Daughter of the Gods: A Novel of Ancient Egypt

by Stephanie Thornton

  Tutmose stood. “No, thank you. I told my mother I’d be at the barracks all night before I received your summons. I saw her last night, but she was too unsettled for me to stay long… .” His voice trailed off and he cleared his throat. “I think I’ll check on her before she retires for the night.” He picked up the blue-and-gold helmet, stared at it a long moment. “Thank you,” he said to Hatshepsut. “For everything.”

  Senenmut popped a nut into his mouth as Mouse showed Tutmose out. “A little too much cinnamon, but not bad.”

  Again he offered the basket to Hatshepsut, but she waved it away. The confection reminded her of when Neferure was a child. She would stuff as many of the special treats into her mouth as she could until her cheeks puffed up and she looked like a little brown squirrel. Hatshepsut packed the memory away before the tears began again.

  It was her fault that only memories remained of Neferure.

  Senenmut ate a few more nuts before he drained the last of his spiced wine. “It’s late,” he said. “We should both get some rest.”

  “Will you stay tonight?”

  She needed him, ached to feel his arms around her, grounding her to this world.

  “Of course.”

  She took the hand he offered and tipped her chin for a kiss that tasted of cinnamon and wine. Suddenly she needed more than his arms around her, needed him to fill the emptiness that threatened to overwhelm her ka. He seemed to sense her urgency and shrugged out of his kilt, untied the shoulder strings of her sheath. He seemed warmer than usual, so alive compared to the shades of death that lurked in every shadow.

  Their lovemaking was slow, their bodies fitting perfectly together with a knowledge only a lifetime of love could bring. Hatshepsut drifted afterward, her mind floating in the gray area between wakefulness and sleep, unwilling to let the nightmares intrude on this small bit of contentment. Then there was a sudden crash, and Senenmut staggered from bed.

  “What’s wrong?” Hatshepsut sat up as he stumbled and sprawled to the floor. She tried to help him stand, but he was like a sack of grain and only collapsed to the tiles again.

  “I need wine.” His words slurred together.

  “I’ll get it.” She slipped into a linen robe and found a jug of wine left on the table, tilted his head so he could drink. He gulped from the jug like a drowning man, the dark liquid dribbling from the corners of his mouth.

  She fumbled to strike the wick of an oil lamp and almost dropped the dim flame at the sight before her. Senenmut’s eyes were fully dilated, the irises eclipsed by the total black of his pupils. Angry red blotches stained his skin, discoloring even the white scars on his back.

  “Blow that out!” Senenmut shielded his eyes from the feeble light.

  “You need a physician.” She flung her door open to shout at the medjay in the corridor. “Something’s wrong with Senenmut. Get Gua. Now!”

  Whatever demon had taken hold of Senenmut progressed to a new, terrifying stage. The love of her life convulsed on the floor, went still for a moment, and then began shaking with a force that only the gods possessed. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Finally, he shoved out a mangled whisper. “I’ll wait for you in Amenti.”

  “Don’t say that,” she sobbed. “Gua is on his way. Everything will be fine.”

  But she could see that nothing was going to be fine. Senenmut clutched the last strings that bound him to this life.

  “Granite’s all wrong.” His words came in harsh gusts. “Stars in the heavens.” Terrified and not knowing what else to do, she felt his forehead and was horrified at the fire on his brow.

  She clasped one of his hands between hers as he flailed about. His eyes sought hers, raw agony shining in the midnight depths of his pupils. The stars twinkled through the long windows. “Please, Sekhmet,” she prayed, desperate for any reassurance from the gods. “Don’t take him from me.” She squeezed Senenmut’s hand and whispered in his ear, tasting the salt of her tears. “I can’t live without you.”

  He moaned and his head banged against the hard tiles of the floor, but his eyes were glassy now, unseeing. She cradled his head in her lap and wrapped her arms around him in a vain attempt to stifle his convulsions.

  “I love you,” she said. Tears coursed down her face, splashing onto his bare chest. Still she clung to him, more frantic and helpless than she’d ever felt in her entire life.

  She prayed as she’d never prayed before, invoking every being in Egypt’s vast pantheon. She promised the fickle gods whatever they wanted, bargained away her kingdom if they would spare Senenmut’s life.

  The medjay ushered Gua into the pharaoh’s chambers, his wig askew and a cedar medical box inscribed with spells in hand. The physician’s face flickered with alarm, but he knelt to take Senenmut’s pulse, eyes bulging as he counted the frenetic beats. He retrieved the Eye of Horus—the strongest amulet in his collection—from his box and placed it on Senenmut’s chest.

  “What did he eat tonight?” he asked.

  “Everything I had—wine, sweetbread, oxtail soup, roast quail, olives—” She swallowed hard as the awful realization blossomed in her mind. “He ate everything I ate, except the almonds. I was going to have some later—”

  “Where are they?”

  She pointed to the basket on the table, unwilling to relinquish Senenmut for even a moment. The convulsions weakened and his body began to stiffen. Anubis had almost won.

  “Please don’t leave me, sehedj ib.” Tears streamed down her face unchecked. “You can’t leave me.”

  Senenmut’s last moments on earth were horrific, a war between his unwilling ka and the jackal god of death. The convulsions continued until the medjay had to help Hatshepsut and Gua restrain him. In the end, his body simply fell still, limbs frozen and eyes open wide to greet the god of death.

  He died clasped in Hatshepsut’s arms, just as he had foretold so long ago.

  Chapter 31

  The copper blade was coldly reassuring against her wrist, an old friend long forgotten and suddenly returned. She had contemplated taking her life once before, but the heady promise of a life yet to live had tempted her away.

  Neferure was dead. Senenmut was dead.

  Now the Field of Reeds promised everything.

  The dagger bit into her flesh and a trickle of fresh blood dripped down her hand to consume the silver-star ring—Senenmut’s ring—on her thumb. Even his body was gone, removed by the Royal Physician before the priests of Anubis could be summoned, although the scent of cinnamon still lingered in the air. Gua had taken the basket of almonds as well. He planned to feed them to his cats to confirm his suspicion of poison. Hatshepsut didn’t care. She didn’t plan to stay one more day in this world without him, without Neferure.

  She would see them soon.

  “The pharaoh is not receiving visitors.” Mouse’s voice came from the other side of the door, her voice muffled by the thick ebony. She’d taken up the post next to the medjay after Hatshepsut had thrown her out, but the dwarf peered inside often enough to make it clear that she didn’t trust Hatshepsut not to hurt herself.

  But slicing open her wrists wouldn’t take long. Once the blood flowed, it would be too late.

  “I don’t care if the pharaoh doesn’t want to see me.” The door slammed open, and Hatshepsut’s knife clattered to the floor.

  Tutmose barged into her dark bedchamber, but stopped short at the dim light. He rushed to her when he finally saw her on the ground. “Are you all right? Did you eat any of the almonds?”

  She didn’t answer. He needed to go, to leave her with her knife.

  “Where’s Senenmut?” Tutmose glanced about her rooms. When she didn’t answer, he finally seemed to absorb the details before him: the knife in her hand, the cuts on her wrist. “Where is he?”

  “Dead.” She choked on the word, clutching the hilt of the dagger. The sweet promise of the blade was the only thing grounding her ka to this life.

  “Son of a jackal!”

/>   She flinched as Tutmose slammed his fist into the wall. Then she realized what he’d said. The veil of grief was ripped away, replaced by Sekhmet’s seething fury.

  She lunged at him, the tip of the dagger touching the bare skin over his heart before he had time to react. A drop of blood pearled there, then trickled down his chest. “How did you know about the almonds?”

  Surprise flickered over his face, but he didn’t move. His next inhale drove the blade a hairsbreadth deeper into his flesh, and another drop of crimson followed the first. Even in the dark she could make out his clenched jaw, the hard line of his mouth. “I was so excited about the promotion, I went straight to my mother’s chambers,” he said. “She was frantic when she realized I’d just come from dinner with you, asking all sorts of questions about what I’d eaten. Do you know what she said when I told her about my new position? ‘Hatshepsut may have promoted you to Supreme Commander of the army, but I’ve just promoted you to pharaoh.’” He drew a ragged breath. “My mother sent the basket of almonds.”

  And then Hatshepsut remembered Aset’s words at the banquet.

  I’ve taken up weaving. I make a fairly decent lotus-blossom basket.

  A pink and yellow papyrus basket, woven with a lotus blossom design.

  She would kill her.

  She was halfway across her chambers, the knife clutched in her fist, when Tutmose’s strangled voice stopped her. “My mother deserves to die a traitor’s death, but I’m at fault as well. She came to me last night, ranting like a madwoman that you needed to be removed from the throne. I thought her raving was simply a mother’s grief and sent her away. I could have stopped this, but I never thought she’d do anything. I suppose I knew her even less than I thought.”

  “Your mother did this, not you.”

  Blood dripped from Hatshepsut’s wrist as she followed the maze of corridors to the Hall of Women, but she couldn’t think of that now. Later.

  Aset’s chambers were dark, conveying the sense of rooms quickly abandoned. Statues of Hathor filled each corner, and vases crammed with dying flowers spilled onto the floor. The musty scent of wilting lotus blossoms choked the air, but otherwise the chamber was empty.

  Hatshepsut startled as Tutmose stopped behind her; she hadn’t realized he’d followed her.

  Hatshepsut glanced about. “If she fled—”

  She’d hunt her down. She’d have her revenge, no matter how long it took.

  “The garden,” Tutmose said.

  They found Aset sitting in moonlight on the lip of a fountain, a white cat weaving between her ankles as she stroked the black granite statue in her lap. Hatshepsut recognized the figure as Thutmosis, dressed in the double crown, with his shoulders squared against the world. The statue’s mate stood on the fountain, a smaller version of Aset, both gifts from Thutmosis after his fight with Hatshepsut. Aset leaned over the statue of Thut, pressed a kiss to his lips, and smiled.

  Her eyes flicked up at Hatshepsut’s approach and her face drained of color. She returned the statue to her lap, her hands hovering over his body before she clasped them together. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said to Hatshepsut. “At least not alive.”

  Something within the woman had died; a festering infection had spread and overcome every bit of good in Aset’s ka. But, then, something had died in Hatshepsut’s ka as well.

  Tutmose stood at Hatshepsut’s side, his hands clenching and unclenching. She had never seen him so angry. “What made you think you could poison the pharaoh?” he demanded.

  “Imposter pharaoh.” Aset’s eyes hardened as she spat out the words. “I only wish I’d succeeded.” Then she smiled and lifted Thut’s statue from her lap, standing it so close to her own statue that their shoulders touched. “What about Senenmut? I notice he’s absent from your little entourage.”

  Hatshepsut swayed on her feet, clenched the knife in her hand.

  Tutmose answered for her. “Senenmut is dead.”

  “So I’ve finally finished the job Thutmosis should have done long ago,” Aset said.

  Hatshepsut could scarcely form the words through her anger. “Yet long ago, you saved Senenmut from execution.”

  “You still believe that?” Aset exhaled through her teeth, the sound of a cobra’s hiss. “I told you that only after Thutmosis died to make you love me more. Thutmosis was weak. He couldn’t bring himself to kill his friend, so he sent him to Aswan instead. I wish he’d finished him off instead and spared me the trouble of hating him all these years.”

  The realization dawned in Hatshepsut. “You never delivered my message to Senenmut’s mother, did you?”

  “Of course not. The last thing I wanted was his return to court.”

  Tutmose sent the cat screeching as he yanked his mother to her feet. “Senenmut was the only father I’ve ever known. How could you do this?”

  Aset blinked at him, some of her euphoria falling away. “I did it for you, Tutmose, to reclaim your throne. Everything I’ve ever done has been for you, to remove those who stood in your way. Who do you think poisoned that Akkadian whore all those years ago and made sure all her babes died in the womb? Who fed your father herbs to ensure he would sire no more sons, even as he gathered more and more women into the Hall of Women?”

  All these years and no one had ever suspected the truth of Enheduanna’s death or Thut’s impotence. Hatshepsut’s mother had been right: Aset had probably poisoned Hathor’s dancer, too, so she could dance at Thut’s Festival of Intoxication and meet the pharaoh.

  “My only regret,” Aset continued, “is that I didn’t do a better job at the sed festival. If I’d cut that girth properly, Neferure would still be alive and Tutmose would be pharaoh.”

  Hatshepsut’s fingers curled around Aset’s neck, and she ignored the lancing pain at her wrists. Rage slithered through her brain, hissed in her ear. “How could you do this?”

  Aset’s mouth twisted into a smile. “How can you ask me that, you who stole my son’s crown and banished me from the palace so that when I returned I hardly knew him? I loved you, but you betrayed me. You caused all this chaos, Hatshepsut, not me.”

  Hatshepsut shoved her away, wiping away the film of evil on her hands. Demons stalked the shadows of the garden, baring their teeth at her. “You would have been loyal to me if you’d truly loved me, but instead you’ve only been loyal to yourself all this time.”

  “No,” Aset said. “Not to myself. To my son.”

  “Why now?” Hatshepsut asked. “Why not kill me when I first took the throne?”

  Yet she knew the answer before she even finished the question.

  “I’d have been happy to kill you then,” Aset said. “But I couldn’t get close enough, not after you sent me to rot in Dendera. And that beast of a medjay never left your side once I returned.”

  Nomti had been right to insist on Aset’s banishment, but his imprisonment after the chariot accident had opened the way for the full onslaught of Aset’s destruction.

  “But you were under guard during the sed festival—”

  Aset snorted. “That slobbering fool was all too happy to look the other way after I’d had him in my bed. You thought you were invincible, protected by the gods, but it turns out you’re mortal like the rest of us, one with as much blood on her hands as I have.”

  Hatshepsut stepped forward. “You’re nothing more than a demon sent from the pits of the netherworld. The gods should have destroyed you the day you were born.”

  Aset glared. “The gods have never watched over me. I’ve always had to take care of myself.” She stumbled toward Tutmose and fell to his feet, clasping his hand. “Everything I’ve ever done has been for you, Tutmose. Surely you see that.”

  “You may have carried me in your womb, but we were never made from the same clay.” Tutmose shook her away. His fists clenched at his sides; he looked ready to tear her apart at any moment. “I told you I didn’t want this, and Neferure would have hated you for it. You’re not my mother, only a traitor
possessed by the darkness of Apep.”

  Aset’s eyes filled with tears and she pressed her fingers to her lips, too late to stifle a moan. Her eyes flicked to Hatshepsut and the knife, and she straightened her shoulders, her eyes rolling madly. “A traitor’s death on a pike outside the palace won’t do?”

  “No one is to know that the hawk in the nest’s mother is a traitor and a murderer,” Hatshepsut said. “But you will die and your body will be burned. Ma’at demands it. I demand it.”

  “Of course you do.” Aset tilted her chin up in defiance, but shivered as Hatshepsut stepped forward with the knife. “I’ll be just one more body on your path to immortality.”

  Ma’at’s justice should have stricken Aset long ago, should have kept Neferure and Senenmut safe. The gods had failed Hatshepsut.

  Tutmose held his mother as Hatshepsut pressed the dagger to her throat and released a thin stream of red. She felt a moment’s remorse at spilling more blood, but the remembrance of Senenmut’s empty eyes steadied her hand. Aset flinched but squared her shoulders, her eyes hard. “Ammit will eat your heart for this.”

  “Then she’ll feast well tonight.”

  Hatshepsut slashed the dagger deep across the pale skin of Aset’s throat. The spurt of scarlet blood showered both their sheaths with brilliant red petals. Wide-eyed, Aset opened her mouth to gasp, but only gurgled as a crimson froth broke over her lips and slipped down her chin.

  She fell forward into Hatshepsut’s arms, and the knife clattered to the floor. Each beat of her pulse bathed Hatshepsut in warm blood and filled her nose with its coppery taste. She rolled Aset on the ground as the blood blossomed in a dark stain across the earth, waited until her body stilled and the final bit of blood spurted from her neck.

  She was gone.

  Jaw clenched, Tutmose folded one arm over her chest, the death pose of a royal wife. The hawk in the nest was pale as he closed his mother’s unseeing eyes, even as his own squeezed shut.