Page 20

16

Sita

The sight of Maet’s still form lying on the ship’s deck sobered Sita in an instant. Without hesitation, she leaped into action.

“Oarsmen,” she shouted, “Take us back to the palace at once!” She turned to one of the servants. “You—take a skiff to the temple and summon the physician-priests. Tell them to meet us in Maet’s bedchambers. And someone bring some water! We must try to rouse her.”

The servants, unaccustomed to taking orders from Sita, all hesitated.

“What are you waiting for?” Sita exclaimed. “Go!”

With the application of a cool compress to her forehead, the little girl’s eyes fluttered open. “My belly hurts so much, See-See.”

Sita pulled the girl’s head into her lap and rubbed her arm. “I know. We’ll be home soon, and the priests will take good care of you.”

Maet groaned and closed her eyes again, falling quickly into a restless sleep.

The ship was moving swiftly now, the oarsmen keeping a brisk stroke as they cut through the water.

Mery appeared at Sita’s side, looking no worse for the crocodile encounter that had nearly killed him a few minutes earlier.

“For a moment,” he said, “I thought it was Mother here on the ship, ordering people about! I didn’t know you had it in you, Sitamun.”

Sita blushed. “What was I supposed to do? Maet needs help.” In fact, she’d surprised herself. Normally, she wouldn’t think about taking command of a critical situation like that. There was always someone else to do so instead.

Mery’s eyebrow quirked. “Your concern for the girl is… admirable.”

It sounded like a compliment, but Sita knew better than to accept her brother’s words as they appeared. He often used language like pawns in a game, to feel out his opponent’s weaknesses. And he’d played with Sita enough times to know hers by heart. Mery knew her true feelings, sometimes before she even knew them herself.

Was she really acting out of love for Maet?

You feel guilty, don’t you?

The truth stung.

She’d been bitterly jealous of the little girl and the way her father favored her. Loved her. She was only six years old, and yet Sita remembered wishing the little girl would disappear, so she wouldn’t have a constant reminder of the relationship she didn’t have. And now, it felt as if her jealousy had taken physical form and inflicted pain upon an innocent child. Sita knew it wasn’t true, but it felt true.

You’re just helping her to make yourself feel better. You’re not doing it for Maet.

She looked down at the girl’s pale little face, her eyes moving rapidly beneath the eyelids as if caught in a nightmare.

Perhaps Father was right not to love me, after all.

***

“Away, disease demon!” the old priest commanded. “Be gone from this place, and injure this child no longer. She is a child of Amun and is protected by his unseen hand. Away!”

Sita watched as the man used a polished stick to draw a circle of protection on the ground around Maet’s bed as he repeated the spell over and over again. The girl looked very small, wrapped in fresh bed linens. The old ones had been taken outside and burned. Sita had remained with her since they’d arrived back at her bedchamber. Several bald-headed priests had arrived shortly after, filling the room with frenzied activity. Sita backed out, feeling like she was in the way. They closed the curtains, and Sita watched through the gauzy fabric as they bade Maet drink a cup of water poured from a jug painted with images of Isis. She reluctantly obeyed, rivulets spilling over both sides of her tiny lips before collapsing, exhausted, back onto the pillow.

“What happened?”

Sita jumped—she hadn’t even heard her mother approach. Then again, the queen had a reputation for being the first to know everything, so Sita wasn’t that surprised to see her. Once, she’d overheard an official at a banquet say that Queen Bintanath painted little ears on the walls of every room, so she could listen in to any conversation she liked. Obviously, the queen’s ears had picked up the news about Maet.

“We were fowling on the river, and she fainted,” Sita explained. “She told me she’d been having some stomach pain, but other than that she seemed all right. Her mother was at the market on the other side of the city—I’ve sent a messenger to retrieve her.”

Now was not the time to mention the incident with the crocodile, Sita decided. Her mother would have a hundred questions if she brought that up, and Sita was too tired to answer them. She’d sobered since Maet collapsed, but now that all the excitement of the voyage home had passed, she was left with a headache.

The queen sucked her teeth. “The king will be terribly upset when he finds out she’s ill,” she said, more to herself than to Sita. “Better not to tell him until we know more. I’ll see that his attendants don’t speak of it.” She made to leave but then saw something that made her stop abruptly. She sighed. “Ah, well. Too late.”

Sita turned to find the king lurching toward them, wraithlike without his thick makeup, trailing two desperate-looking attendants in his wake.

“A lion fetch that man,” the queen mumbled. “What does he think he’s doing? He should be in bed…”

“Where is she?” the king demanded, his eyes wild. “Where is my girl?” His gaze passed over Sita like she was a painting on the wall and alighted on the priests inside Maet’s bedchamber. The king blundered inside, unsteady on his feet.

Ineni, one of his attendants, hurried forward with an apologetic look. “I tried to stop him,” he said to the queen, “but Pharaoh wouldn’t hear of it.”

The physician-priests looked up from their work. “My king,” they chorused, bowing their heads.

Amunmose ignored them. He sat on the bed next to Maet, placing one skeletal hand on her arm. “Hello kitten,” he said, wheezing with exertion. “How are you feeling?”

“It hurts,” Maet whined. “I’m scared.”

The king patted her arm. “Well, I’m going to tell my friends here to make sure you get better right away, all right?” There was comfort in his voice, but an edge too.

The priest standing behind him flinched.

“What if, later on, after you’ve gotten some rest and seen your mother, I bring you a brand-new doll? I can send one of my fastest messengers to fetch one from the market, just for you. Would you like that?”

Maet nodded.

“And maybe a honey cake too?”

“I’m not hungry,” the girl said sadly.

“Oh, but you’ve always got room for a honey cake,” The king tickled the girl under her chin. “They’re our favorite. They make them special, just for us! I can share it with you, like always. And maybe your new dolly can have some honey cake too.”

Maet managed a weak smile.

Something clicked inside Sita’s mind.

But before she could think further on the conversation she’d overheard, her father struggled back to his feet and exited the room. Ineni rushed to assist, but the king waved him off, gesturing for the chief priest-physician to follow him into the corridor, leaving the other priests to finish attending to their patient. Sita moved aside, still listening.

The king demanded, “What is it? What ails her? And where is Montuhotep? He should be here.”

The priest wiped his brow with one hand. “Ah, I’m afraid Montuhotep was in council with the prince when we received news of Maet’s condition, so he tasked me to attend to her in his stead. Meryamun called on him with an urgent matter.”

Sita was surprised. She’d left Mery at the riverbank when they’d returned from the hunt, and he hadn’t said anything about a meeting. Although his behavior had been strange… She’d expected him to have been shaken after the crocodile attack, or at the very least, furious. But instead, he’d seemed almost elated. Calling for a private meeting with the king’s most trusted adviser, without consulting the king, was a brazen act. What could have driven him to do such a thing?

Her father appeared equally confused by this development but didn’t seem to have the energy to pursue it.

“What ails her?” he repeated.

The priest cleared his throat. “We… don’t know yet. Maet is extremely weak and experiencing pain in her stomach and chest. She vomited shortly after waking and has refused to take food or any drink other than water.”

“Has the food on the ship been checked?”

“No one else has taken ill, my king, and everyone on the fowling expedition ate of the same provisions. In fact, it very much reminded me of… of…” He sounded as if there was something he was reluctant to say.

“Spit it out, man!” the king said, impatient.

Sita saw beads of sweat beginning to form on the priest’s forehead.

“It reminded me of when you first fell ill, King Amunmose. We also had all the food and drink checked, but no corruption was found, and no others fell sick. And the symptoms are the same. Of course, stomach pain and weakness are common, but”—he paused to lick his lips—“we found light brown spots on the palms of her hands and feet. They are remarkably similar to yours, my king. And those… those are not common.”

Sita felt the words like a blow.

What’s killing Father is killing Maet too.

Mery had told her about the poison, but he hadn’t divulged how he was administering it.

Now I know.

The king’s already pale face went gray at this news. He gripped the priest’s shoulder, steadying himself.

“Is it possible… she could have gotten this from me?” he asked, his voice full of dread. “That I passed this curse onto her somehow?”

The priest looked horrified, unable to tear his gaze from the king’s ghoulish visage. “It’s, ah, possible a demon or curse is to blame, but I assure you, we are doing everything we can for her, and for you, my king. The most powerful healing spells, spells of protection, sacred water poured over the image of Isis… We are working day and night, scouring every scroll in the House of Life to find a cure—”

“Did she get this from me?”

Everyone in the corridor started at the king’s angry shout, which echoed down the hall. Inside the bedroom, the other priests’ prayers fell silent.

The head priest opened and closed his mouth several times. Finally, he said, “I’m afraid only Amun knows that answer, my king. I’m so sorry.”

Sita watched as her father’s hand dropped from the man’s shoulder, his eyes darkening.

“You’ve overexerted yourself, imi-ib,” Queen Bintanath said, sweeping forward with exaggerated affection. “You need rest.”

The king nodded, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge her presence. “Take me back to my chamber, Ineni.”

Ineni rushed in, dropping into a respectful bow as he passed the queen, and gently guided King Amunmose down the corridor.

A moment later, Maet’s mother appeared, followed by a servant carrying a basket of fresh flowers from the market. The yellow blossoms felt like an omen, and not a good one.

Yellow is for mourning , Sita thought.

Maet’s mother stopped to greet the king before making her way toward them with fear in her eyes.

“She’s awake,” the Queen Bintanath told her, and gently led the woman inside the bedchamber.

Sita stood in the doorway, cold despite the late afternoon heat. She could think of nothing but her father’s words about the honey cakes.

They’re our favorite.

They make them special, just for us.

She ran to find Mery.

***

She met him passing through the main hall, so distracted by his own thoughts that he didn’t notice her until Sita was right in front of him.

“It’s the cakes, isn’t it?” she blurted. “You’re putting it in the honey cakes.”

Mery’s eyes flashed from distant to focused. “Quiet!” he growled. Glancing around to see if anyone was watching, he seized her by the arm and dragged her across the hall into the pleasure garden. “Your mind is like an empty room, Sitamun…” he muttered once they were outside.

“Don’t you speak to me that way!” Sita retorted—though she did lower her voice. “Tell me the truth, Mery: Have you been poisoning Father’s honey cakes?”

Mery crossed his arms, looking bored. “ I certainly haven’t.”

“But someone else did,” Sita pressed. “By your command.”

Mery shrugged.

Sita covered her mouth with her hand. She was so stupid. Of course that’s how he did it. The cooks made the king’s honey cakes especially for him because he adored them so much—and they were so sweet that they could easily disguise the bitterness of poison. It was such an obvious choice that it irritated her to not have thought of it sooner.

Still, knowing the cakes were poisoned didn’t explain everything.

“I still don’t understand how the poison could go unnoticed,” she said. “The priest said they tasted all the food when Father first got sick, and no one else was affected. They must have tasted the honey cakes too—Father’s the only one who eats them.”

Mery smiled. “It’s a delicious puzzle, isn’t it?” He bent to pluck a red poppy from a flower bed, twirling it in his fingers. “Some might say that poison is a coward’s weapon. That the only honorable way to kill a man is face-to-face, with a blade. But I would argue that if done well, poisoning is an art unto itself.”

He lifted the flower to his nose and smelled it with his eyes closed. “First, you must consider which poison to use. There are dozens, you know—plants, minerals, venom—each with their own gruesome effects. Only by making yourself a regular at the House of Life can one study all of them in detail, and only after many hours of research might you find the perfect poison for the job. A common additive, for instance, used to make yellow paint, and often mixed with copper to make tools more durable. Few even know it’s poisonous at all. Its harmful effects are only mentioned in a single obscure papyrus.

“Next, the dosage. It’s easy to kill someone by pouring poison into his wine cup and watching him die on the spot. You’ve done the job—but at what cost? Everyone will know it was murder, and unless you’re very, very lucky, or everyone around you is very, very stupid, they’ll eventually figure out it was you who did it.”

Sita sat heavily on a stone by the fishpond, feeling like she often did after losing a game of Hounds and Jackals, and being forced to listen to Mery explain exactly how he beat her.

“No,” Mery went on, “if you want the job done right, you can’t be so artless. You have to choose a poison that’s not only obscure, but also harmless in small doses. So harmless that if someone ate, for instance, a single poisoned honey cake—or even two poisoned honey cakes—they’d feel just fine. But if you ate them every day, one little sweet at a time, well…” Mery opened his hands, as if to reveal a wonder inside. “At first you’d simply have a little stomachache. But then it would get worse, and worse, and worse. ”

He took one last look at the poppy and cast it to the ground. “Until one day you’d just die. And everyone would be awfully sad and blame it on a demon or a curse or the annual pest, and the priests, having given their very best effort, would shrug their shoulders and say that the gods work in mysterious ways.” He chuckled. “That’s all conjecture, of course. But if someone I knew came up with a plan like that, I’d applaud their ingenuity. Wouldn’t you?”

Sita closed her eyes, her mind reeling with the implications of her brother’s words. “Mery,” she whispered, trying hard to control the growing hysteria in her voice. “Father isn’t the only one eating those cakes.”

Mery’s eyebrows rose, and for once, he looked surprised. She took a grim satisfaction in that.

I guess you didn’t plan for everything, did you? she thought.

“Maet,” he said, realization dawning.

“Yes, Maet! She could die because of you! Father has been sharing those cakes with her. He’s still doing it, even now! We have to stop this! Maybe if she doesn’t eat any more, she could survive, and then—”

“No.”

The word was solid. Final. Like a stone being laid over a grave.

“No one can know.” Mery took her face in one hand and pulled her toward him, as if for a kiss. His hand still held the scent of the poppy, earthy and sweet, with a hint of smoke. “And we don’t stop until it’s done. If we tell them the cakes are poison—if anyone finds out—they’ll kill us, Sitamun. Not just me. They’ll kill you too. Do you understand? Or do you think your throat is too pretty to cut? You may have the purest blood, sister, but there are a dozen other girls waiting to take your place.”

Sita let out a choked sob. “I can’t keep doing this,” she said, gripping the scarab amulet in her hand. “I can’t —”

Mery’s expression softened. “Oh yes, you can.” Mery whispered, his lips lovingly shaping each word, “Not for me, but for the kingdom. For our people. This is the hard part. But soon, this will all be in the past. Remember all the fun we used to have? We’ll have it again, you and me, I promise. And we’ll bring all Khetara along with us. All right?”

Sita sniffed, tears rolling down her cheeks. There was something unsettling, a hidden message that she couldn’t decipher in what he said. But she was too sad, too tired, and too confused to fight him. He was Mery the beautiful, the brilliant, the future king. Who was she to question his decisions, no matter how monstrous they might seem?

She thought of the pile of dead birds on the ship, and how much she abhorred fowling.

Ah, but you’ll like them very much when Cook roasts them for your supper tonight, won’t you, little kitten?

Mery had done the vile deed, but she and the rest of the kingdom would benefit from it. Perhaps it was cowardly to enjoy the meat her brother provided for the table, while complaining about what he had to do to get it there.

Have courage , she told herself, wiping the tears from her face.

“All right,” she replied.

Her brother replied with a heart-melting smile. “Now, forget about this ugliness and get yourself ready for the evening meal. Tonight, we feast on the spoils of the hunt!”

After he left, Sita stayed by the fishpond for a long while, staring down into the water. Finally, she stood, and there was a sudden flutter of wings. A falcon rose from a rosebush, launching into the air. There was something small and wet lying on the ground nearby. Sita stepped toward it and saw the half-eaten remains of one of the long-tailed monkeys, its little mouth open, its glossy innards spilling out onto the stone tiles. Feeling sick, Sita glanced over to the sycamore tree, where she could see the other monkey watching from the branches, silent and alone.

Above, the falcon wheeled through the sky, waiting, crying out for more blood.