wear the diadem of a princess? Neither will be queen?”
“The people were outraged to see me at Ramesses’s side,” I said, feeling pained. I couldn’t meet Woserit’s gaze.
“Give your decision time,” Henuttawy suggested, taking the advantage. “Place three thrones on the dais. In the Audience Chamber, let the petitioners be divided between the two princesses.”
“Then who will be Pharaoh’s heirs?” Woserit asked. “The children of Iset or Nefertari?”
“Nefertari, of course.” Ramesses’s voice was adamant.
“
Ramesses looked to me. I made no motion to protest, and he said quietly, “We will wait. But this court knows who will make the better queen for Egypt.”
“YOU DID what was right,” Merit said quietly.
I watched while the servants filled my bath with hot water. When the women left, I crouched in the tub, putting my arms around my knees. “You should have seen their faces,” I whispered.
“I did, my lady. It was not so terrible as you think.”
“But from the front of the procession,” I told her, and my eyes welled with tears, “their faces were so full of hate.”
There was a brief knock on the door. It was the quiet tap of a servant, and I answered carelessly, “Come in.” Neither of us turned. “You know as well as I do that the only reason I am in Paser’s favor is because of Woserit.”
“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”
Merit and I both spun, and Woserit emerged from the darkness of the doorway. “Even if Paser wasn’t in love with me, I don’t believe he’d want to see a fool like Iset in the Audience Chamber.” Woserit laughed at the shock apparent on Merit’s face. “It was never a secret.”
I stood from my bath, wrapping myself in a long linen robe before joining Woserit at the brazier.
“Nefertari asked why I was willing to help her become Chief Wife.” Woserit seated herself on the largest chair. “I told her that I was doing it for myself as much as for her. Not only do I fear a city where Henuttawy is as wealthy as she wishes to be, I am also afraid of what my sister might do out of jealousy.”
“But what can she have to be jealous of?” Merit asked.
“That I was the first to be asked for in marriage.”
I took a seat and named the man to whom she was referring. “Vizier Paser?”
Woserit nodded. “Paser asked my father if we could marry. We were seventeen and had studied together in the edduba. He was being groomed for the job of vizier. But when Henuttawy heard he wanted to marry me, she flew into a rage. There were a hundred men at her door, but she couldn’t stand the thought that there was one at mine. She went to our father and begged him not to shame her by letting me marry before she did. He asked Henuttawy if there was someone she wanted to marry. She said there was. Paser.”
“She could have asked for anyone!” I cried. “Even the prince of a foreign nation.”
“Egypt never gives away her princesses,” Merit corrected me.
“Then another vizier’s son,” I said. “Or a wealthy merchant. Or a prince willing to live in Egypt.”
“It’s true. My sister’s beauty was as tempting then as it is now. When Henuttawy said she wanted Paser, my father summoned him to the Audience Chamber to see which sister he would choose.”
“And Paser chose you.”
“Yes. And when he told Pharaoh this, Henuttawy vowed that she would never take a husband.”
“So that you could never marry.”
Merit clucked her tongue. “How cruel.”
“If Iset becomes Chief Wife with Henuttawy whispering in her ear, then there is little hope for Paser and me. But now you are here, and the risk is worth taking . . .”
I flinched at the callousness of her statement. I was a Senet piece that she had polished and moved across the board for her own benefit.
Woserit saw the betrayal on my face. “If I did not like you, I would never suggest you to Ramesses as Chief Wife, whatever the reward for myself. There are things more important than whether or not I marry. Stability in the kingdom and a wise queen for the throne. You are getting what you want, and perhaps someday I will get what I want. And if we can help each other to that end—”
“But your father is gone,” I protested. “Can’t you marry now?”
“And leave the Temple of Hathor?” Woserit asked. “For what? If Iset becomes queen and I marry Paser, what will happen to him once my brother is gone?”
“Henuttawy and Iset will drive him from court, and he’ll lose everything.”
Woserit nodded.
“But why didn’t you tell me any of this?”
“Because there are enough burdens resting on your shoulders,” she said. “You don’t need the weight of my destiny on you as well. Your first responsibility is to Ramesses, and then the people.”
I glanced at Merit, who knew what I was going to ask. “Do you think those people will rebel because of me?”
Woserit was honest. “Anything might happen,” she replied. “Especially when the Nile runs low. What does Ramesses say?”
“He is horrified,” I whispered.
“Good. And you will never mention becoming Chief Wife. He has made his decision to wait. Let Iset complain and drive him away. You will be silent and long-suffering and he will love you even more.”
“And his decision?” Merit asked.
“It all depends on how soon Nefertari can change the people’s minds—by being wise and judicious in the Audience Chamber. Tomorrow, Pharaoh Seti will be gone, and there will only be Pharaoh Ramesses to rule in Thebes. She must build her reputation as the clever princess.”
“I am a danger to Ramesses’s crown,” I said. “Did I do what was right in the Audience Chamber today?”
Woserit hesitated. “You stopped him when his rashness might have made you queen tonight. You placed the kingdom of Egypt and Ramesses’s welfare before your own.” She smiled sadly. “You love him.”
I nodded. I did, and in the end, I knew such love might prove costly.
LATER THAT night, when Ramesses came into my chamber, Merit disappeared into her own room. There was nothing that Ramesses needed to say. He embraced me, stroking my hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again and again. “I’m sorry for what happened.”
“It’s fine,” I told him, but we both knew it wasn’t. On a day that Egypt should have been celebrating, the people couldn’t have been angrier. They had risen up against Pharaoh’s guards, something that had not happened since the reign of Akhenaten.
“Tomorrow,” Ramesses promised, “things will be different. You don’t belong in the streets of Thebes. You belong with me, in the Audience Chamber.” He guided me to the edge of my bed and drew a cloth-wrapped object from inside his cloak. “For you,” he said softly.
The linen wrapping had been painted with images of Seshat, the goddess of learning. When I unveiled the gift within, I thought my heart would stop in my chest. I held the heavy scroll up to the oil lamps, slowly unrolling the papyrus, as light illuminated the painted text. “Ramesses, where did you find this?” I asked. It was a history of every major kingdom in the world, from Hatti to Cyprus, written first in hieroglyphics and then in the language of each country. Not even Paser owned such a book.
“The scribes have been compiling it for you for more than a year.”
“A
I stopped, realizing what he meant. Every misery of the afternoon disappeared. It didn’t matter that the people hated me. We fell onto the bed and thought only of each other that night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
