Nefertiti

across the antechamber to my sister’s bedroom and narrowed his eyes. “Queen Tiye and the Elder have sent their blessings to your son,” he continued. “The Birth Feast, with His Highness’s permission, shall be tonight.”

Amunhotep looked toward Nefertiti’s chamber. Her door was open, and Panahesi could see her lying on the bed, Merit and Ipu fluttering around her.

“Go,” my sister encouraged from the next room. “He is your son.”

Amunhotep crossed back to her chamber and rested his hand on Nefertiti’s. “I will not leave you.”

“The gods have given you a son.” She smiled wanly. “Go, give thanks.” She beamed at him, all beauty and munificence, and I realized how craftily she had set up this scene: She was the one giving him permission to go, rather than Pharaoh telling her he would be gone in celebration. “Go,” she whispered.

“I will think of you all night,” he promised.

In the antechamber, Panahesi studied me. “I am so sorry to hear of the queen’s illness. When did it happen?”

I felt my cheeks warm with shame. “Last night.”

“About the same time as the prince’s birth,” he remarked.

I said nothing. Then Amunhotep emerged from Nefertiti’s chamber and Panahesi tried a smile. “Shall we go to the feast, Your Highness?”

“Yes, but I am in no mood for celebration,” he warned.

As soon as they were gone, Nefertiti sat up in her bed.

“Panahesi knows,” I told her.

“Knows what?” she asked cheerfully, standing up and brushing her hair.

“He knows that you are lying.”

She turned so quickly that the hem of her robe spun around her ankles. “Who says that I’m lying? Who says that I’m not ill?”

I remained silent. She could fool the entire court of Memphis, but she could never fool me. I watched her change into a fresh sheath and call on Merit for fruit. “How long will you keep this up?” I demanded.

A smile began at the edges of her lips. “Until the novelty of a new prince has worn off.” She shrugged lightly. “And I am the center of Egypt again.”

The novelty didn’t last long—not with the building of the temple to Aten taking precedence over everything. And in three days, Nefertiti was miraculously well. The physician came and claimed it was a miracle. My father brought her shedeh from the winery and my mother squeezed out a few tears for the occasion. I was beginning to think we were more like entertainers than the ruling family of Egypt.

“What is the difference?” Nefertiti asked when I shared this thought with her. “Both require masks.”

“But it’s a lie. You lied. Don’t you love him at all?”

She stopped in the courtyard, where the chariots were waiting to take us to the building site of the new temple. The cobra on her crown, nestled in her dark hair, glinted in the sun. “I love him as much as any woman ever will. You don’t understand. You’re only fourteen. But love means lying.”

Amunhotep appeared through the arches, escorting my mother on his arm. They were laughing together, and I paused in shock.

“Your mother is a very charming woman,” Amunhotep said warmly, and Nefertiti gave my mother her widest smile. My mother.

“Yes,” she agreed. “The gods have blessed me in my family.”

Pharaoh helped my mother into my chariot and she flushed with pride. Then he held out his arm for Nefertiti and the procession began. A heavily armed cavalcade rode alongside us as we made for the site, the cool wind of Phaophi billowing their kilts. I wanted to lean over and ask my mother what Amunhotep had said to make her laugh. Then I thought that perhaps it was better I didn’t know.

We began our ascent up a hill, far above the Nile and the naked sweep of earth. Amunhotep wanted the best vantage point to see his building, and when the chariots rolled to a sudden halt armed guards fanned out in a circle around us. We descended and my mother whispered incredulously, “Great Osiris.”

I stood frozen, stunned by the sprawling landscape dotted with pillars that pierced the sky. “They must never stop.” Thousands of builders groaned under the weight of heavy columns, hoisting them up with ropes. The columned courtyard of Aten’s temple had been completed, as well as a chapel and a granite altar. This time, because such heavy work was being done, Amunhotep didn’t demand obeisance.

Panahesi appeared and bowed very low. “Your Highness.” He smiled, flattering as always. He turned to my sister. “My queen,” he said with less enthusiasm. “Shall we tour the god’s temple?”

Nefertiti passed Amunhotep a triumphant glance, as if this had been her present to him, and we descended the small hill to stroll through the chaos. Nefertiti wanted to look at every pillar, every mosaic, every cut stone.

In the artists’ quarters, Amunhotep stopped. “What is this?” he asked coldly.

A worker stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow. He was built like a charioteer, with thick arms and a wide chest. “We are working on statues of Your Highness.” He bowed.

Amunhotep bent closer and saw the chiseled features of Pharaohs that artisans had been drawing for centuries. The perfect jaw, the long beard, the eyes rimmed in sweeps of kohl. He straightened and his face grew dark. “This isn’t me.”

The man faltered. He had depicted Pharaoh the way all Pharaohs had been depicted for the past thousand years.

“That isn’t me!” Amunhotep shouted. “My artwork should reflect me, should it not?”

The artisan stared at him in horror, then went down on one knee, bowing his head. All around him work had come to a stop. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Amunhotep whirled to face Panahesi. “Do you think I want the gods to confuse me with my father? With Tuthmosis?” he hissed.

Nefertiti stepped forward. “We shall have the rest of the sculptures done in our likeness,” she commanded.

Panahesi inhaled. “The artisans use grids. They will have to—”

“Then do it,” Nefertiti directed. She wrapped her arm around Amunhotep’s, and Pharaoh nodded in agreement. Then she led him away through the dirt and stone. Panahesi glowered after her. Then he looked down at the man with the thick arms.

“Fix it!”

“But how, Your Holiness?”

“Go and find the best sculptors in Memphis,” he shouted angrily. “Now!”

The artist looked between himself and the other men. “But we are considered the best,” he replied.

“Then you will all be fired!” Panahesi raged. “You will find me an artist who can sculpt Pharaoh as he wishes or you will never work again.”

The man panicked. “There is a sculptor in the city, Your Holiness. He is well renowned. He is flamboyant, but his work is—”

“Just find him and bring him to me,” Panahesi seethed. He looked down at the image of Amunhotep as a Pharaoh no different in appearance than any other and lashed out with his foot, sending the carving toppling to the ground. “Don’t ever depict His Highness like this again. No one is like him. No other Pharaoh in Egypt can compare.”

I hurried to where Nefertiti and Amunhotep were walking. Men were working on an outer courtyard, raising pillars with carvings of the sun god etched into the yellow stone. So much work was being done by so many men. I stared across the courtyard—at the farthest end stood General Nakhtmin. He was staring back at me. Then Amunhotep moved toward him and his gaze flicked away. What was he doing in Memphis? He belonged with the Elder in Thebes. My mother, with her sharp eyes, had missed nothing.

“Was the general staring at you?” she asked.

I shook my head quickly. “No. I don’t know.”

She looked into my face. “General Nakhtmin is not liked by the king.”

“So I’ve been warned.”