The Heretic Queen

a heavy enough stone, it might be able to lift five thousand des a day.”

Ramesses inhaled sharply. “Are you certain?”

“I’ve been making the calculations.” He shuffled the other sheaves of papyrus and gave one to Ramesses. I didn’t understand what was written, but both Ramesses and Asha were nodding in agreement.

“It’s unlike anything else in Egypt,” Asha promised. “In the tomb . . . dozens of images of the Heretic King.” His eyes found mine, but it was Ramesses who spoke.

“And did you find—”

Asha nodded briefly. “Yes.”

Ramesses stood from his chair and addressed Penre. “We will tell the court of your invention tomorrow. You will have your pick of the men for construction. If the first one built works, I will ask you to build them all along the banks of Thebes. You have done a great service to me,” Ramesses complimented. “I would not have trusted anyone else.”

Penre inclined his head to show that he was humbled. As Ramesses led him to the door, Asha held out a folded sheet of papyrus. “For you,” he said quietly.

I glanced at Ramesses, then carefully unfolded the page. Instead of a drawing, there was a small fragment of plaster painted with an image of a woman in a chariot. Her skin was dark, and even if the artist hadn’t taken the time to color her eyes, I would have known her name. I pressed my lips together to keep them from trembling.

“Ramesses wanted you to have it,” Asha said tenderly. “You are the only star in his sky.”

I blinked rapidly. “How did he know—”

“He didn’t. But he knew there were dozens of paintings of Amarna’s court. I would have brought back an image of your aunt, too, but . . .”

I nodded so he wouldn’t have to say the words himself. “They were destroyed.”

“But Horemheb left the images of your mother and father.”

I pressed the small painting into my palm. I felt somehow that by holding it I could reach the ka of my parents. Of the many gifts Ramesses had given me, this was by far the most precious.

I waited until Asha and Penre were both gone before placing the painting inside my mother’s naos. And when Ramesses asked what I was thinking, I didn’t tell him with words.

THE NEXT day, Meryra’s design was announced in the Audience Chamber. At first, there was silence. Then the court erupted into exclamations of astonishment and joy. But the village elders, who had been invited from surrounding farms for the occasion, looked at one another in confusion.

“If this device succeeds,” Penre promised, “there will be harvest this year and every year thereafter!”

I leaned over to Ramesses. “Why aren’t the farmers rejoicing?” I whispered.

“They are wary. They’ll want to see it working first.”

“Well, they should be appreciative,” I said. “No Pharaoh in the history of Egypt will have changed the lives of so many people.”

But in Paser’s chamber later, even Woserit was cautious.

“Why doesn’t everyone see what Penre has achieved?” I cried.

“Because it has to work first,” Woserit said flatly. Although a large fire warmed the brazier, she was dressed in a heavy blue sheath. “There is still the matter of Iset,” she said quietly. “In two months she will be the mother to Ramesses’s eldest child.”

I felt my throat tighten at my own failure.

“Have you taken mandrakes?” Woserit pressed.

“Of course!” I flushed. “Merit gathers them for me.”

“And have you made the right offerings?”

I nodded, ashamed, because it meant that the gods were not listening. What if Tawaret, the goddess of childbirth, could not distinguish my plea among the thousands she received? Why should she? I was one of two wives, and the niece of a heretic who had abandoned the gods.

Woserit sighed. “At least the news is not all bad.”

“Your performance in the Audience Chamber is still inspiring a great deal of talk in Thebes,” Paser said. “I no longer have to direct foreign emissaries to see you. They ask for you now.”

“It is a great honor,” Woserit clarified. “No emissary ever seeks out Iset.”

“They will if she becomes Chief Wife,” I said, seeing into the future. “The people rarely smile at me. I could have passed out grain from now until Thoth, and it wouldn’t have mattered.”

Paser said firmly, “You cannot help who your family was.”

“Then why am I cursed to live in their shadow?” I asked.

“Because they were giants,” Woserit said, “and their shadows loom large. But you are creating another path for yourself. You are becoming a partner and adviser to Ramesses. And if you can give Egypt an heir, there will be less reason for the people to want Iset.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

WEIGH EACH HEART ALONE

  “MY LADY!” Merit cried. “My lady, it’s happening!”

I glanced at Woserit, and when Paser opened his chamber door, Merit’s face was flushed. “Vizier. My lady,” she acknowledged briefly, then stepped inside. “The princess Iset is having her child!”

I stood quickly, but Woserit held out her hand. “Go—dress carefully. You want him to see that while Iset is sweating like a heifer, you are young and fresh.”

My heart beat faster. There was always the possibility that Iset wouldn’t survive the birth. But I knew I shouldn’t let Tawaret hear such thoughts. The goddess would punish unkindness and spite.

“None of us can predict when Anubis will come. Not even for Iset. But if she lives,” Woserit added firmly, “don’t expect Ramesses to see you at night the way he has these past months. He will follow tradition and spend ten days with her.”

“With a crying infant?”

“Of course not,” Merit said. “The baby will sleep with its nurse.”

I returned to my chamber to put on my best sheath and most elaborate wig. But as Merit began to paint my eyes, bells rang in the courtyards of Malkata.

“Three times if it’s a son,” Merit whispered.

We held our breath and waited. The bells pealed three times, then there was a pause while the priestesses waited, and rang their bells three times again. I jumped from my stool and ran.

“Your cloak!” Merit cried after me. “It’s cold!”

But I couldn’t feel the early morning mist. How would fatherhood change Ramesses? Would he come to me less and stay in Iset’s chamber more? I rushed through the polished halls toward the very birthing pavilion that had been built by my grandfather. But I stopped when I saw the crowd of courtiers huddled outside the heavy wooden doors. No one was to be allowed within.

Henuttawy saw me and smiled. “Princess Nefertari.” She took in the careful beading of my sheath with a quick, calculating glance. “My sister polished you into a little queen and thought to place you next to the king as Chief Wife. But that is not going to happen now.”

I met her gaze. “How would you know? No one truly believes that you’re the mouth of Isis.”

She tensed, then saw Woserit coming toward us and whispered triumphantly, “I know because Iset has just given Ramesses a son. A healthy prince of Egypt. Ramesses would be a fool not to make her queen now.”

“Ah, Henuttawy!” Woserit said. “You must be happy to hear that Iset has given Ramesses a boy. After all, this child might have been the son of Ashai if not for you.”

Henuttawy’s red lips formed a dark, thin line, and I realized why Woserit had not mentioned the name of Ashai since Iset had first spoken it in anger. She had been waiting, gathering information. Now she turned to me, and her eyes were very bright.

“You see, Nefertari, before she married Ramesses, Iset was in love with a young Habiru named Ashai. Unfortunately, he was only an artist, and when Iset’s grandmother discovered them together in her chamber, she