The Heretic Queen

“My wife tells me you have some interest in our victory over the Hittites,” Ramesses said in Hurrian.

“Yes. Very, very interested,” Kikkuli replied.

“Then perhaps the princess Nefertari can explain, since her Hurrian is much better than mine.”

It was true. My Hurrian was better, but Ramesses seemed to follow all that was said. I introduced myself and Kikkuli bowed again.

“I am glad to make your acquaintance, Princess. I have been sent to the court of Egypt to learn how to speak your language.”

I was surprised. “Aren’t there any teachers of Egyptian in Mitanni?”

“Plenty! And all of them speak worse Egyptian than I do!”

Ramesses and I both laughed, while Asha and Iset stood quietly.

“But I believe you wanted to know about Pharaoh’s victory in Kadesh,” I said. I told him what I had learned while at the temple. When I was finished, Kikkuli looked humbled.

“Thank you, my lady. I had no idea that anyone in the court of Egypt spoke such fluent Hurrian.”

“Many royals study your language,” I flattered. “And we greatly admire the captive kingdom of Mitanni.”

Kikkuli’s eyes widened. “I shall be certain to report such warm feelings to my people.”

“Yes, please do,” Ramesses said. “For Egypt hopes to remain great friends with Mitanni, and we trust that your governor would send word if ever your invaders planned an attack against us.”

Kikkuli bobbed his head like an ibis. “If the Hittites should dare to march south through Aleppo, or even Nuzi, you have our word that Egypt will know of it.”

Ramesses smiled, but Kikkuli only had eyes for me. “Your princess is exceptional,” he complimented.

Ramesses met my gaze. Although he didn’t reply, his eyes said more than his words ever could, and I knew that I had made him proud.

“What? What did he say?” Asha asked.

Next to him, Iset had gone still and hard as stone. Her beauty might fascinate men, but it was difficult to charm them when she stood mute as an obelisk.

“He said he would bring back the news of how powerful Egypt’s army has become to his people,” I translated.

Next to Kikkuli, the emissary from Assyria cleared his throat. “And if the Hittites try to reclaim Kadesh?”

Ramesses shook his head. “I apologize, but your Akkadian is one language I cannot speak.”

“He is asking what will happen if the Hittites try to reclaim Kadesh,” I relayed, and turned to the emissary. “Then Egypt will march north with the might of twenty thousand men,” I promised, “and take it back for a second time.”

Ramesses stared at me. “Since when have you spoken Akkadian?”

“Since I’ve been at the Temple of Hathor.”

Ramesses regarded me with deep admiration, and Iset announced, “Look, it’s your aunt!”

I caught Woserit’s gaze across the courtyard, and I knew what was about to happen. When she smiled at Ramesses, my heart raced. “Enjoying the Feast of Wag?” she asked him. “I’m sure you were surprised to see Nefertari.”

“Yes,” he said, and his eyes lingered on mine. Standing beside him, I was aware of how fighting had sculpted him into a man. “Well, Nefertari,” Woserit said. “I believe you still have to visit the mortuary temple in Djamet tonight. Are you ready?”

“Perhaps we can go with you,” Ramesses offered.

But Woserit shook her head. “Nefertari should pay her respects alone.”

Ramesses and Asha both looked at me, as if I could offer them some reversal, but I understood Woserit perfectly. “Ramesses, Asha.” I smiled at each of them. “I very much enjoyed seeing you tonight. Iset,” I acknowledged.

“Will you bid us farewell at the procession?” Ramesses asked quietly.

“What do you mean?” I looked to Asha. “Pharaoh’s army just returned from Kadesh! You’re not going to war again?”

“The Nubians are rebelling. Ramesses is going to teach them a lesson.”

Ramesses nodded, and his eyes were fixed on mine.

“Then we shall see when the time comes whether Nefertari will be there,” Woserit said. “Until then, or perhaps until the next Feast of Wag, wish Nefertari well on the path she has chosen.”

This time, Iset’s smile was real. I followed Woserit dutifully beyond the courtyard, where Merit was waiting with chariots for hire. “Take the princess and her nurse to Horemheb’s mortuary temple in Djamet,” Woserit said.

The young man helped me into the chariot, and as the horses pulled away, I looked behind us. The court had left the mortuary temple, and Ramesses was gone.

“Well, what did he say?” Merit asked.

“I . . . I don’t know,” I said breathlessly. “But he looked different. Older.”

“But what did he say?” she repeated.

“He asked me to speak with the emissary from Mitanni.” I looked at Merit as we sped through the night and wondered aloud, “What if he only values me for my talent?”

“Would it matter, my lady, as long as he’s interested? Your goal is to become Chief Wife.”

“No.” I shook my head in realization. “It’s not. I want him to love me.”

We had reached Djamet, and Horemheb’s temple rose from a vast plateau of sand. Its wide black gates were thrown open, for pilgrims who wished to remember the Pharaoh who had eradicated the Heretic King’s influence. Only members of Seti’s court could visit the temple at any time, but on the first night of Wag the doors of every temple were opened to anyone. Merit brushed the dust from my cloak, then paid the boy who had driven us through the night. Her steps slowed as we approached the heavy gates. On every Feast of Wag, I entered the temple alone, while Merit left to pay obeisance at the small shrine her father had built nearby. “Shall I leave you here?” she asked quietly.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Of course, you will not talk with anyone,” she warned. “And raise your hood.” She handed me my bowl. “Can you see where you are going?”

“There are reed torches inside. I have good eyes.”

I watched as Merit disappeared into the darkness, then I passed through the gates of Horemheb’s temple. I tried not to think of how it had once been the exclusive shrine to my akhu. It had been built by my grandfather, Pharaoh Ay, but all that was left of him now were the paintings in his tomb, somewhere deep within the Valley of the Kings.

Ahead of me, I heard voices. They might have been descendants of Horemheb’s, or commoners who had come to gape at the paintings. In the light of the torches, the old general’s eyes watched my progress through the halls. In every image he had been painted tall and fit, wearing the khepresh crown that had once belonged to my grandfather. Ay had died an old man, with no heir to take his throne. Only my mother had been left, and General Horemheb took her by force as his wife. Had I been a son, he would have claimed me as his own. But my mother had died in childbirth with only a girl to survive her.

I reached the end of the hall and touched the only painting that remained of my mother. A great deal of care had been taken to portray her. She was tall and thin, with green eyes that shone like emeralds from her long, dark face. She was the opposite of me in every way, but for her eyes. “Mawat,” I whispered. Hers was the only painting that Horemheb had kept from Ay’s temple. He had ordered the others chiseled away, and with each stroke of the mallet they had erased my family from Egypt’s past.

“What a shame that this is all that’s left of her now.”

I felt my heart drop, for I knew the voice behind me. And before I could stop myself, I asked angrily, “What are you doing here?”

Henuttawy stepped out of the darkness into the light of the torches. She smiled. “Not happy to see me? I shouldn’t think you have anything to worry about. You’re not acting foolishly enough for me to slap you again. Although I should think that’s just a matter of time.”

I pushed back my hood, so she wouldn’t think I was hiding. Her eyes grew wide in mock surprise. “So the little princess has grown up.” She swept her gaze over my body and studied the way I filled out my tunic. “I’m