshly lit torchlights dance in her eyes as the tension in his shoulders dissipated.
“I am glad you made it back to Aketaten.” She tried to hide the slight tremor in her hands. She clenched her jaw and attempted to quiet the flutter of her heart and the shakiness of her breathing.
“As am I,” he said, and took a step toward her—a small step, yet still outside of his status.
“You were gone longer than one and a half seasons’ time.” She took a step toward him as well. His musky scent filled her airways, vividly evoking in her memories that had begun to fade over those seasons of absence.
“Yes . . . it took longer than expected to secure our border.” He wanted to stroke her face and arms and tell her he missed her so. To keep himself from leaping outside of his status, every muscle in his arms and chest tightened.
Nefertiti’s eyes followed the strain of his muscle fiber in his shoulders down to his biceps, but snapped to his face when she realized her eyes wandered. “Do you . . . did you leave . . .” Her words jumbled in her head as she tried to focus her thoughts, and she tried again. “Did you leave General Paaten in a good position?”
Horemheb suddenly stiffened, looking beyond her.
“Yes. The General should have the border secured within the year.”
“That is good news.” Nefertiti paused as she heard footsteps from behind.
A moment of silence came as a servant passed by. They didn’t know what to say to each other to keep wandering ears from reading too much into their conversation.
She looked to the floor, suddenly realizing her thoughts had been in vain. There would never be a chance she could ever be with Horemheb. She looked back up at him, reliving all the sleepless nights she told herself she was not attracted to him. He is a friend, she had thought, and she thought it again now; and as her mind cleared from the rush that accompanied his presence, the events of the day came back to her—along with the doubts of the plan to rid Egypt of Smenkare.
He saw her head drop and knew she thought the same: their status would keep them apart forever. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, disheartened at the sudden dismissal of their excitement.
“Commander?” she asked, resolving her feelings toward him—at least for the moment. “May I ask you a question?”
“Always, my Pharaoh Coregent,” he said, opening his eyes.
“Do you think me a fool, placing my daughter’s safety in their hands?” she asked, hoping her wording to be cryptic enough to anyone who might overhear.
“They know you will not sit idly by if something happens to her,” Horemheb told her.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Nefertiti said, shaking her head. “Am I a fool?”
Horemheb hesitated.
Nefertiti’s brow contorted. “Be frank.”
He studied her. Seeing how poorly she dealt and was dealing with her hand in Akhenaten’s demise, another might tear her down completely; but if it were his daughter, he would do anything to guarantee her safety. He also knew Smenkare was not ill in the mind, unlike his predecessor, and it would be near impossible for anyone without a close relationship to him to get rid of him. If she were to be found out, it would spell disorder for the position of Pharaoh. Pawah was clearly the best choice.
“No, my Pharaoh Coregent,” he said, and shook his head. “Never a fool.”
She examined him for any sign of a lie, but found none; she let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
Horemheb knew he should drop the subject there, but he wasn’t ready to let go of his nights dreaming of her. He added, “You are at an advantage.”
She paused. “What do you mean?”
“You are able to ask me questions and know if I am truthful or not . . . but if I were to ask you a question, I would not know the truthfulness of your response.” His tone turned into a playful, serious banter.
“Well, maybe you should learn to control your tell,” she said, and smiled teasingly.
Horemheb chuckled and shook his head.
Nefertiti peered up at him. “What questions would you ask me, Commander?”
Horemheb took that as a sign she was not ready to give up on them either. But he wasn’t quite ready to ask her the questions he held in his mind. “Many questions”—he smirked—“but perhaps for another time.”
“How long are you in Aketaten? Perhaps another time can come soon . . . ?”
Horemheb’s face fell. “Pharaoh has ordered me to leave with my divisions for the Libyan border in the morning.”
She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. “But you just got back . . . for how long?”
“I do not know, Pharaoh Coregent. I must assess that when I get there.”
“Please send a letter,” Nefertiti said.
It was an odd request, since he would be sending a messenger to Pharaoh Smenkare already, but she wanted to know outside of the Pharaoh. And, to her surprise, he said he would oblige.
They stood in silence for another few moments as another servant passed by.
When they could no longer hear his footsteps, Nefertiti placed her hand on Horemheb’s arm and said, “Promise me, Commander . . . promise you will come back.”
Horemheb grinned, loving the touch of her on his body, and decided to step outside his place again. He loved her smile, and thought another fun comment would lift the weight of the situation. “I will fight like my life depends on it.”
A half smile, followed by a slight narrowing of her eyes. “Don’t play,” she chided, and dropped her arm, looking around to make sure no one saw her. “I need you—” She bit her lip, debating if she should finish her sentence. “You’re one of my council whom I value very much.” Her eyes searched him.
I wish her eyebrow twitched when she lied, he thought. It would be easier to read her . . . but nevertheless, I cannot court her, and so I shouldn’t talk to her as if I am courting her. I should be standing behind her. I shouldn’t even be this close to her. She is Pharaoh Coregent!
“My apologies,” he said, and straightened up as another servant passed by. “I will make a promise to fight and strategize, in order to bring home myself and as many men as I can.”
Nefertiti nodded. “Very well, Commander. Thank you.”
“I only do as I am commanded,” he responded.
The servant’s footsteps disappeared down the hallway.
“There is no other reason you wish to come back to Aketaten?”
“There is,” he said. And the reason is you.
They shared a moment of looking into each other’s eyes, trying to read each other’s truth.
Nefertiti decided not to press him further. “Fight well.” A soft tone accompanied her words.
“We shall,” he responded, and bowed his head.
“I will be expecting your letter.”
“I will send it as soon as I know a duration,” he said as he began to walk past her. They kept each other’s gaze. “I shall return, my Pharaoh Coregent.”
She held her chin up and pressed her lips together, wanting to say more, but instead she merely wished him well as she watched him walk off down the corridor.
“I shall miss you, Commander,” she whispered.
He smiled, hearing the soft echo of her whisper on the stone walls. He didn’t turn around, but only thought, I shall miss you too.
Chapter 12
The Time of Secrets
A month after Horemheb left for Libya, Nefertiti summoned her step-mother and half-sister to her room and sat them down.
“What is wrong, my daughter?” Tey asked as Mut looked to Nefertiti.
She shook her head, not wanting to confess to the political conspiracies she had agreed to on top of already admitting to them her hand in Akhenaten’s death.
Tey sat patiently waiting for Nefertiti to speak as she watched her wrestle with her thoughts. Mut leaned her elbows on her knees and placed her hands over her mouth as she held back her questions
.
“Violence begets violence,” Nefertiti started. Her hands lay clasped in her lap as she twirled her thumbs.
“Pharaoh Smenkare?” Tey asked.
Nefertiti drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and nodded.
“And Meritaten?” Tey’s voice tightened, like flesh experiencing a chilly breeze after bathing.
Nefertiti’s shoulders rolled back as she sat up straight in her chair. “I will not let them hurt my daughter, no matter her beliefs. But I can do nothing for Smenkare. He sealed his own fate with the slaughter of those still loyal to Amun—even his own family.”
“Yes, we heard about his mother,” Tey said in barely a whisper. “When is she to be executed?”
“At the close of this season, when the Aten begins to give more light in the day. It will mark the first year of his coronation. He believes it will have special meaning to his vision for Egypt.” Nefertiti shook her head and sighed. “His own mother. Oh, the nonsense Akhenaten must have filled his head with . . . and I can’t bear to think about my poor Meritaten.”
“Are you sure they will not harm her?” Tey asked again, wringing her hands in her lap. Then, answering her own question: “Ay will make sure.”
Nefertiti huffed. “Yes, I’m sure Father will protect her.” She bit her tongue; anger steamed in the back of her throat, venting through her nostrils. “Mother, he sat there during the entire meeting with Pawah and Beketaten and said nothing. He let them attack me like vicious dogs. I defended my family—a skill long forgotten by Ay, Master of Pharaoh’s Horses. Perhaps his title has too long gone to his head.”
Tey held up a finger to chide her daughter. “Nefertiti, do not speak of your father in that way.”
Even as the mighty Coregent of Egypt, Nefertiti still felt the burn on her cheeks from Tey’s scolding.
“What about Commander Horemheb? Is he for this as well?” Mut asked, clutching her hands, quivering. She hoped to Amun he had no part.
“Everyone was in agreement save General Paaten. I don’t know where he stands in all of this. He carries out Pharaoh Smenkare’s law, but I know he does not believe in it.” Nefertiti looked to the ceiling as she drew in a sharp breath.
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