The Kingdom of Nefertiti (The Desert Queen Book 3)

by M. L. Bullock

  I immediately began to pack my bag. This illusion was a gift that would last only until the next full moon. Then I would be exposed for who I was—the wife of Omel, the true and rightful king of the Meshwesh. There was also another danger. Any person who truly knew me would not be fooled by this magic. I had to be careful to keep myself hidden until I was ready to reveal my true identity. Excited, I stuffed the rest of the items I needed in my bag, including the lovely robe with the enchantments woven into the stitches. Yes, time was my enemy, but I was determined to take vengeance for Suri. Even if it cost me my life, this was all that mattered.

  I had forgotten the sick child who was still lying on my table. Setting my bag down for a moment, I retrieved the pouch of medicine I would use for the healing magic from my nearby cabinet. As I began to burn the herbs in the small silver brazier near the child’s head, I noticed that she was not breathing. The breath of life had escaped her lips while I had waited on Ahurani, and she no longer dwelt in this realm. Perhaps the goddess had required more than I had imagined? Perhaps the bowl of blood had not been enough? This was unfortunate, yet I could not call her back. I touched her tentatively. Her body was cold and no longer a suitable host for her soul. I blew out the flame and walked out of the house. I had no time to tend to a dead body. Her mother would find her soon enough. At least she could claim her and send her to the Otherworld with the proper ceremonies. My son dwelled in darkness.

  The girl had served her purpose, and now I must serve mine.

  Chapter Two

  Nefertiti—Bright Horizon

  Amenhotep and I spent another day exploring one another’s bodies, stopping our mutual appreciation long enough to worship the Aten, eat a light meal and perhaps soak in one of the refreshing pools in the palace. How easy it had been to lose myself in that discovery! I felt love, a deep, surprising love—one that I never expected. My husband declared that I would accompany him always and had even moved my belongings to his personal quarters. According to Menmet, my maidservant and confidante, this was never done.

  “Even the Great Queen Tiye had not been so honored,” she told me with wide eyes. “Pharaoh loves you; there can be no doubt,” she whispered in my ear when I saw her briefly earlier that day. “I am sure he intends to make you his Great Wife. I am sure of it!”

  “Do not say such things, Menmet. Not here.”

  She looked around suspiciously and then, seeing no one about, smiled confidently at me. “There are none of Tadukhipa’s spies here. Only me.” She bowed her head, and the tiny silver bells woven into her wig tinkled lightly. She was a petite young woman with a pretty face and a childlike voice. “However, I hear that those new dancers, the lovely ones with the yellow skin, are from her court.”

  “Yes, that is what I hear too, but I cannot refuse them. Help me find something to wear, please.” Although it was foolish to think it, I felt by avoiding speaking of Tadukhipa or hearing her name, I might prolong my time with my husband a little longer. Amenhotep was not husband to just one woman, but for now he was only mine.

  This evening had been one of the few times I had left Amenhotep’s side in the past few weeks. With Menmet’s words ringing in my ears, we walked back to Pharaoh’s apartments. He greeted me as if he had not seen me in a week, although we had been parted only less than a few hours ago.

  He wrapped his strong arms around me and showed his broad smile. He now wore a robe of green with a gold scarab on the back. It had a wide golden ribbon stitched along the hem. I had never seen one so finely made. His head was bare, as it always was when we worshiped the Aten, yet even without his double crown he looked every inch a king. He kissed my forehead and led me out into the courtyard, and side by side we walked up the stairs to view the Aten as it set on the far horizon, completing the day’s journey. With a nod he directed me to take my position, and I did as he instructed. As the Aten began to drop away, we worshiped with our hands and with our words until the Aten disappeared, leaving only the musky night and a few bright stars behind.

  I slid my arm under his, and together we stood on the balcony overlooking Thebes. We were high above the city, which sprawled like a tangled cluster of fireflies below us. Life did not slow in Pharaoh’s city after dark; this was not like living in the Red Lands. I laid my head upon his shoulder and closed my eyes. I must have been dreaming. Was this all a pleasant dream? We stood there in silence for a long while.

  “Neferneferuaten. Do you know what that means?”

  I smiled up at him proudly because I did know. “Perfect are the perfections of the Aten.”

  “It has a double meaning, my love. What else does it mean?”

  I chewed my lip and searched my memory for an answer. My answer seemed important to him, and I did not want to disappoint. After a moment I had to confess. “I do not know, husband. Please tell me.”

  He touched my lips with his finger and said, “Beautiful are the beauties of the Aten. That is why I named you such. You are a gift to me, from the Aten. A beautiful, perfect gift.”

  “Then I am happy indeed. Happy to be Neferneferuaten.”

  “Let us dine. I have invited the court to come and help us celebrate.” I swallowed nervously at the thought of interacting with Amenhotep’s court. I had few friends here, although since my official marriage no one (including Tadukhipa) had openly spoken against me. He must have spotted my reticence for he said, “As much as I would like it to be true, we cannot hide in our rooms forever.”

  “Yes, I know.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him one last time before walking downstairs to the feasting rooms. “I am ready.”

  We walked down together in the formal way, my hand resting on top of his, our heads held high with a serious gaze, our eyes fixed on what was in front of us at all times. What had once felt unnatural and statuesque was natural to me now. Menmet had helped me practice my posture and movements, and I was thankful for her help.

  Immediately the people below us began to bow and praise their Pharaoh. I followed Amenhotep’s example, remaining aloof as we walked into the dining room. As this was an informal dinner, or as informal as a dinner could be at Pharaoh’s court, we did not wait to be announced but sailed to our seats. Amenhotep and I took our place at the head of the table and immediately cheerful music began to play. There were fewer than a hundred people in the long decorated room, and many faces I had never seen before.

  Some I had.

  I recognized Ramose immediately. The rugged-looking general was the first to greet us. He kept his eyes trained on Pharaoh but showed me respect as well with a polite half-bow and a murmur of greeting. I was perfectly aware that Ramose was angry with me. Angry that I had not yet produced Ayn—and his long-awaited, highly desired child. Angry that his wife, Inhapi, had not yet been avenged. I sighed inwardly. This was a matter I could not avoid forever. Ayn would have to return and face her crime, if that was indeed what it was. I missed her and had hoped that Ramose would have changed his mind in this matter. My hope appeared to be in vain. I stood awkwardly, waiting for Ramose and Amenhotep to end their conversation. Instead, the two men walked away from the crowd for a few moments, probably to discuss some important matters regarding Pharaoh’s recent foray into the southernmost areas of Temehu. Although he did not consult me in his military plans, I hoped his soldiers destroyed what remained of the Kiffians. I could easily conjure Gilme’s face again. I would never forget his dying expression, so full of rage and lust was he. Then I remembered he was dead and would always be dead. That gave me a modicum of satisfaction. If only my sister and I could have killed him a hundred more times.

  I greeted the string of well-wishers who walked past me with nods and waited patiently for the return of my husband. It took longer than I expected. After the general’s departure, Amenhotep returned to my side and many more courtiers came to stand before us. The seemingly endless crowd spoke kind words and bestowed their happy wishes on us. Behind us on the dais, scribes swiftly recorded the visitors and made sundry other notes
with their blackened quills and stacks of papyrus. I had learned quickly that nearly everything having to do with Pharaoh and his family got memorialized in some kind of record. It was an odd thing to get used to. I leaned back against my cushion and waited for the formalities to end.

  All, including Ramose, offered us gifts of food, oils, silken fabrics or gold. Nobody came before us empty-handed. I nodded when appropriate, but most of the courtiers seemed happy to speak only to Pharaoh, not to me. I felt no slight—that was a great relief. In some cases, Amenhotep would leave his seat and embrace the courtier or whisper something in his ear.

  One young man, Karebi, came proudly before us and laid two boxes of incense on the low table that we reclined behind. I recognized him because he had visited the Court of the Royal Harem to wait upon Queen Tiye on several occasions. I thought we had spoken once, maybe twice, but I did not know him. Karebi had wisely waited until the majority of the attendees had completed their speeches before taking his place before our table. Better to be last and remembered, I could almost hear him thinking. I scolded myself for thinking such things, but that was the way it was here in Egypt. Someone was always clamoring for something. I now understood better why the Great Wife had become so sour on court life.

  Karebi bowed low and waited for Pharaoh to acknowledge him. My stomach was growling, but I had to wait until everyone had a chance to speak before I could eat. In this, I would follow my husband.

  “Karebi. Welcome back to my palace. You have words to speak?” I noticed Amenhotep’s tone sounded slightly different with this young man than with the others. But as Karebi seemed not to notice, I thought not much of it either. Perhaps I was just hungry. Why hadn’t I eaten while I was in my rooms earlier? Poor Menmet. I should have taken the fruit she offered me.

  “My Pharaoh and my Queen. I have a poem to share with you, my lady, a poem of admiration and love.” As this was the first courtier to speak to me directly I purposefully kept my attention on his face and listened with great expectation.

  “She is one girl, but there is not another like her,” Karebi began with a smile. He glanced at his young wife, who sat at one of the lower tables. I recognized her, although her name escaped me now, but I kept my respectful attention on the young man.

  She is more beautiful than any other.

  Look, she is a star goddess arising in Egypt

  Just like the light that rises at the beginning of a happy new year.

  Brilliantly white and bright skinned is she;

  with beautiful eyes for looking into my soul.

  My cheeks turned red under my makeup, and I tried to ignore the giggling of Menmet and the others who thought Karebi’s praise was a bit excessive. Neither he nor his wife seemed to notice, and he continued on.

  “Oh, her lips, with sweet lips for speaking; she has not one phrase too many—”

  Suddenly Amenhotep leaped from his chair, knocking it over backwards as he stalked around the table. I too leaped to my feet, wondering what had happened. My husband’s body language demonstrated that he was anything but relaxed. Karebi did not expect this reaction—and neither did I. I sat up rigidly and caught my breath. Everything went quiet, including the festive music and the laughter of my silly servants. My husband grabbed the startled Karebi by the arm and led the short man outside the banquet hall. So violent was Amenhotep’s manner that I could not hide my look of surprise even though Memre had trained me extensively on concealing emotions. What had happened?

  Confused, I searched for Menmet’s face in the crowd. She did not look at me; her attention was on the courtyard beyond, and her hand flew to her mouth. I could not see for myself, but I heard someone scream in pain. Soon two of Pharaoh’s guards jogged to the courtyard. Now everyone was gasping and whispering except the young man’s wife; she was as white as the marble columns that lined the room. I was very near to calling Menmet to me when Amenhotep returned to the banquet hall. As he took his seat, one of his manservants stooped next to him, holding a bowl of water and a linen towel. Without a word, Amenhotep washed his hands, and I watched in shock as the water turned red with blood. Karebi did not return to the hall. In fact, his wife was now being escorted out by the two guards who had assisted Amenhotep in the courtyard.

  As Pharaoh wiped his hands with the towel, he called out, “Food!” I could see that his hand was bleeding; that was not just Karebi’s blood. I picked up a linen napkin, thinking to pat his wound, but Menmet touched my hand and shook her head discreetly.

  As she pretended to adjust my wig, she whispered in my ear, “The blood of Pharaoh is sacred. Do not touch it, for it is a god’s blood.”

  I stared at Amenhotep, wondering what to do. All of the court watched us and tried to determine for themselves what was amiss with the happy young couple.

  My husband leaned toward me and whispered in my ear, “I will not share you, Nefertiti. Do not give me a reason to doubt you.”

  I took his hand and whispered back, “Never! What has happened? Tell me.” Suddenly I worried. Had someone spoken to him about Alexio? It had been only infatuation—that I could see now. It had been only the hopeful dreams of a girl. Amenhotep was the one I loved. I could not explain the workings of my own heart. I had not expected these feelings or known the depth of them with Alexio, but it was the truth. “Please,” I said, reaching for him as he pulled away. He left the banquet hall again, sending the court to whispering and pointing. I followed him, uncaring about protocol or anything else. I sensed that more hung in the balance than just my feelings. This was not a lovers’ spat but an accusation. And one Amenhotep believed.

  “Wait!” I called out to him. “My husband, what is the matter? I do not know this Karebi. I swear it!”

  He raised a long finger in warning. “I will not share you! Not with anyone!” The intensity of his words and the fierceness of his eyes stunned me, but I felt compelled to soothe his suspicions. My mouth moved, but the words did not form. Amenhotep stood with his hands on his hips and stared at me as if I were a stranger. “Think carefully what you say to me, Nefertiti.” He was warning me about something, but what? Everything had been fine between us until we came to dinner.

  Until he spoke with Ramose.

  As fearful as I was—as desperate as I felt—I could not let the general’s accusation go unchallenged. It was true I would never have dreamed that I, Nefret hap Semkah, would ever love an Egyptian, much less Pharaoh. But that was before.

  Suddenly, Tiye’s words rang in my ear: “You can live a prisoner, or you can become a true Queen.”

  More than anything, I wanted to become Queen Nefertiti—Neferneferuaten, wife of Amenhotep, beloved of my husband and Pharaoh. With every fiber of my being I wanted this. Egypt—no, Amenhotep—had woven a spell around me, but apparently it was a spell that seemingly could be easily broken.

  “I have given you no reason to doubt my commitment to you. Although I am not an Egyptian, the Aten brought me to you, Amenhotep. I have been truthful with you in all things. I swear it on my life! There is no one but you, nor shall there ever be. You have no need to worry despite what others may say. I have not been unfaithful in word or deed.” I felt a chill, and gooseflesh rose on my arms, but I did not move a muscle. I met his dark eyes with assurance and trust. He appeared to soften a little, but his manner was still guarded. I could not back down! “And I challenge anyone to say otherwise!” To show him how serious I was, I took his hand and kissed his bleeding wound fearlessly. Now he could kill me, if he so chose, for I had touched the sacred blood. This was a test of his love. One that could cost me everything. “I swear it on your blood, my husband and Pharaoh. Let it testify against me if I speak a lie.”

  Ignoring the rising whispers in the banquet hall—the crowd nosily peered through the opening in the gauzy curtains—I continued to meet his gaze fearlessly. To think all my happiness, all our happiness, could be undone so quickly by a few words. Accepting my gesture at last, he kissed me and breathed a sigh of relief. “I should not have
doubted you. I will not do it again.”

  “You will never have a reason to doubt me, Amenhotep. I am yours. Always.” I gave him a confident smile and walked with him back to our dining table. As we settled back down to eat, I cast a warning glance in Ramose’s direction. He smiled amusedly and lifted his cup to me, but I kept my face a mask—just as I had seen Pah do during the mekhma trials. Better to let him wonder what I was thinking than give him the satisfaction of seeing his handiwork achieve its goal. Although my husband’s fears had been abated for the moment, it wounded me to think he would believe that I would betray him. My mind immediately began to dissect the situation. Inhapi had been Tadukhipa’s great friend—and more, if you believed the rumors. Perhaps Ramose had scattered those seeds of distrust on her behalf? I would probably never know. All I could do was prepare for whatever came next.

  I forced myself to put on a distant smile and pretend that I wanted to be in attendance. Thankfully there were no more formalities, and immediately the music picked up the notes of a happier song. Neatly dressed servants appeared with trays of decadent food offerings. Each came and stood before us with their temptations. They kept their eyes cast down and waited for Amenhotep’s steward to dismiss them.

  I had little appetite now, but Amenhotep poured wine into my cup. “Drink, this is not juniper wine,” he said teasingly. Obediently I reached for the large silver cup, happy to hide my face behind it if only for a few seconds. I did not want him to see the sudden rush of tears pushing against my eyelids. As if she could read my mind, Menmet came to sit beside me again, and as the platters appeared before us, she dutifully filled my plate with the foods I normally liked to eat. She selected two duck eggs along with fresh berries, dates, a half-pat of cheese and the soft honey bread that the Egyptians loved from the highest to the lowest. I too had begun to love the baked treats, but I longed for chula bread and the sweet waters of Timia. Those to me were the greatest food and drink one could ever have!