Salvation in the Sun (The Lost Pharaoh Chronicles Book 1)

by Lauren Lee Merewether

  The question caused Pharaoh’s heart to race, and he became all too aware of the sweat on his brow. “If Pharaoh has a son,” he said, lifting his face to the Aten for strength. “Pharaoh must acknowledge the truth of the first vision from the Aten, and Pharaoh shall call him his son.”

  “And what of the Queen?” Princess Beketaten asked, her voice a sly whisper.

  “The Queen . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them wide to receive the full force of the Aten. “The Queen will”—he gasped at his new vision—“have her revenge.”

  No, Beketaten thought. I will have my revenge, you pathetic fool.

  Chapter 21

  The Time of Suspicion

  Nefertiti could not sleep for days after she sent her message. There was no response. Ay and Tey tried to comfort her. Her children gave her hugs and kisses. She would politely smile and kiss them back, and they did bring her a certain amount of joy.

  One night later on, when she had given up hope, Pharaoh requested her back to the palace. She looked at her five beautiful daughters as they slept.

  Meritaten, now almost ten years of age, tried so much to be like her mother. Kiya had painted her several times sitting just as Nefertiti sat on the throne, or coordinating her sisters in bringing flowers to the Aten’s temple just as she’d seen her mother do.

  She will be a good Queen. I hope she is not turned too much to the Aten. The next Pharaoh and Queen will need to go back to Amun-Re, Nefertiti thought, but she often wondered if Pharaoh still intended Meritaten to marry Smenkare. He could not turn his own back on his daughters he treasures so much, she thought. She closed her eyes and shook her head. Amenhotep would not . . . but Akhenaten might.

  Her gaze drifted to her second oldest.

  Meketaten, my melodramatic one, she thought, and quietly chuckled while she kissed the young girl’s forehead. It is always something with Meketaten, she thought. But I wouldn’t trade her for the world.

  “Ankhesenpaaten,” she whispered.

  The shy one, she thought. Always the last to join in on conversation, the last to gain courage to play with her sisters. So much self-doubt—just like her father. Or rather, like her father once was. He now has no self-doubt—not with his obsession with the Aten.

  Nefertiti looked away and walked over to the window sill where she rested her elbows on the edge. The cool night air hit her face as if as a blessing from Amun-Re, and so she prayed.

  “Amun-Re, I am not a high priest, but please hear me,” she whispered. “Give Ankhesenpaaten the confidence of her father, but without the mental turmoil of such an obsession. I see so much of Amenhotep in her. Out of all of my daughters, she is the one I fear the most will grow to inherit her father’s madness.”

  She heard a creak in the bed and turned to see if one of them had awakened. The little one, Neferneferuaten Tasherit, had turned onto her side. Nefertiti ended her prayer and went to the bed where she lay. She swept her hand over the little bald head. A doll hung tightly under her arm.

  “My name’s sake,” Nefertiti whispered. “If I was truly as beautiful as you, I now know why everyone made a fuss over me.”

  She kissed her forehead and smiled, seeing her own curious personality starting to show in her daughter. She held no interest in make-up and perfume; she wanted to read.

  “You will be my legacy,” she whispered in her daughter’s ear. “I will live on through you.” She gave her another kiss on the cheek; the little girl squirmed into her pillow and took a deep breath, but did not wake.

  Nefernefereure, almost a year old, was in another room with the wet nurse. Her personality had not yet come out, but Nefertiti loved her all the same.

  And if this newest child, she thought as she touched her belly, is another daughter, I will love her the same as Amenhotep would have.

  Having taken over one of her sister’s vacant rooms, Nefertiti went and lay down in a bed all to herself. She didn’t cry and felt stronger for it. He had hurt her enough.

  I have to accept that he is not the same person and will probably never be the same person, she thought. He will never remove my banishment. Is his pride worth his daughters as well? Is he content to never see them again, never worship with them again, never hold them again? It seems so. This is my life and I must accept that it will not change. I will make the best life for my daughters and myself—with or without Akhenaten.

  Heaviness came upon her eyes, and she finally fell into a long slumber, her body aching for the precious sleep which had eluded her for so many nights.

  Weeks came and went and still no word from Pharaoh. Nefertiti and her older daughters worked alongside Tey in her mother’s garden. One day, Tey gave birth to a girl whom they named “Mutnedjmet,” or Mut for short. Nefertiti loved her new half-sister and spent time holding her almost as much time as she spent with her own children.

  With the help of Aitye, Nefertiti learned to cook for her children. She upheld her knowledge of the state of foreign affairs via her nightly walks in the garden with her father.

  Her father longed to hear her laugh again, to remind him of Temehu and to see her daughter’s happiness.

  But laughter had left her soul.

  One day, when Nefertiti’s belly began to protrude, Pharaoh sent word back to her requesting that she come back to the palace with their children. She was overjoyed and yet found herself wishing she could stay. She did not realize how much she had missed Ay and Tey until she had spent this time with them.

  Perhaps, she thought as her royal guard moved away from the home of her childhood, Akhenaten’s banishment was a blessing in disguise.

  The next day, they arrived in Aketaten on a barge. Her daughters squealed as they saw their father waiting for them on the shoreline under the shade of a palm tree.

  Kiya stood off behind him, ready to welcome her friend home. She worried Henuttaneb’s small belly might be the topic of conversation among the servants; she hoped the child would be a daughter so that Nefertiti would never have to know about what went on while she was gone. Pressing her hands against her own slender waistline, she was at least relieved she had kept her promise to Nefertiti. Her face had healed nicely, too, as if nothing had ever happened.

  That night, Nefertiti lay in bed beside her husband. The strange quietness prompted Nefertiti to clear her throat. He offered her some water, and she sat up and drank. They both laid back down.

  The wind raged outside, but Nefertiti hardly noticed. Something seems different, she thought, remembering back to her arrival on the barge, to Kiya’s polite smile and unrequited embrace.

  “May I ask you something, Pharaoh?” she asked.

  He moaned a “Yes” as he rolled onto his side.

  “Why did you keep me away so long? Even after I sent word to you that I was with child?”

  “I . . . I was afraid you would not want to come back,” he said, but this was only part of the truth.

  “I will always come back. Do you remember what I would tell you during the first years of our marriage?” She took his hand. “I have no doubts.”

  “You have doubts now. It is why you never say ‘I have no doubts’ anymore.” He pulled his hand away from hers and folded his arms over his chest. He wanted her to tell him he was wrong, that she still held no doubts, but at her silence, he felt the same wave of failure pass over him as when his father berated him.

  Her mouth popped open slightly. How, in his state of delusion, could he have possibly observed her statements, or lack thereof?

  “It is puzzling,” he continued, “when your Queen clearly has doubts about your ability, but the Aten gives you many visions to rule the great Egypt and so you yourself have no doubts. So who is wrong? The Aten and Pharaoh, or the Queen?”

  “Amen . . . Akhenaten—”

  “Do not call me Amenhotep. I never want to be called Amenhotep again. I have changed my name.”

  “Akhenaten,” she said again, scolding herself for letting his former name slip her lips. The past fe
w months had seen her refer to him as Amenhotep in her thoughts, but now she was thrown back into his world. “Why? Why do you hate that name so much?”

  He shook his head and bit his tongue.

  “Do you remember how, when we first married, we would lay in bed telling each other our secrets? We never do that anymore. I slept alone many nights because the Aten needed your worship when he was gone from the sky. I will not lie to you . . . but I did resent you for leaving me. You were my true friend, but I feel as if you have abandoned that friendship and the life we had together.”

  “The Aten is our god, Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti, and I am the sole mediator between him and the people of Egypt—and you are the second! He must take precedence.”

  “At what cost?” She turned to her side to face him. “The cost of not answering a simple question about your former name to your wife whom is the supposed only love of Pharaoh? The cost of waiting months to see your newborn daughter? The cost of leaving your wife in bed alone almost every night? Forcing me away from you? Proposing to consummate your other marriages at the expense of your word to me? At what cost?”

  He turned to face her, to scold her for questioning his loyalty to the Aten, but suddenly noticed how much she glowed in the moonlight. She was indeed stunning. His eyes grazed over her perfect face. He had missed her all of those nights. He had consummated one other marriage and had attempted to consummate the other. Guilt ate at him as he tried to formulate a response.

  “Do you even love me anymore?” she asked, trying to reach the Amenhotep she knew still lingered inside Akhenaten.

  His memory flooded back to the questioned he had posited to his father: Father, do you love me? He turned his face to the ceiling as tears trickled from his eyes and wet the pillow.

  Nefertiti saw his tears. She had to be strong for him. He struggled with his inner turmoil, she knew. Even if he didn’t love her anymore, she would always love him for the man he used to be and the man he struggled to be now.

  “Amenhotep was my father’s name,” he whispered. “My father never thought I lived up to his expectation of his namesake. My former name was the greatest reminder of my most visible failure.”

  “Your former name was the man I married. The man I miss.” She immediately regretted her words. He told you his secret! Just let it be, she thought to herself.

  At this, his eyes closed and he felt the guilt of his broken promise overtake his soul. “I must go to the temple of the Aten. He must know I have not left him.”

  He began to sit up, but Nefertiti latched onto him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

  “Please. Stay. Don’t leave me again.”

  “You don’t understand . . .” He tried to unhinge her hands.

  “Please tell me,” she said. “I will always be here for you. Whatever you need.”

  “I cannot. It was a vision. That is why. It was a vision.”

  “Please stay. Worship the Aten in the morning.”

  She got him to look her in her eyes. He lost his will there.

  “I will . . . worship in the morning,” he said with a sigh and laid back down, thinking perhaps he eluded her all these years because he knew she would take ahold of him and the people of Egypt would suffer without his dedication and his link to the Aten.

  He rolled over to his side and faced the wall.

  Nefertiti was going to speak but remembered her father’s words from so long ago. So rather, she put her hand on his back and said, “I love you, Akhenaten.”

  He shut his eyes. He wanted to tell her he loved her and had missed her so, but the words would not come.

  She waited for a few seconds, then removed her hand and lay back down to sleep.

  He waited till he heard her rhythmic breathing, then rolled onto his back and gently grabbed her warm hand. “I love you too, my Queen. I promise to you now, again, that you shall be the only lover of Pharaoh.”

  Under the darkness of the night, Nefertiti smiled at those words.

  I can do this, she thought. We will be as we should. Everything will be as it should.

  Morning came and Akhenaten went to the temple. Nefertiti came later with their daughters, bringing gifts of flowers to the Aten. He held her hand as their older children stood looking up into the sky, their eyes closed and lips smiling.

  Meritaten tried to open her eyes—just like her father—to receive the Aten’s visions, while Neferneferuaten Tasherit was more interested in the stone structure beneath their feet, tracing each line with her foot. Nefertiti recalled doing such an act herself when she was younger. It amazed her the stone could be cut so precisely and laid so well, not even a crumb of bread could fall between the joints.

  After the morning worship, Pharaoh went to the throne room at his mother’s urging, and Nefertiti and her maidservants took the girls to the courtyard where Kiya could usually be found painting. When they arrived, the girls went running about, but Nefertiti looked around, unable to find Kiya.

  “Aitye,” she said, motioning her close. “Please find Kiya and ask her to come to the courtyard.”

  “Yes, my Queen.” Aitye bowed and went off.

  Nefertiti sat on the stones watching her girls play. She noticed Beketaten and Henuttaneb walking along the perimeter, peering in when they came to one of the entrances that surrounded the courtyard. Nefertiti had seen this behavior from them before. They would stop and point to Neferneferuaten Tasherit and whisper to each other and laugh.

  Nefertiti stood up and walked around until she ran into them as if by accident.

  “Oh, Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti! We didn’t realize you were walking,” Beketaten said with a slight bow.

  “Yes, I need to stay fit with my son coming soon,” she said, pointedly rubbing the growing mound on her belly.

  Beketaten’s eyes narrowed. “You know, my Queen,” she said with a flick of her wrist, “once one has five daughters, most would expect a sixth.” A nasty smirk appeared on her face.

  “I prayed to . . . the Aten that it would be a son,” Nefertiti lied. “I believe it will be a son.”

  “And if it is not?” Beketaten said. “Will you still believe the Aten is the premiere god, the only god of Egypt?”

  “I believe what Pharaoh believes,” she lied again.

  “He believes he had a vision of a son,” Henuttaneb chimed in.

  “My son!” Nefertiti said back.

  “He does have two other wives,” Beketaten said as they began to walk around her, then added in a whisper, “And you were gone for a long time . . .”

  Nefertiti had to regain composure and slow her breathing; she swallowed the lump in her throat.

  He promised me, she thought. He promised me.

  She looked out to her daughters playing, and Beketaten’s words haunted her: Once one has five daughters, most would expect a sixth. And what then? What would he do, indeed? Would he give her a seventh chance?

  She stood tall. Yes, he would, because he loves me, she thought, trying to convince herself Beketaten was getting her back for not standing up for her when he banished her and Pawah. I gave her Pharaoh’s pardon. I was only sent away because I gave pardon to YOU! She wanted to run over to them and yell these words in Beketaten’s face, but the opportunity had passed.

  “My Queen,” a voice said behind her, knocking her from her thoughts.

  She spun around to see Aitye.

  “Royal wife Kiya is in her chambers. She does not wish to paint today.”

  “Why?”

  “She did not say.”

  “Stay with the children. I will be back with royal wife Kiya.”

  She marched off to Kiya’s chambers—but on her way there, she had to pass the sisters once more.

  “What is wrong, Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti? Does Kiya not want to face you after what happened?” Beketaten said, and Henuttaneb jabbed Nefertiti in the arm, which only produced a smile on Beketaten’s face.

  Nefertiti stopped. “Why? What happened?”

 
; Beketaten looked down then back up at her and with a chuckle and a raised eyebrow said, “What do you think happened?”

  Nefertiti shook her head. “I don’t know what happened, of course. It was why I asked you the question.” Ah, my comeback. The time is optimal again, she thought. “Might I suggest you remind yourself that you would not be here if I had not given Pharaoh’s pardon to you. At this very moment you would still be wasting away outside of Egypt’s borders.”

  Beketaten’s face fell flat. “And you wouldn’t have been absent when the Pharaoh had his vision,” she said with cold, hard eyes. “However, I am most gracious for your pardon, Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti.”

  Nefertiti bit the inside of her cheek.

  Henuttaneb looked between Beketaten and Nefertiti, drawing back from the intensity of their stares.

  Nefertiti turned and resumed her walk. When she had gone almost to the corridor, Beketaten whispered, loud enough for her to hear, “Go see how your best friend fared in your absence.”

  Nefertiti wanted to cut the tongue out of her evil face as she clenched her fists and walked to Kiya’s chambers.

  She knocked on the door but received no answer. She banged. No response.

  “Kiya!”

  Finally, Ainamun opened the door. “Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti, royal wife Kiya wishes to see no one at this time.”

  “Why?” Nefertiti asked with a glass-cutting voice. “Is she hiding something?”

  “She feels ill,” Ainamun said with a calmness in her voice.

  Nefertiti glanced behind her and saw Kiya sitting on a chair next to her table. “She doesn’t look ill,” Nefertiti said as she pushed her way inside.

  “My Queen!” Ainamun said with slight annoyance.

  Ignoring her, Nefertiti went and sat across from Kiya, who tried not to look at her.