Silence. The council was astounded at the lengths Pawah had taken to end Pharaoh’s rule. But before they could react to his comment, Pawah set the focus back on Nefertiti’s mistake.
“And what about this next Pharaoh?”
Nefertiti dropped her chin and narrowed her eyes at Pawah. “I had no choice.”
General Paaten turned to the enemy in the room. “Leave, Pawah.”
“Or what?” Pawah asked. “I’m interested to hear who my next Pharaoh will be, and as a part of this council, I have a right to know.”
Nefertiti looked to General Paaten and then her father, knowing they could not make him leave—and part of her feared that if he did know about Horemheb then he would tell them if she forced him out. He would be witness to her failure. Seeing she could not change the outcome, she finally spoke.
“I have asked for a foreign royal to marry.”
“Mitanni?” Pawah asked in a façade of curiosity. His eyes grew wide at the anticipation and dread filling the room, his smile plastered on his wicked face.
“No,” Nefertiti said through her teeth, lowering her chin.
He is enjoying this. I have never wanted to kill a man so much as I do right now. She envisioned leaping across the table and squeezing her fingers around his neck.
“I should think they wouldn’t send anyone, after you sent back poor King Tustratta’s daughter as a childless corpse.” Pawah’s eyes laughed.
Nefertiti sneered at his contempt. “Royal wife Kiya was the most beautiful person and friend. What you did to her sickens me.”
“Me? I had no part in Beketaten’s doing. I wanted to do away with Akhenaten as soon as possible, but she wanted to make sure he had a male heir—no thanks to you.”
“You still repulse me.” Nefertiti’s lips pulled back as she imaged what he and Beketaten did and discussed behind closed doors. “You and Beketaten, always meddling and caring only for yourselves, never anyone else.”
“Yes, yes. You made your disgust perfectly clear, dear Pharaoh, when I proposed a marriage between the two of us.” Pawah drummed his fingers on the table. “But I am most definitely waiting to hear who was so much better than me to be the next Pharaoh of Egypt.”
“I requested a Hittite prince to seal our alliance,” Nefertiti declared as she sat back in her chair, shoulders tall and chin lifted. A quick strike to end the pain she was causing to her father and the General.
Ay and Paaten said nothing, but Pawah laughed with his belly, a deep, menacing laugh. “Hittite?!” Swinging his head from shoulder to shoulder, he laughed until his lungs emptied of air. He leaned an elbow upon the table in exaggerated mirth. “The people will finally know their woman Pharaoh is giving Egypt to the enemy! This will be sure to endear them to you, Nefertiti.”
“We are allies now!” she rebuked him.
“We can never be allies with the enemy! The people will believe me! Not you, chief royal wife of Pharaoh Akhenaten, the heretic King! He betrayed us to the Aten, and you betray us to the Hittites!”
“Enough!” General Paaten shot from his seat as he stared down the slender former prophet of Amun. His large frame and suddenness did give Pawah’s neck a visible pulse for a moment.
“Have they responded?” Ay asked in a soft voice to Nefertiti.
“Yesterday morning. Over a year since I sent my request.”
“What was the response?”
Nefertiti drew in a slow breath of reluctance. Her gaze went to her hands and she shuffled her feet. She looked to the spot where Horemheb would be seated if he did not have other matters to tend. Then she replied:
“Prince Zannanza is due to arrive after the next harvest.”
Ay’s glance dropped to his hands. His chest rose and fell as he drew in dry air.
“Your reign will be short,” Pawah said, voicing the thoughts of Ay and Paaten.
“The people are not to know,” General Paaten ordered the room.
Pawah chuckled. “Or what, great General?” He picked himself up from his chair and strode to the door.
“Vizier Pawah,” Nefertiti said as he reached for the handle.
He stopped, but did not turn to look at her.
“I know you desire the crown,” Nefertiti said. “You will not get it.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Pawah said. “Royals are just men—” He turned to look at her. “And women, who can be . . . removed from divine appointment.” He exited the council room before she could respond.
The three of them sat in silence for a few moments.
“Well, the Hittite prince does not help matters,” General Paaten whispered.
“It is done. Everything is already done. We cannot go back. We must march to whatever future fate has set for us.” Nefertiti’s shoulders dropped. She turned to the General, her friend. “Has no more progress been made on my order?” Her eyes darted to her father, not wanting him to know she had ordered the assassination of Pawah.
General Paaten clenched his jaw. “We have tried many things, Pharaoh. We are still trying. Commander Horemheb tries as we speak.”
“May Amun be with us,” she whispered, hoping that their hearts would not be too heavy from her deeds upon this land when it was weighed in the afterlife.
Nefertiti opened her bedchambers door and was surprised to find Mut standing there, waiting. Aitye tended to the bedchamber, as was her duty.
“Mut . . . what are you doing here?” Nefertiti asked. She peered to both sides of the hallway before she closed the door.
“Is it true?” Mut crossed her arms, arming herself against the inevitable answer.
“Is what true?” Nefertiti asked as she glided across the room to her, dreading the shame that was to follow.
“Ankhesenpaaten told me you were marrying a Hittite,” Mut said, uncrossing her arms and placing her hands on her hips. “Why would you do that?” she demanded.
“Mut, if you ever become royalty, you may be forced to do things you do not want to do,” Nefertiti said as she patted her head.
Mut pushed her hand away from her head. “I am not a child. I am thirteen, a woman of marriageable age!”
At the sight of Mut’s red cheeks, Nefertiti stopped and placed both hands on her shoulders, pressing into them. “Sit down, Mut.” Nefertiti sat down and Mut followed.
“You were worried before that you couldn’t trust anyone. Now, marrying a Hittite? You can guarantee no one will trust you,” Mut started. “I can—”
“Mut.” Nefertiti sighed. “It was either that or marry Tut or Pawah.”
“What’s wrong with Tut?” Mut said. “I know you’d never marry Pawah.”
Nefertiti shook her head just as a knock came at the door.
Aitye answered it. “My Pharaoh, your father and Master of Pharaoh’s Horses, Ay, requests a private audience with you,” she said, and bowed.
“Yes, let him in,” Nefertiti said as she stood to greet her father once Aitye let him inside.
“Nefertiti,” Ay said. The muscles in his arms strained—clearly his desire to embrace his daughter had been met with an icy chill in the air around her.
“Father!” Mut ran to him and threw her arms around his waist.
“My dear Mutnedjmet,” Ay said, returning her hug. “I’ve missed you so. I’m sorry I never come around the royal harem, and when I do you are not there.” Mut smiled up at him and he down at her. His face fell as he looked to his firstborn. “Nefertiti, I need you to reconsider this decision.” He pulled Mut’s arms away from his waist and sidestepped her.
“The decision has already been made. Prince Zannanza is on his way here as we speak,” Nefertiti said as she also stood up to be eye-to-eye with her father.
“No—there is still time. Marry Tut and make Pawah look the fool. We could end his influence over the people.”
Nefertiti bit hard with her back teeth. Her nostrils flared. “I will not marry Tut.”
“Daughter, let go of your pride. It—”
“No!” Nefer
titi said. “It is not pride that keeps me from—”
“Nefertiti! Do this for yourself. Think of your children. Think—”
“We are done here!” Nefertiti yelled, and began to walk past her father toward the door.
“Marry Tut,” Ay said as he blocked her path. “If you marry the Hittite prince, the people will rise up. Pawah will make sure of it. Tut is just a boy. I know you could still rule in his place. Save yourself from the people’s wrath, daughter.”
“I’m long past saving, Father. I am not worth anything to you now. You got what you wanted from me, and now you have washed your hands of me.” Nefertiti tried to sidestep as she pushed on his chest.
“Don’t say that, Nefertiti!” Ay grabbed his daughter’s wrists to pull her to his side.
“Let go of me!”
“Nefertiti, please. My lotus blossom.” Ay tightened his grip.
She ripped away from him. “Once I stood by your side and you promised me you would keep me safe—”
“And I am still trying to keep you safe, Nefertiti. Marry Tut and you will be safe.”
“Marry Tut—” Nefertiti shook her head and shrugged helplessly. “The words fall so easily from your mouth.” Tears welled in her eyes. “After all, you think, he is only ten years, almost eleven, right? Not so much a boy in a few years—his father became Coregent at fourteen when he married me. I guess that is when the little boy becomes a man, is it not so?”
“Please, daughter—enough of this nonsense. Marry Tut and save yourself.”
“Yes, save myself—because you won’t! Look at what I have become. I ordered Sitamun’s death. In exchange for my daughter’s life, I took hers. I ordered Pawah’s assassination—what was one more? I’m beyond saving, Father. You had your hand in my undoing. You should save yourself . . . I am not worth it anymore.”
Ay shut his eyes.
Nefertiti clenched her jaw, realizing she had just revealed her involvement with Paaten and Horemheb’s secret assassination attempts.
He seemed to ignore it as he opened his eyes and took a breath. “But you are worth saving, Nefertiti. I’m sorry for what Akhenaten did to you. I’m sorry I led you in the wrong direction with my advice regarding him, and I’m sorry for what I have asked of you.”
Nefertiti’s head bounced back and forth. “I just don’t want to feel anymore. I don’t want to think anymore. I killed a man”—her voice dropped—“and not just any man, but Pharaoh.” She drew a quick breath. “Am I the only one who cares? And all the while I have to tell myself it was justified, it was excusable. But why should I be the one to live? Why should I be the one to not have to pay for my sins? What makes me so special? This is why Amun punishes me. This is why my daughters are taken from me. This is why I am forced to marry someone I don’t love. This is why I must even marry the son of my husband to save myself. He punishes me, Father! Amun punishes me!” Her arms squeezed her sides as she felt her insides collapsing in on themselves. Her body ached. Her teeth ached. Her eyes ached. Tiredness crept over her. Tired of fighting. Tired of speaking. Tired of trying.
“Daughter—”
“But aren’t you proud of me, Father? Isn’t this what you wanted for your little girl—to be forever remembered as the living image of the ruler of Egypt carved in its mighty stone? A stone immortal!” Nefertiti threw her hands in the air and lifted her face to the ceiling. “Aren’t you proud?!” She let her hands drop as she once again brought her eyes to her father, who stood with a grimace etched on his face. “Aren’t you proud?!” Tears formed in her eyes as her voice shook.
Ay rushed to Nefertiti, throwing his arms around her, and she couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. She buried her head into his chest and wept like her ten-year-old innocent self. Ay kissed her forehead and whispered nothing but, “My dear lotus blossom, I’m so, so sorry,” over and over again.
Mut stood off nearby, her presence forgotten by her father and his favored daughter. Aitye half-rubbed a cleaning cloth over the bed frame as she watched the three of them.
“My love,” Pawah crooned to his wife, seated in her newly designated wing of the royal harem.
“Don’t you do that.” Beketaten swatted at his face and turned her shoulder to him. “After what you did to me.”
“Beketaten, I did nothing,” Pawah whispered in her ear, and rubbed the shoulder she presented to him as her sign of dismissal. Planting a kiss there, he found her eyes. “I only proposed marriage to Nefertiti so I could align the Pharaohship with the priesthood of Amun.” The half-truth slid easily from his lips.
“Part of you desires her.” Beketaten looked away and turned her nose up. “Don’t lie to me.”
“Beketaten—”
“I knew you desired someone else when we were in exile, and all you could do was talk about her beauty and her power. I knew all of the sweet whisperings in my ear were nothing but lies!” Beketaten wrenched her shoulder from his hand and stood up.
“They were not lies,” Pawah pleaded. “My sweet, beautiful Beketaten, the one to whom I pledge my undying loyalty and love . . .” He stroked a stray hair from her wig out of her eyesight. “Know this: I married you for a reason.”
To get closer to the throne, he thought, but he said:
“Because when I saw you, out of the entire royal party, who assisted your father in his yearly sacrifice to Amun, I knew you were the only one for me.”
She crossed her arms and pressed her lips into a grimace. “Liar!”
He rubbed the sides of her arms until she finally released her stance. “That’s better,” he murmured as he pressed his nose into the side of her face.
She let out a little squeal. “Stop it!” She pushed him away. “I’m still mad at you.”
“Why?”
“Because you never told me you were going to try to marry Nefertiti,” she huffed. “She is the enemy. You said so yourself.”
“I never said such things about our Pharaoh.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Beketaten, I have never lied to you.”
She tapped her foot and placed her hands on her hips. “How do I know?”
“Because I love you. I would never lead you astray. Are you going to believe me . . . or Nefertiti? She, the one who ordered Sitamun’s death?” He stroked her face. “Nefertiti only said those things to try and upset you—to drive a chasm between us.”
Beketaten’s eyes narrowed, and she gnashed her teeth. “That cursed woman!”
Easily deflected. Gullible. Short attention span. Perfect for my wife.
She paced the room a little more. “Curse her and curse her children,” she muttered. “I will make her pay for her sins . . . blood for blood.”
An idea for a new plan presented itself in Pawah’s mind after hearing Beketaten’s passing thought. He said casually, “She is spitting in the face of Amun by not marrying a male of Egyptian royal blood.”
Beketaten paced some more, nodding. “She is so power-hungry, she wants the crown all to herself!”
“No, she is marrying a Hittite prince,” he said, hiding his smug smile.
Beketaten stopped and stared at Pawah, her jaw dropping. “She is doing what?”
“You heard me.”
“This is great news!” Beketaten said. “We can use this to outrage the people!”
Pawah nodded slowly in agreement. “She is giving Egypt into the hands of the Hittites.”
“We mustn’t let her marry the prince—that would not be good for Egypt.”
Or good for me in my quest for the crown, Pawah thought.
Pawah jumped up, grabbed her shoulders, and squeezed. “We must act now.”
“But how?”
“We hold a good deal of the military in our hand. Let’s use them to keep the prince from reaching Aketaten.” Pawah rubbed his hands down her arms as he spoke.
“And Nefertiti?”
“Leave her to me.” He smirked openly.
“No, no.” Beketaten pressed her body into his. His s
mirk whenever he thought of a genius plan always drew her near. “We will not have another situation like that again,” she said, referring to his marriage proposal to Nefertiti. “You will take me with you—what do you want me to do?”
“When the time is right, and when I tell you . . . strike,” he said, and handed her a dagger he had requested from one his loyal guards. “You will be able to take your revenge for Sitamun. If they can successfully cover a dagger to Meritaten’s heart, they can cover a strike to Nefertiti’s.”
She smiled but chewed her bottom lip.
“I know you’ve never taken a life before,” Pawah said, covering the dagger with his hand. “But no one will know.” At her silence, he continued: “She did kill Sitamun.”
Beketaten’s stare upon the dagger hardened and she pulled it from his hand. “It is for my sister. A life for a life,” she murmured under her breath.
“Yes . . . that’s my good wife,” he said as he pushed the wig from her eyes and brought his lips to hers. As she fell weak in his arms, he knew he’d won her over once again with his charm and irresistible kisses.
Chapter 23
The Time of Consolation
Almost five decans had come and gone since the Hittites’ response, and Nefertiti suddenly found herself carrying Horemheb’s child. The Hittite Prince Zannanza would arrive in one season’s time. Her father stood guard at her door with chief royal guard Jabari, as it was the Commander and General’s night to sleep. Her father would have stood guard inside her bedchambers, as she also now asked of both Horemheb and the General, so that no one would think it strange when the Commander emerged from her room in the morning; but tonight, she asked him to guard outside.
She paced the room, mumbling to herself, “What am I to do? The people will know. I will be killed. I don’t know what to do. . . . The prince will know it is not his child. What am I going to do? Do I tell Horemheb? What would he say? I could tell him he would finally be a father. Only, if the Hittite came today, I could have the child and Amenia could raise the baby as her own. No, no—the prince would think it was his . . . but no one would know the difference, would they? I’m not ready to marry the Hittite. I don’t want to marry a dirty, hairy Hittite . . . but if I were already married, I could just blame a messenger who’d died in route—just one big misunderstanding—” Her breath caught in her throat; that was the only possible way out of this situation. “Or else I insult our new allies and bring war to our borders.” She pounded her fists into her legs as she paced. “Or they are insulted regardless and bring war to our borders.” She shook her head like a horse ridding itself of flies. “I wish I could take back my letter. I wish he weren’t coming . . . but then what? I’d have a baby and no named father? It would only incite the people even more. ‘Whose child is this?’ The Commander’s, I would have to say. ‘But he is not royalty. Kill him! Kill the child. Kill everyone!’ ” Her hot, whispered breath shook with panic. She pinched her lips together as her eyes lifted to the heavens. “Amun!” she yelled. “Why do you punish me still? Have I not returned your people to you? Have I not reestablished the ways of old? O why do you punish me so? What have I done wrong?” At the silence, she yelled, “Tell me!” She raised a fist to the air, but shortly thereafter fell to her knees, her hands limp. She knew why he still punished her: she’d taken the life of Pharaoh. “But he turned from you,” she whimpered as she looked above. “Why does Pawah not suffer? He forced my hand. He slew Smenkare. Why does punishment only befall me?” Her hands covered her face. “What have I done?” she cried. “What have I done . . . ?”
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