“Yes, I have. It is the lot of Pharaoh. I must make the hard choices.” Nefertiti stood, still a head taller than her daughter. “I chose Egypt over my family, even when I have gained nothing in return.”
“You gained the crown,” Ankhesenpaaten muttered.
Nefertiti clenched her jaw. “Hate me if you will, but I did what I thought needed to be done, and I deserve the right to choose whom I like and dislike. I have chosen to dislike the male child of Pharaoh Akhenaten.”
“Why? Because Father slept with another one of his wives?” Ankhesenpaaten shrugged her shoulder as if to show how inconsequential she thought this.
“He promised me, Ankhesenpaaten!” Nefertiti yelled, stepping closer to her.
“Mother! Father is dead, and has been gone for years now. Tut is nine years old. This happened a long time ago.” Ankhesenpaaten threw her hands in the air, taking a small step backward from her advancing mother. “Get past this!”
Nefertiti grabbed Ankhesenpaaten’s shoulders. “You do not understand!”
“You keep saying that! But I do understand!”
Ankhesenpaaten wrenched one of her shoulders free, but Nefertiti took hold of it again.
“Despite everything your father did to me, despite how crippled and pathetic a child that boy is, despite yours and Nefe’s friendship with him, I cannot like that boy. I can barely even look at him. He disgusts me!”
“Why? What did he do?!”
“Nothing. The boy did nothing!”
Nefertiti released a large breath at this realization as the truth she had denied for so long fell from her lips. She dropped her hands.
“He did nothing . . .”
The throne room still partially uncovered, the sun chose that moment to fall into Nefertiti’s eyes. Sitting back down, she shielded her eyes. The Aten drained her energy. She’d begun to see visions, too, and knew she would become her late husband if she didn’t do something.
“I am not Akhenaten,” she whispered to herself.
She lifted her head and yelled to the scribe: “Cover the throne room roof! I want it covered by first light!”
Ankhesenpaaten snorted at her mother’s refusal to deal with the issue at hand.
“How long have I had the crown now, Ankhesenpaaten?” Nefertiti whispered, looking back up at her.
“A year and two seasons, Mother,” Ankhesenpaaten said, shaking her head in clear pity.
“No—I have had the crown since we moved to Aketaten. Your father never was a good Pharaoh. His son will be no better.” She let her hand fall from her eyes. The sun was so bright. “Maybe I don’t like the boy because I know he will become his father.”
“That is the most foolish thing I have ever heard,” Ankhesenpaaten said.
“I’m tired.” Nefertiti shooed her daughter away. “I must prepare for the crowning ceremony.”
“If Tut disgusts you, then you disgust me,” Ankhesenpaaten’s face held a grimace.
“Learn, or you will become me.” Nefertiti stared at her daughter, unblinking. “Be better than me, Ankhesenpaaten.”
Ankhesenpaaten crossed her arms again. “Why can’t you be better?”
“It’s too late for me,” Nefertiti said. “I have made my decisions. They will decide my fate.”
“Don’t be silly, Mother. You have many years left. There is still time.”
Nefertiti smiled at her naïveté. “Perhaps,” she said, and rose to stand again. She patted her cheek and wrapped her arms around Ankhesenpaaten and, to her surprise, her daughter let her hug her. Cupping her head in her hand and wrapping her arm all the way around her, she squeezed. “Remember, daughter, we all must make choices. Some are wrong. Some are right. Some make sense. Some don’t. But in the end, whatever choice you make, you own the consequences.” She pulled back to look her in the eyes, and her voice dropped to the barest of whispers. “I fear my future. I have made many choices. Choices that were wrong and full of folly.”
Ankhesenpaaten shook her head and put her mother’s head between her hands. “Then make the right choice, Mother.”
“I don’t know what is right anymore, my sweet one,” Nefertiti confessed to her beloved daughter.
Ankhesenpaaten stood behind Tut as they both tried to recall what they were supposed to do once the drapes were pulled back and they walked down the aisle to be crowned. Ankhesenpaaten had done it once before when she married her father, but that was half a lifetime ago.
“Tut,” Ankhesenpaaten whispered.
His head half-turned, but he whipped it forward again, ignoring her.
“Tut,” Ankhesenpaaten whispered again, some spit flying out from the force of her whisper.
Tut peered over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes. “What do you want?”
“Why are you mad at me?” Ankhesenpaaten asked. “We are about to be married and crowned Coregent and his chief royal wife. But why are you mad at me? Tell me.”
He spun around with his cane as his center of weight. “I want the real reason why you are marrying me.” His eyes were hot, his mouth a scowl.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Ankhesenpaaten shrugged. “Because I love you.”
He narrowed his eyes at her again. “Why should I believe you?”
“I have been your friend since you were born. I would never do anything to cross you or hurt you . . . because I love you, Tut.” Ankhesenpaaten’s shoulders fell, as if dropping her heart before him.
“There are others who say you and your mother just want to kill me since I am the rightful heir to the throne,” Tut said. “Get close and then strike.” He punched the air with such a force he almost knocked himself over, but he quickly regained his balance.
Ankhesenpaaten chuckled and shook her head. “Who says that? That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”
“Very important people,” Tut said, and leaned toward her. “I am watching you.”
“Be careful of where you place your trust—”
Ankhesenpaaten shut her mouth. Those are my mother’s words, she thought.
“You should be careful, too. If I find you are conspiring against me, I will order you dead,” Tut threatened.
Ankhesenpaaten’s half-smile disappeared. “Tut, I would never conspire against you. I can’t make you believe me . . . but please know I would never hurt you.”
Tut huffed and spun back around just as the curtains opened.
Simut, Pharaoh’s appointed First Prophet of Amun, stood at the end of the aisle, his hands clasped over his belly, waiting on the second step of the throne’s platform. The second and third prophets stood on either side, holding the ceremonial Pshent crown for Tutankhaten and the Modius crown for Ankhesenpaaten.
They walked down the aisle. All eyes watched the Crown Prince hobble—with an impressive speed for a boy with a cane—and his older bride step gracefully behind him.
When they reached the steps, Ankhesenpaaten went up halfway and Tutankhaten continued upward, careful not to fall.
Simut took the great red copper-and-white papyrus crown from the Second Prophet of Amun, Maya, while another lower priest of Amun recited the language of the gods, granting the crowning of a divine King.
The crown fit perfectly upon his head—after all, they had fitted him for it the day before. He slowly turned around to face the hall, careful the double crown did not topple.
Tut’s brow held no sweat as he spouted the words he’d painstakingly memorized—his oath as the divinely appointed. “I swear by Amun-Re to fulfill my divine purpose to lead the Upper and the Lower of Egypt boldly into prosperity.”
“People of Egypt,” Pharaoh Neferneferuaten bellowed as she stood from her throne, “presented to you: Pharaoh Coregent Tutankhaten, having divine selection to lead the unified nation, both the Upper and the Lower, to a more prosperous future,”
And the people cheered for their new leader.
“Now shall be named chief royal wife of Pharaoh Coregent, Ankhesenpaaten, to stand with Pharaoh.” Nefertiti mo
tioned to her daughter.
The people cheered again.
Simut took the blue-and-gold Modius crown from Maya as Ankhesenpaaten walked up to the step beneath him, and he placed it upon her head.
The people cheered a third time, but Ankhesenpaaten could only think of Tut’s threat, and, wondering who spread those lies, settled on the only possible person: Pawah. Even as she considered all the possibilities, a tiny voice in the back of her mind wondered if her mother truly wanted Tut dead.
Chapter 20
The Time of Broken Oaths
As Nefertiti’s second year as Pharaoh almost drew to a close, Horemheb found himself in each sleepless night wrestling with a future without her. The people seemed to not accept only a Coregency, and he knew the time would come when she would be forced to marry. His mind raced. She had stopped her advances and she had stopped peering over her shoulder. Perhaps she no longer felt the same as he—and that would be for the best, he reasoned. But then she’d look at him in the council room or in general conversation, and there was still something behind her eyes. He pushed it from his mind. In the past, he’d forced himself to sleep when he was not on watch, but the days grew long and the nights short; he was desperately afraid she would be killed as he slept. But every morning, he’d force his heavy eyes open. He’d promised her and her father that he would protect her. She had asked him to stand guard for her and to be her escort, and she had not changed that order. So, in his present duty as guard and escort at Pharaoh’s command, he had placed his troop commander, Paramesse, his comrade he knew he could trust, as Commander in his absence.
A morning came when General Paaten came up to Nefertiti and Horemheb in the hallway. “Pharaoh Neferneferuaten,” he said with a half-bow. “Commander.” He turned to Horemheb and his eyes fell to the man’s feet, making sure they were behind his Pharaoh. General Paaten’s face, seemingly flustered, held a red hue and his eyes were ablaze.
“What is wrong, General?” Horemheb asked, keeping his face as set in stone. He wasn’t going to let the General know any more than he already did about his feelings for Nefertiti. The tryst was behind him, and he needed to look to a future without her—however bleak it may seem.
“I have just received word that we had to put down some small riots in Waset and Men-nefer,” General Paaten said. “Pawah.” He gritted his teeth. “He actually did it, the cursed fool. The men we arrested said this was only the beginning.” General Paaten shook his head. “Until Egypt is fully restored.”
Nefertiti bit her lip. “They still demand a male Pharaoh?”
General Paaten nodded.
“I hate this,” she said, and threw her hands in the air.
Horemheb planted his feet in the ground and looked around, glaring down at any servants who dared to stop and stare at their Pharaoh.
She put her hands on General Paaten’s shoulders. “I know I have asked much of you in the past. If the time comes, will you keep your promise to me?”
Horemheb’s eyebrows raised. What promise?
General Paaten drew in a deep breath, ignoring Horemheb’s confused stare. “Indeed, my Pharaoh. You need nothing more than my word.”
“Take all who will go with you,” she said.
“As you wish.” General Paaten nodded. “What about you? You could come with me. I would keep you safe.” He put his hands on her shoulders as well, deepening Horemheb’s confusion.
“General,” she said as tears welled. “There are no second chances for me.”
Horemheb cleared his throat again, wondering what was meant by asking Nefertiti to come with him—to keep her safe? Was he not privy to some secret between them?
General Paaten dropped his hands as he shot Horemheb a reproachful look. Horemheb stepped back, keeping his eyes on the man, until General Paaten believed he was no longer in earshot. He saw General Paaten’s lips moving as he continued the conversation and Nefertiti shaking her head and touching his cheek. The closeness of their faces gave his heart a good squeeze.
What promise? General Paaten is much older than me. He shook his head at his own implication. Nefertiti wouldn’t do that to me. Trade a commander for a general? Maybe she and General Paaten were something before I came along. He raised his eyebrow again. Maybe that is why the General warned me so harshly . . . because he has had to stay away all this time? No. No. No. I refuse to believe that.
But as he watched the tears fall from Nefertiti’s face, he wondered even more.
General Paaten lowered his head to speak to her, so any passersby could not hear.
“The choice is yours, Pharaoh. If you come with me when I take your daughters should the people rise up, I will keep you safe.”
A silence arose between them as Nefertiti considered a life in exile, with no one but the General and her daughters to keep her company. Would safety be worth never seeing Horemheb again? At least if she did marry either Tut or the Hittite—if they ever responded—she could at least still be in his presence. A lonely life either way.
She touched his cheek as she shook her head. “General Paaten, you have served me loyally all of my days in the palace even when I was not loyal to you. I thank you for that. Now I must ask one more favor.”
She paused.
“I want Pawah dead,” Nefertiti said through her teeth.
A tear slid down her cheek. She had killed Akhenaten and let them kill Smenkare—what was a lowly life such as Pawah’s worth to her dignity? There was no more depth to which she could fall.
General Paaten stared at her, bowed his head, and whispered, “Pharaoh?”
“Can we order his execution for crimes against Pharaoh?” Nefertiti asked General Paaten.
“The men I trust have told me the people do look up to him. He is their ‘savior.’ He did in fact gather up the people, and they were going to rebel that night you brought Akhenaten the poison.” General Paaten stopped at Nefertiti’s stare. “When I learned of what happened, I sent my own intelligence men to validate and verify. Everything Pawah threatens is true. If we arrest him and he says you killed Akhenaten . . .”
“They would believe him.” Nefertiti’s gaze fell to the floor. “This would not only wage war against me, but against the position of Pharaoh. The last twenty years would be in vain. If people think they can kill Pharaoh and nothing happen as a consequence, well, what purpose does divine appointment serve?” She put her forehead between her finger and thumb. “There would be complete anarchy. At best, the country would be yet again divided.”
“Brother would kill brother. It wouldn’t even be the Upper and the Lower,” General Paaten said.
“I want him dead, General. Do what you must to make it look as though he died of natural causes,” she ordered him, letting her hand fall to her side.
He lifted his eyes and found hers. “Do not become the evil you wish to kill.”
“Only evil can kill evil, General.” Her stare was hard. “I ordered the torture of seventeen men to find information about who threatened Akhenaten, and you carried it out. Do this again for me. Pawah threatens the throne. It is no different.”
He dropped his chin and lowered his gaze. “Thus Pharaoh says.”
General Paaten walked away, staring Horemheb down as he passed by him.
“Is there something I should know about between you and the General?” Nefertiti asked as Horemheb watched General Paaten walk down the hallway.
“No, my Pharaoh.” Horemheb turned to look to her. He wanted to ask her the same question, but he kept his mouth shut. It was not his place.
She studied him for a while and, at the jerk of his jaw, she pressed her lips into a small smirk and dropped her gaze.
“It was several years ago,” she began, her eyes peering down at his frame and his shuffling feet.
A muscle in his neck twitched, but he stayed in his dutiful position. “Pharaoh . . .”
How did she know my question? Am I that obvious? First the General threatens me for my implied feelings, then her father g
uesses I care for her, and now she sees my jealous curiosity?
She walked a little closer, her hips swaying with her graceful saunter. He tried to keep his eyes on her face.
If there is something between them, why is she walking toward me in this way? His body grew rigid as she peered up to him and licked her bottom lip. Is she remembering her time with the General?
“We were in the council room,” she started again.
Why is she telling me knowing how I feel for her? I can’t hear this.
“Pharaoh, I don’t need to know,” Horemheb said, wondering if she loved General Paaten or was just toying with him, but he shook the thought from his mind. It wasn’t his place to know regardless.
“You don’t need to know? Or you don’t want to know?” Nefertiti whispered. Her eyes searched him.
“I don’t need to know,” he said finally, and turned his face away. Even though he had been working on his tell, he still couldn’t control it all of the time.
She smiled at his twitching eyebrow, although much more controlled. She touched his arm just for a second. “In the council room, we were discussing the People’s Restoration of Egypt. I made him promise to leave this place and take my children to safety by whatever means necessary.”
Horemheb drew in a breath of relief and let it out slowly.
Why did I think that? She made it seem . . .
He turned to Nefertiti again, who held a coy grin on her lips. His cheeks grew a slight blush. He’d been had.
“There is nothing between us,” she reassured him as a small laugh escaped her.
It had been a while since he’d had the privilege of hearing her laughter, and he was glad he could once again be the cause of it—even at his own expense. The laugh passed as quickly as it had come. Her face fell solemn as she traced the outline of his face.
“Just like there can be nothing between you and me . . . isn’t that right, Commander?”
Secrets in the Sand Page 22
