the brazier, drawing a blanket over both of our knees.
“Why doesn’t Amunhotep like the general?” I asked her.
Nefertiti knew immediately which general I meant. “He chose to stay in Thebes rather than come to Memphis.” The fire from the brazier cast golden shadows on her face. She was beautiful even without her jewels and crown.
I protested. “But not every general could come to Memphis with us.”
“Well, Amunhotep distrusts him.” She swirled the wine in her cup. “And for that reason you can’t be seen with him. Those who were loyal came with him to Memphis.”
“But what happens if the Elder dies? Won’t the army join together again in Thebes?”
She shook her head. “I doubt we’ll be going back to Thebes.”
I nearly dropped my cup. “What do you mean? Someday the Elder will die,” I exclaimed. “Perhaps not soon, but someday—”
“And when he does, Amunhotep will not return.”
“Has he said this? Have you told Father?”
“No, he hasn’t said this. But I’ve come to know him.” She looked into the flames. “He will want his own city. One outside of Memphis that will stand as a testament to our reign.” She couldn’t stop herself from smiling.
“But don’t you want to return to Thebes?” I asked her. “It’s the center of Egypt. It’s the center of everything.”
Nefertiti’s smile widened. “No, Mutny.
“But Thebes—”
“Is just a city. Imagine if Amunhotep could build an even bigger capital.” Her eyes widened. “He would be the greatest builder in the history of Egypt. We could inscribe our names on every doorpost. Every temple, every shrine, every library, even the art would be testaments to our lives. Yours, too.” Her black hair shone in the firelight. “You could have your own building, immortalize your name, and the gods would never forget you.”
I heard Nakhtmin’s voice in my mind, that to be forgotten was the greatest gift that history could give. But that couldn’t be true. How would the gods know what you had done? We both sat in silence, thinking. The fire in the depths of Nefertiti’s eyes faded and her expression became haunted.
“We’re so different, you and I. It must be because I am more like my mother, and you are more like yours.”
I shifted uncomfortably. I didn’t like it when she spoke about our different pasts.
“I wonder what my mother was like. Imagine, Mutny, I have nothing left of her. No image, no cloth, not even a scroll. Just a handful of rings.”
“She was a Mitanni princess. In her homeland, she must be painted on her father’s tomb.”
“Even so, I have no image of her in Egypt.” Her gaze grew determined. “I will never let that happen to me. I will carve my image in every corner of this land. I want my children to remember me until the sands disappear from Egypt and the pyramids crumble to the earth.”
I stared at my sister in the firelight and felt a deep sorrow. I had never known this about her before.
The bulk of Amun’s treasures had been secured in heavily bound chests, then stacked carelessly against the walls of the Audience Chamber. There were still golden sandals, leopard pelts, and crowns with gems the size of my fist piled in corners and strewn across tables. Where would it all go? It couldn’t be kept safely in this public chamber, not even with three dozen guards watching over it.
“We should fetch Maya,” Nefertiti suggested, “to design a treasury.”
Amunhotep warmed to the idea at once. “The queen is right. I want a treasury built to withstand the sieges of time. Panahesi, find Maya.”
Panahesi rose quickly. “Of course, Your Highness. And if Pharaoh desires, I would be happy to oversee the construction.”
My father shot Nefertiti a swift glance and my sister said lightly, “There will be plenty of time for that, Vizier.” She looked at Amunhotep. “First, we will find a sculptor to place your image at every corner. Amunhotep the Builder, guarding the wealth and treasures of Egypt.”
Panahesi glowered. “Your Highness—”
But Amunhotep was carried away with the vision. “He can sculpt you as well. We’ll be Egypt’s mightiest rulers overlooking its greatest treasury.”
Panahesi turned white at the thought of Nefertiti’s image in the treasury of Egypt.
“Shall we see that a sculptor is summoned?” my father asked.
“Yes,” Amunhotep commanded. “Do so at once.”
1350 BCE
THE TREASURY TOOK precedence even over the Temple of Aten.
By the beginning of Thoth, a majestic two-story pavilion reared up in granite splendor next to the palace. The dust had not settled across the courtyard before Maya pushed open the heavy metal doors and we all stood in awe of what the architect had accomplished in so little time. From all four corners of the treasury, Amunhotep and Nefertiti stared down at us, larger than life, larger than the Elder’s most magnificent statues in Thebes.
“Who created these?” I gaped, and Maya grinned at me.
“A sculptor named Thutmose.”
It was magnificent. The statues were so tall, so breathtaking, it was as if we were saplings in a forest of sycamores. The group of viziers and courtiers behind us went quiet. Even Panahesi had nothing to say. Nefertiti walked up to one of the statues; her head reached as high as its foot. Her likeness was uncanny: the thin nose, the small mouth, and the wide black eyes under highly arched brows. She ran her hand down the sandstone skirt and mouthed to me, “I wish Kiya was here.”
Amunhotep announced grandly, “Now we shall begin construction on the Temple of Aten.”
My father stared as if this wasn’t to be believed, but Maya looked unsurprised.
“Certainly, Your Highness.”
“And Vizier Panahesi will oversee the building.”
There was another meeting in my chamber. With the treasury built, the risk could not be run of letting Panahesi be placed in charge of its gold. Construction on the Temple of Aten would begin in Thoth, but once Panahesi’s job overseeing the work was done, he would make a bid to be treasurer again.
“You will have to do something to stop it,” my father said simply.
“We can give him a different job. Something that takes him out of the palace again. What about ambassador? He could travel to Mitanni—”
My father shook his head dismissively. “He will never agree.”
“Who
My father hesitated. “We could make him the High Priest of Aten,” he thought aloud.
Nefertiti recoiled. “Of my temple?” she cried.
“Would you rather him be treasurer,” my father countered, “in charge of Egypt’s wealth with a possible prince waiting to be delivered? No, we will make him High Priest of Aten,” he decided, standing swiftly. “Nefertiti, you’ve had a dream. You’ve had a dream in which you saw Panahesi as the High Priest of Aten.”
