“Do you know who your father is?” she asked, hoping Sitamun had told him so she could have something to regain his trust in the knowledge of his mother.
“Yes . . . my mother never told me, but when I moved here, Pharaoh Akhenaten revealed all. He said my mother has lied to me a great deal. As such, I am Pharaoh Akhenaten’s brother and his firstborn daughter’s husband, and therefore should be the next heir to the throne. My mother was to deny me my right to rule, and so I have disowned her.”
“You disowned your mother?” Nefertiti asked. Akhenaten had caused all this trouble because he wanted a son; why would he let his half-brother know of his right to the throne?
“Yes, Pharaoh Coregent Neferneferuaten, of course. She wished me to live a life hidden under a stone. No mother of virtue would wish that upon her only child, especially one destined to be the great Pharaoh of Egypt.”
“Have you told her you no longer worship Amun-Re? Have you told her of your disownment?”
“Why would I tell her such things? The worship of the false god Amun-Re is banned, and she is not worth the papyrus,” he said with a look of disgust.
She could think of nothing more to say, only nod. Nothing came to mind of how to regain his trust. She had created a daughter who so longed to be like her mother and father worshiping the sole god of Egypt, the Aten; she had taught Meritaten disbelief in the other gods, in the true premiere god of Amun-Re.
Thus, she thought, my punishment truly begins. Perhaps Amun-Re was gracious to Setepenre and Nefeneferure.
She excused Prince Smenkare and Princess Meritaten and turned to walk to the throne room. With every step fear rose inside of her as she realized that she would never be able to turn Egypt back to the old ways. She would be killed and her children would be there to disown her, to literally cheer as she was hoisted up to be impaled.
Helplessness overcame her senses as she found a crevice in the wall and slid down into the darkness.
Amun-Re had abandoned her. Queen Tiye was dead. Her father stayed in Waset, away from sick people, at her order. She had sent the General and Commander to Lower Egypt to find out more about the rumors of rebellion. The only person left whom she could talk to was Kiya, but Kiya had betrayed her for a long time according to Beketaten. Her rage for her had diminished after talking to Queen Tiye, but her resentment had grown into something far uglier.
Desperation filled the sweat in her brow, however, and after much inner debate she forced herself up to go to the royal wife’s chambers.
Nefertiti knocked on the door and was greeted by Ainamun.
“Royal wife Kiya is not feeling well at this moment,” Ainamun said.
Nefertiti pushed past her anyway. She found Kiya sitting at the table, looking at the bed again. She took a seat opposite her.
“It has been a while since we were here last,” Nefertiti finally said to break the silence.
“Yes, it has.” Kiya found a small smile.
Nefertiti wanted to slap such a smile off of her face. Instead she averted her eyes and drew in a quick breath. Exhaling slowly, she looked back to Pharaoh’s so-called “greatly beloved.” No longer only pale, an ashen glow exuded from her face. The dark circles she had seen before had etched themselves deep into her eye sockets. The past two years had stolen Kiya’s youth entirely.
“All of my children worship the Aten,” Nefertiti said, turning to look out the window. “I did not teach them about the true premiere god, Amun-Re.”
“Worshiping and teaching about the other gods of Egypt was outlawed, sister. You did the best you could do,” Kiya said.
Nefertiti hung her head. Even after all this time, Kiya still stood by her side and called her “sister.” In her own state of vulnerability, when Kiya could easily return her hatefulness, she instead came to her aid.
Still, the devil sitting on Nefertiti’s shoulder began to whisper jealousies into her ear. She is only edifying you because she knows she betrayed you. She feels guilty and is now trying to win your friendship back. The devil got the best of her and her hard heart beat again.
“As did you,” Nefertiti said.
“I don’t understand . . .”
“You did the best you could as well . . . to sneak around with Akhenaten after promising you would refuse him.”
Kiya opened her mouth to speak, but shock gripped her vocal cords.
“I know the truth. He came to you all those nights he was supposedly in the temple of the Aten,” Nefertiti said with an icy glare. “Beketaten told me that you are sterile, and so never had to worry about discovery. You helped them plan Henuttaneb’s pregnancy by getting him drunk with wine!”
“I did not!” Kiya finally croaked out. She got up and sputtered out some incomprehensible words as her thoughts amused themselves jumping back and forth between anger, guilt, depression, resent, and regret. Why would Beketaten say lies about me? Hadn’t she done enough already? was the only clear thought in her mind.
She walked over to the bed behind Nefertiti and jabbed a finger at it. Her boiling anger at Beketaten muted her tongue, and she hated herself for not being able to speak the truth.
“I did not!” she screamed finally as she picked up a pillow from her bed and chucked it at the wall. The heavy feather pillow made a thud as it hit.
“Why would Beketaten lie to me?” Nefertiti shouted back, standing up to face her. “She has no reason to lie! You, on the other hand, have every reason!”
Two messengers arrived at Kiya’s chambers and knocked at the open door. Kiya nodded to them while Nefertiti turned and shouted, “What is the message?”
They looked at each other, and the first one said, “Pharaoh Coregent, royal wife Kiya, I bring word from a messenger of the King of Mittani. It would be left in the throne room, but it also concerns royal wife Kiya, which is why I bring it to Pharaoh Coregent now.” He bowed quickly and returned to standing.
“Speak your message,” Nefertiti said.
“The King of Mitanni demands his daughter to be brought back to him, as Egypt failed to come to the Mitanni’s aid against the plague and failed to respond with the might of Egypt against the Hittites. He accuses Pharaoh Akhenaten of creating a treaty with the Hittites and blames Egypt’s collusion with their enemies for Egypt’s weak response and delayed gifts and aid.”
Part of Nefertiti jumped for joy—finally, she could get rid of the imposter she once thought a friend! But part of her cried because she would be left all alone once more.
Nefertiti’s tongue tied itself until she could only spit out, “Next message.”
“Pharaoh Coregent Neferneferuaten—” The messenger hesitated with a look to the ground, but then raised his head and spoke clearly: “Princess Meketaten is dead.”
WITH SOLEMNITY AND HEAVY HEARTS, they buried the second oldest child of Pharaoh in Akhe-Aten.
Nefertiti reached for Akhenaten’s hand as they stood in the burial chamber and watched Meketaten’s sarcophagus lowered into its stone home. Her fingers graced his, but they hung unmoving. She closed her eyes. She tried once more to wrap her fingers around his. He let her, but did not return the embrace. He stood unmoving, staring into the light of the torch.
“The third child we have had to bury,” she whispered. “Won’t we be each other’s comfort?” She longed for the warm embrace of his arms while she cried and let her heart ache. Her heart dropped some of its burden when he began to speak, but fell twice as fast when he completed his sentence.
“We will find comfort enough in the Aten.”
A quiet cough from Kiya came behind them. After the announcement of Meketaten’s passing, Nefertiti had neglected to respond to the Mitanni King, and so Kiya stayed in Aketaten. Another stifled cough echoed in the stone resting place.
IT SEEMED that as soon as they saw the daylight when they came out of the tomb, a vision leapt upon Akhenaten.
“The Aten speaks!” he said.
His servants held his arms as he nearly toppled over from the impact of the visi
on.
“What does he say, Pharaoh?” Nefertiti asked him, hoping it was to stay with her tonight so they could grieve for their three daughters now on their journey to the afterlife.
“There is a . . . missing piece to Pharaoh’s reign,” he said as he stared into the sun. “I must return to the temple!”
He stayed there day and night, leaving Nefertiti alone, as he was brought his wine.
ON THE FOURTH DAY, he emerged.
Ordering his servants and family with him to the throne room with haste, he claimed he needed to reveal what the Aten had shown him. As he sat in his throne, he ordered that he, as the high priest of the Aten, be married to his eight-year-old daughter Ankneserpaaten, to further claim his right to the throne and establish his legitimacy in the absence of Queen Tiye.
Nefertiti closed her eyes and looked to the floor, wondering how she would get Egypt—and, more importantly, her children—back to Amun-Re, as he crowned his daughter his wife in ceremonial marriage.
His heretic prophesies spread through their family like a disease. The scribe scribbled the marriage into the records. There would be no feast or celebration in this time of death.
A loud thud sounded behind them. Turning, they saw Kiya had collapsed to the floor.
Nefertiti felt her foot take a step toward her, but she stopped when Pharaoh said, “The court shall hold a great feast honoring the ceremonial marriage between Pharaoh and his daughter!”
“Pharaoh, your royal wife Kiya has fallen to the ground,” Nefertiti said.
How could his mind not grasp the severity of the plague around them? The same plague that had just claimed the lives of three of their children!
Nefertiti motioned to the stewards in the corner.
Ainamun came with several servants and helped to carry Kiya back to her chambers.
“She has fallen in favor for the marriage!” Pharaoh said, and stood up. “Let all of Egypt know the good news!”
Before he left, he turned back to the family standing behind him and smiled at Nefertiti.
“Pharaoh Coregent may now rule in Pharaoh’s place.”
And then he was gone with his new wife to the temple of the Aten.
WITH A HUFF, she sat in her throne and dismissed everyone from the throne room and called for Ainamun to give report on royal wife Kiya. Messengers were now a rarity at Aketaten, as was the staff, as most had already succumbed to the deadly disease. She hoped her family in Waset were safe; she had not heard from them in a while. Ay had come to the burial of his granddaughters but quickly left to not endanger himself and thus his family.
The sun shone overhead, beating upon Nefertiti’s brow. Shaking her head, she remembered when Amenhotep had demanded an open-roofed throne room for his palace.
Amenhotep . . . she thought. I miss you so much. I wish you would come back to me. I would do anything for you to come back to me.
Finally, Ainamun entered the throne room. She bowed before Nefertiti and said, “Pharaoh Coregent, royal wife Kiya is not well and has not been well these past few days.”
Nefertiti thought, Even more so than when I saw her last? Two months can change so much.
“Is it the plague?” she asked.
“She has not coughed up blood, but the swiftness of the disease tells me it may be.”
She debated risking her own health to go see Kiya, but the desire burned within her to confront Kiya one last time, if indeed it was the plague, about her betrayal of their friendship.
“Take me to her,” Nefertiti commanded as she stood up and began to walk to the door.
Ainamun’s feet firmly stayed where they were.
“If it is the plague, Pharaoh Coregent, you will fall ill as well and possibly die with the others.”
“I am aware of the potential consequences.”
Ainamun bowed her head and obliged to her command, but wished Nefertiti would not go. If she were to die, they would be left with Pharaoh Akhenaten.
AINAMUN OPENED the door to reveal Kiya laying in her bed.
A servant approached them before they entered. “Royal wife Kiya has begun coughing up blood. It is taking her quickly.”
“I must see her,” Nefertiti said.
“Pharaoh Coregent will get the disease as well,” the servant said, and stepped in front of her path to the bed.
“I will take that chance.”
“At least put this around your head,” the servant said, and draped a clean lightly woven linen over her crown and face.
Nefertiti obliged and went to Kiya’s bedside.
When Kiya noticed Nefertiti’s presence, she smiled faintly, knowing why she was there. Hope rose in her heart that Nefertiti was also there because she still cared for her.
“What is it? Why are you smiling?” Nefertiti asked.
“You were right, Nefertiti,” she said, hiding a cough with the linen she grasped in her hand.
“Right about what?”
“I loved Amenhotep.”
Nefertiti gritted her teeth, but her tears came almost to the point of pouring out.
Kiya continued. “He was my friend and confidant . . . but you were so happy.”
“Did you go to him? Did you betray me?” Nefertiti did not want to wait for the prologue. She did not want to know, but she needed know. She wanted the truth as a quick bite of the poisonous asp, not as the tiny pricks of a billion ants.
Images of that night raced through Kiya’s mind: the violation and betrayal by her once-upon-a-time friend, Amenhotep, as she wept underneath the window that morning with her throbbing head and bloody nose and violated body.
“Tell me, Kiya . . .”
The urgency of her words brought Kiya back from her memories. Her eyes focused on Nefertiti. Apprehension cornered every detail of her face; her mouth trembled in fear, but her eyes searched for truth.
“I did not,” she said in one breath.
Nefertiti dropped her head to her friend’s chest. Curse you, Beketaten! Curse you, Henuttaneb! she thought, and clenched her teeth as she pulled Kiya’s dress into her fists.
Kiya closed her eyes and thought about Akhenaten’s attack as she felt the weight on her lungs burn inside her. The dead and dying can bear this burden. The living should not dwell in the past, she thought. I cannot hurt Nefertiti more. Akhenaten won’t remember—now, especially, as the Aten has his mind far removed from this reality.
“I’m so sorry, Kiya, for the accusations I have made,” Nefertiti moaned into her dress. “Please forgive me.”
“Nothing to forgive,” Kiya coughed pitifully. She closed her eyes for a minute. “Nefertiti, I lied to you.”
“What? What . . . was your lie, Kiya?” Nefertiti’s heart skipped and fell into her stomach again.
“I told you once that I would refuse Pharaoh should he command me,” she said, and caught her breath to continue, “and that I was not afraid to die. But—”
She coughed violently until the rag teemed with blood. The servants came to wipe her lips and handed her another cloth.
“But . . . I am afraid to die. I am afraid of what lies next. I am afraid of the darkness.”
Her words took Nefertiti’s breath away as the realization hit her hard in the face. Her accusations, her conniving ways to have her friend sent away, and her avoidance for the past two years because of her own jealousies all shook the very ground she knelt upon. She looked into her friend’s eyes.
“Kiya, I don’t want to lose you.”
Those words, Kiya thought, forgive all.
“As long as you remember me, you will never lose me,” she said as her chest struggled to rise. A few moments passed as Kiya coughed and coughed, trying to turn her face away from Nefertiti.
“Kiya, don’t leave me. Please, I need you here. I never learned to paint.” Nefertiti chuckled and saw Kiya smile.
“You will learn. Thank you,” Kiya whispered with a shallow breath, “for being all I ever wanted.”
“What is that?” Nefertiti took her ha
nd.
“A friend.”
Her face relaxed, her eyes dimmed, and she sank slowly into the pillow. Her chest no longer struggled to rise and fall, but rested.
The pit of Nefertiti’s stomach crawled to the top of her throat. Her body remembered how to breathe again and it took a sudden inhale. Her fingers shook as they went to cover Kiya’s eyes and slide her eyelids down.
Standing up as tall as a tree next to the bed, Nefertiti said nothing, felt nothing as she held Kiya’s hand. The Aten poured his rays into her room.
She remembered a silence like this when Pharaoh Amenhotep III died. No birds, no insects, no wind, nothing made a sound out of respect for the great man. Now a silence out of respect for a great friend, a most loyal friend, swept nature.
Nefertiti could only force the words from her lips: “Send her to her father for a Mitanni burial.”
The servants slowly began making preparations as Nefertiti stood beside her friend—a friend whom she had treated so unkindly and took for granted.
“Send word to her father that he has lost a great daughter, a great royal wife, most beloved of Pharaoh. Beloved by me,” she whispered, still looking down at the plain-looking girl who in death had become beautiful. A glow had erupted from her, it seemed, as if she had finally found peace. But then the moment was gone and all Nefertiti saw was her dead ashen-colored friend.
She let her hand drop, and she turned to walk out of the room and go somewhere, anywhere. She couldn’t quite discern where she was going. Her feet seemed to know. They took her back to her chambers, and she quietly closed the door. No thoughts were in mind.
Then, all of a sudden, with the rage of a thousand horses rushing forth from her lungs, she let out a guttural scream which pulled her body in on itself. The reverberations beat back against her ears, as her fists sunk deep into her stomach and her knees bent low to the ground.
How did my life end up like this? she wanted to scream. She dug her nails into the side of her arm and she found the courage to breathe once more.
She let out a raspy yell and hurled a candle at the wall. If I had only had a son! But no! Amun gave me six beautiful daughters! The air escaped her lungs as she kicked over a nearby chair. They all believe the Aten is the sole god of Egypt!
Salvation in the Sun Page 24
