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Neff

Neff studied her reflection in the polished bronze disk. For the second time since she’d arrived in Thonis, she’d been transformed.

From the moment she’d woken that morning in a grand chamber at the palace, Neff hadn’t had a single minute to herself. She hadn’t even gotten out of bed when four female attendants arrived with trays of sumptuous food and a jar of freshly pressed grape juice. They’d sat by impatiently as she ate the best meal of her life, and then whisked her straight into a deliciously warm, jasmine-scented bath. After that, they dried and rubbed her all over with fragrant oils and began to dress her. It was, in every way, more enjoyable than her initiation into the temple with the Wabet, but it felt equally strange. Instead of being purged of her old life, it felt like a new one was being grafted on, using fine linens and makeup and jewelry.

Back at home in Bubas, it took the space of a minute for her to get dressed for the day. She’d smooth out her kalasiris dress, comb her fingers through her hair, and that was that. Her ablutions at the temple had taken somewhat longer, but still not a lot of time.

At the palace, despite the fact that there were four other people helping her, dressing took hours.

When they finally finished, the attendants left in a flurry, off to complete the next task on their list for the prince’s coronation ceremony at the temple. Alone in her chambers, Neff sat in a daze on an acacia-wood stool by her dressing table, staring at herself in the handheld mirror.

She could hardly believe her eyes.

Is that really me?

Her lips and cheeks were rosy with rouge, her large round eyes lined with black kohl. Over her bald head, they’d affixed a black wig cut in a chin-length style, its tresses woven through shiny gold tubes in a complex pattern. It was nothing like her natural hair, which had been curly and mouse brown. The wig was bold and rich and alluring.

The rest of her costume was no less impressive. Golden cuffs clasped her ankles and wrists, and they’d placed a jeweled collar with an image of Bast around her neck, a tribute to the goddess who’d brought her to Thonis. Finally, they’d wrapped her in a pleated sky-blue dress, its hem decorated with lotus flowers stitched in gold.

I’m moving up in the world , she thought, recalling her father’s words, and I need to look the part. If I want people to respect me, I must command respect!

The first step in her plan was complete. She’d hidden herself and her true intentions beneath a cover of jewels and kohl and featherlight gowns. That was the easy part. The next step was to use the position Meryamun had offered her in his court to influence him in the days to come. Her lifesaving prophecy had proved to the prince that she was an important asset, and at least for now, he trusted her. But his belief wasn’t enough. The whole palace needed to accept her if she was going to exert influence over anything. To do that, she needed to believe in the product. She needed to believe in herself.

Neff stood up straighter, squared her shoulders, and tried on a few confident expressions for size while running through her father’s list of rules for success.

Always look the customer in the eye, so they know you mean business .

Tell them what they want to hear.

Speak clearly, and don’t overexplain.

Don’t take no for an answer.

It was almost as if she could hear Pepi’s voice in her ear, like a mischievous god imparting wisdom of his own. She missed him and her mother more than ever, maybe because they’d never felt so far away. She thought of how simple her life had been, spending her days selling spell scrolls at the Bubas market, and wondered what her father would think of the kind of magic she’d witnessed. She’d never forget the sight of the serpent staff in the Heka priest’s hand, changing from wood to flesh before her eyes. Forbidden powers, accessible only to a choice few people in all the kingdom, those most trusted by the pharaoh.

Neff gasped as an idea struck her.

No, I couldn’t , she murmured.

The mouth says no , her father’s voice whispered, but the heart shouts yes!

Well , she thought, why not?

Setting the hand mirror down on the table among the cosmetic palettes, hairbrushes, and bottles of oil, Neff slipped into the sandals the attendants had left for her. After a lifetime of woven reed sandals that blistered her feet, the fine leather shoes felt like a comforting embrace. With one final look at her white dress from the temple, discarded in the corner like an old snakeskin, she left the room, making her way through the palace toward the royal chambers.

The halls were crowded with servants and courtiers preparing themselves for the coronation ceremony, which was set to begin in two hours’ time. She wound around them, relieved to go unnoticed. There was an air of excitement among the crowd, but Neff sensed tension too. Some of the smiles seemed forced, and conversations muted. Neff strained to overhear them as she passed by.

“I called out for Tadia when I woke this morning,” one middle-aged woman said to another. “She wasn’t there… or the other wives either. And Ineni! The king’s favorite. And so young! I can’t wrap my mind around it, Nebet. The prince says they all chose to join their king in the Duat, to serve him in the afterlife, but I spoke to Tadia before she left that night. She didn’t say anything out of the ordinary. She didn’t even say goodbye…”

The other woman reached for her friend’s hand and squeezed it. “You must keep these thoughts to yourself, do you hear? Lest they be used as weapons against you. Come on, we shouldn’t linger here.” And with that, she pulled her friend away.

Neff watched them go, a fresh chill crawling up her spine. She’d already known about the slaughter of the king’s court, but hearing it again was a stark reminder of to whom she’d sworn allegiance.

A cold-blooded killer.

She shivered. If Meryamun ever finds out what I’m doing, if he ever realizes that I’ve lied to him, he’ll kill me.

All right, then , she told herself. Then make sure he doesn’t find out.

She raised her chin at an imperious angle, as if her importance should be obvious to everyone, and kept walking.

She moved past a host of guards into an empty corridor, sumptuously arrayed with green tiled floors and walls painted in black and gold. Two braziers burned on either side of a portal covered by a sheer curtain. She tried her best to walk with purpose, as if she belonged there.

Sure enough, no one stopped her, nor asked her a single question. They simply nodded at her as she passed. The prince, it seemed, had made it clear that she was under his protection, and was free to move about as she pleased.

She stopped at the sheer curtain, hearing voices beyond.

“The ships from Sakesh are due back any time now,” a gruff voice said. “If all has gone to plan, they’ll be carrying some high-value Low Khetaran prisoners who may offer information about the insurgency.”

The prince’s voice was impatient. “Never mind about that. Where is she?”

“I’m sorry, my prince?” The man sounded flustered.

“My sister, you ass! Where is she? ” There was a bang, like a fist crashing upon a table.

“I-I sent my best men after her, I swear it. They’ve scoured every fingerbreadth of Thonis. The princess may have had help getting out of the city, I’m afraid.”

Meryamun growled with irritation. “How about that guard—Femi? Has he told you anything?”

“Unfortunately no, my prince. He claims to know nothing about Princess Sitamun’s flight, other than some talk about her traveling north. But all the ships heading upriver were thoroughly searched.”

“And you’ve offered him plenty of… encouragement, I assume?”

“If we encourage him any further, he won’t live to see another sunrise.” There was a pause. “But we haven’t given up the search. She will be found, my prince. I give you my word.”

“Don’t give me your word, damn you,” Meryamun sneered. “Keep it.”

Neff sidestepped from the door as the guard burst through the curtain, so preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn’t notice her.

Neff stared at the shadowy figures moving behind the curtain and took a deep breath before pushing it aside.

“Prince Meryamun, may I—” she began. The next words stuck in her throat.

Meryamun turned his head toward her. He was lounging on a polished wooden couch, wearing a loincloth and nothing else. Two servant girls, whose clothing consisted of little more than what the prince himself wore, knelt beside him, massaging his hands and feet. His body was long and lithe, his skin a warm golden brown. Her eyes followed the V-shaped curve of his pelvis down to the edge of the loincloth, and she blushed.

“Oh, I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, and had started to back away when he called to her.

“Nefermaat,” he purred. “Don’t go. You’re welcome here.”

With effort, Neff turned back to face him. He waved the girls away and they left without a word, moving soundlessly into a side chamber.

Neff and the prince were alone.

Her pulse quickened, and she started to drop her gaze to the floor.

Look him in the eye, so he knows you mean business.

She looked up.

Meryamun smiled and stood, padding toward her on bare feet. “You look extraordinary. Did you come to show yourself to me?”

Neff considered this as he came closer, bringing with him a fragrance of balsam wood and spice.

Tell them what they want to hear.

“Yes, my prince,” she answered. “You honor me with this gown and this jewelry.”

Meryamun chuckled with pleasure. “And these?” He reached out to shift the straps of her gown, revealing tattoos of small wedjat eyes on either side of her chest. The skin around them was still a little pink. “Did it hurt?”

As soon as she’d arrived at the palace, Meryamun had ordered a priest to apply the tattoos, which marked her as a high priestess, sacred to the crown. She’d lain on a table while the man dipped a sharp needle in a bowl of soot mixed with water, then used it to carve the ink into her flesh. He’d put one on each side of her chest, and two more on the small of her back—identical to the ones the high priestess of Bubas had. The process had been excruciating.

“It was fine, my prince,” she said.

Meryamun laughed. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Am I, though? Neff thought.

Meryamun brushed his thumb against the outline of the eye on her right shoulder, and Neff resisted the urge to wince.

“Now everyone will know that you are under the gods’ protection, as well as mine,” he said. “Whatever action they take in your presence will have a divine witness. These marks are made from the ash of sacred flames. Did you know that?” He leaned in close. “You see? You don’t need the temple anymore, my girl. You are a temple.”

Neff swallowed. This is your chance . Speak clearly, and don’t overexplain.

“Speaking of the temple,” she began. “Since I cannot continue my lessons with Master Montuhotep—”

Meryamun scoffed. “You don’t need him. And frankly, neither do I. He was useful to me for a while, but now that I have you… he’s become quite unnecessary.”

He was useful … Neff mused. Perhaps Montuhotep really had known about the prince’s plans, and had lied to the king in hopes of securing his position in Meryamun’s favor. He must be very displeased with Neff for taking his place, but that was a problem for another day. “As you say, my prince,” Neff said with a dip of her head. “However, I do wish to continue my education.”

The prince looked at her with interest. “You already have an open channel to the gods. What else could you need to learn?”

“I wish to learn the ways of Heka.”

Meryamun’s eyes narrowed. “Magic?”

Neff nodded. “What good is knowing the future if I don’t have the power to change it?”

The prince’s expression was inscrutable. “Indeed,” he murmured.

As the seconds passed, Neff began to sweat. Had she asked too much, too quickly?

Don’t take no for an answer.

“I ask because I wish to serve you as best I can,” she said, filling the silence. “Not only as the voice of the gods, but as their hand as well. With the power of prophecy and Heka combined, there is nothing we could not achieve.” She paused deliberately. “But if the knowledge is forbidden…”

“Nothing is forbidden! Not from me!” Meryamun exclaimed, just as she’d hoped he would.

He regarded her, his eyes intense, the heat from his body radiating like an aura around him. “If I allow you this knowledge, you will use it to bring glory to my reign?”

Neff’s thoughts turned to “The Forty-Two Ideals of Maat,” the scroll she’d recited over and over again in the House of Life. They were vows made to a goddess whose name she shared, and whose essence was truth.

She’d vowed that she wasn’t guilty of sin, nor of wicked magic against the pharaoh.

Neff took a deep breath and sent a message to the heavens.

Forgive me, goddess.

“Everything I do,” she said, “I do in your service, my prince.”

The prince licked his lips. “Then there is nothing beyond your grasp, little priestess. All you desire, consider it yours.”

“Thank you, my prince.” Neff bowed, deeply enough that the prince could not see the emotional battle on her face. It was the struggle of a truth-teller who’d uttered a lie that would seed itself in her soul, be fruitful there, and multiply.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Prince Meryamun,” said a voice from behind her.

Neff was surprised to see two figures standing in the portal behind her. One wore a falcon mask, and the other the mask of a long-beaked ibis. Each of them carried a large ceramic jug in his arms.

The Heka priests , she thought with alarm, you bring up the cat and it comes jumping.

“Not to worry, Nefermaat,” Meryamun said, mistaking her alarm for a childish fear of the strange-looking men. “The Heka priests are here to perform my ritual purification before the ceremony.” He gestured for them to enter.

“Fresh water from the Iteru, my prince,” said the one wearing the falcon mask, raising the jug for inspection. His gaze flicked to Neff, but only for a second. Either he didn’t remember her or knew better than to question a girl under the prince’s protection.

“Very good,” the prince replied, and made his way to the gleaming copper basin sitting by a window. Stepping inside, the prince knelt while the two priests poured the contents of the jars over him, speaking sacred words. Neff watched the water roll over his shoulders, down his back and chest, cleansing him body and soul.

Is it really so easy to erase your sins? she wondered. Her lie was the first of many, that she knew. She scolded herself. You must do whatever it takes to stop him. For Kenna. For Bubas. For Khetara.

Still, she couldn’t help but think that she would never feel clean again.

***

It felt strange being back at the Temple of Amun that afternoon. It had only been a day since Neff had left, and yet so much had changed. The atmosphere was akin to that of the Bast Festival, but multiplied a hundredfold. Festivals happen every year, but the coronation of a pharaoh? For most, that was a once-in-a-lifetime event.

Upon arrival, she was led through a throng of priests and priestesses making frantic last-minute preparations. Some of the Wabet passed by, dressed in translucent skirts and bead-net dresses. She waved to them, but they only turned to each other, whispered, and hurried on.

Nehshi crossed her path, and the young priest at least had the courtesy to acknowledge her.

“Nefermaat?” he said, his eyes wide. “Is that you?”

Is it? she thought.

She nodded.

A host of emotions passed over Nehshi’s round face. Finally, he broke eye contact and bowed, keeping his head low until she’d passed by.

Neff’s cheeks flushed. I think I prefer being ignored .

The attendants led her toward the side of the temple, where a wide platform had been prepared as the site for the ceremony. While Meryamun received blessings from Amun in the sanctuary and was anointed with sacred oils, she and the rest of the royal assembly gathered in the alcove adjacent to the platform, shielded from view by curtains hung from the roof high above. Beyond the curtains, Neff could hear the sound of a massive crowd, abuzz with anticipation.

Once the attendants touched up her face and hair, they dispersed to tend to other courtiers. Left on her own, Neff scanned the area. The tension she’d felt in the palace halls persisted in the crowd—if anything, it had increased. The concubines and servants that had been spared, newer additions or people close to Meryamun himself, huddled in groups, smiling nervously. The courtiers’ moods, near and distant relations of the king and queen, seemed uncertain, as if they were waiting to see how things would play out. On the other hand, several of the palace officials and viziers seemed more at ease, drinking their wine with what looked like a sense of satisfaction, discreetly raising their cups to each other as if in congratulations for a job well done. Neff wondered how many of them had known all along what was going to happen.

Among the gathered flock, in the emptiness between one group and the next, Neff sensed the ghosts of the missing. She wondered how long it would take Meryamun to fill them with new acolytes. She thought of him in his chambers, the blessed waters pouring over his shining body, and thought:

Not long. Not long at all.

Queen Bintanath stood nearby with one of the two middle-aged attendants Neff had seen earlier. The queen’s saffron-colored gown, accented with an amethyst-studded vulture-wing collar, was gorgeous. But her face, lovely as it was, was devoid of emotion. Her attendant offered her a painted goblet, which she took and drank, but her expression didn’t change.

The queen had been much the same when the prince had presented Neff to her upon their arrival at the palace. It wasn’t surprising, really. Within days, she’d lost her husband, her daughter had vanished, and her son—who’d had most of the king’s court massacred—was preparing to take the throne.

Looking at her, Neff thought the queen was no different from the goblet in her hand. They were both beautiful, and both empty.

There was really only one person Neff wanted to see, and she found him on the outskirts of the crowd.

Despite being a prince, Kenna’s costume was more austere than everyone else’s. He had exchanged his priest’s tunic for a robe that was fine but still white, and his only nod to the magnitude of the occasion was some kohl around his eyes and a gold pectoral featuring Anubis, the god of the dead. All around him, courtiers chatted quietly together, yet Kenna stood apart, silent and grave. When he noticed Neff looking at him, she glimpsed the hurt in his eyes before he turned away.

Considering the manner in which she’d left the temple, Kenna probably thought she’d seen the prince’s offer as a step up from the monastic life of a priestess, as if the friendship between them had meant nothing at all.

Neff had anticipated this moment and taken a side trip to the temple gardens to retrieve something before rejoining the rest of the group in the courtyard. She held it in her palm as she slowly made her way toward Kenna. She could feel his eyes on her as she approached, but she kept her gaze elsewhere, like she was intending to retrieve a goblet of juice from a table behind him. She didn’t want to be seen speaking to Kenna, or even standing too close to him, for fear of raising suspicions. But as she passed him, she reached out and slipped the little object from her hand to his.

Only after she’d picked up a drink from the table and moved back across the room did she chance a look in Kenna’s direction. Sure enough, he was studying the object with a puzzled expression.

It was a tiny pomegranate, still green and unripe.

He looked back at her, and she clasped her hands together, hoping he would understand her message. Trust me , Brother , she thought. I am still with you.

Kenna’s confusion cleared, like sunlight breaking through the clouds. Almost imperceptibly, he smiled.

Just then, a ripple of excitement rolled through the crowd.

Meryamun was coming.

The courtiers parted to reveal the three Heka priests walking toward the platform. They were all bare-chested, their skin shining with oil, and they wore elegant, elaborately pleated schentis. A hush fell over the crowd as they processed, each carrying a sacred item in their hands—

The ibis-masked priest, carrying the royal crook.

The falcon-masked priest, carrying the royal flail.

And finally, the priest Herihor, wearing the mask of a horned ram, carrying the double crown of Khetara.

Behind them, resplendent in a blue and red schenti shot through with gold, a lion skin thrown over his shoulder, came the crown prince.

He was magnificent. The cuffs on his wrists and ankles, as well as his winged golden collar, were studded with rubies and sapphires that glinted in the sunlight. His already striking face had been expertly painted with rouge, kohl, and green malachite powder that brought out the color of his eyes. His nose was strong, his lips inviting. No longer simply a man, he seemed to descend from the heavens to walk among them, radiating his own golden light.

The sight of him seemed to clear the much of the tension from the air. The men looked upon him with admiration, the women, desire. There was one sentiment they seemed to share, though—a heady mix of wonder, veneration, and dread.

Awe.

Neff felt it too. It would be so easy to fall at his feet, to explain away all the horrible things he’d said and done, and worship him. It was temptation of the highest order. It was the lure of a serpent’s intoxicating, undulating dance.

Armor your heart , she told herself, fists clenched at her sides. Remember why you’re here.

But when he stopped beside her, bending so that his luminous face was level with hers, and said, “Are you ready, little goddess?” Neff feared for her soul.

Lips trembling, she replied, “Yes, my prince.”

The crowd shifted as a flustered, disheveled man pushed through them.

“Prince Meryamun!” he exclaimed. Neff could hardly believe it when she saw the man was Master Montuhotep.

What in the world has happened to him? she wondered.

“I’ve brought the ceremonial mace,” he said quickly, lifting a weapon with a richly engraved pear-shaped head. “I would have been here sooner, but I was not summoned. There must have been a misunderstanding. Did your messengers not know where to find me? I’ve been managing the completion of your father’s tomb.”

“You were not summoned because you are not needed, High Priest,” Meryamun said mildly. “I thought I made that clear during our last meeting. Although I appreciate you bringing the mace. We will need it for the unification ritual.” He plucked the weapon from Montuhotep’s hand.

Montuhotep blinked several times, as if he’d been slapped.

“Not needed?” he repeated. “But my prince, as high priest, it is my duty to participate in the coronation. Your father—”

“My father,” the prince broke in, “is dead. As are his conventions. Today the sun sets on Amunmose’s Khetara.” He turned from the Master and toward Neff, placing the mace in her hands. “And rises on mine.”

Montuhotep stared at her, speechless.

As Neff followed the Heka priests and the prince toward the platform, her last glimpse of the high priest was of the big man standing alone, his face reddened with indignation.

Meryamun gestured for Neff to stand next to him behind the priests.

“It’s time,” he said to the waiting attendants, and with bowed heads, they pulled the curtains aside.

Neff gasped.

After her experience at the Bast Festival, she thought she’d seen it all. But nothing could have prepared her for the great roar that met her ears or the teeming multitude that flowed over the land in every direction.

Neff’s gaze flitted like a butterfly, unable to remain anywhere for more than an instant.

A sea of faces—men, women, children riding their fathers’ shoulders—their mouths open and hands outstretched.

Garlands of purple cornflower and creamy jasmine draped over every statue in sight.

Potted palms and huge burning braziers decorated the platform, where a group of musicians and the Wabet began to play and dance, their bodies sinuous and full of grace.

It was as if the entire kingdom had gathered there to celebrate, all of them crying out for their glorious godling to lead them into a shining tomorrow.

Neff’s attention was drawn to a face in the crowd. It seemed impossible to pick out a single person in the blurred masses, but she did. Maybe it was because everyone else was looking at the prince—but he was staring at her. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Yati?” she whispered.

When he caught her gaze, her father waved vigorously and shook Neff’s mother by the shoulder. “Ahura!” Neff saw him say. “She sees us!”

Neff watched her mother’s face light up as she began to wave too.

Shyly, Neff raised a hand and waved back, a swirl of emotions erupting within her. On one hand, the pride bursting from her father’s face was everything she’d ever wanted. She watched him elbow those standing nearby in the crowd, pointing her out to them. She watched his lips form the words over and over again.

“That’s my daughter! Do you see? That’s my girl!”

Her mother, however, didn’t look so well. She was gaunt, like a woman who had not eaten in weeks. She looked like she’d been deprived of the very thing that gave her life.

“Mamet,” Neff whispered, suddenly feeling like a child who wanted nothing more than to fall into her mother’s arms.

Armor your heart , she thought once more, smiling at her parents as she fought back tears. Remember why you’re here.

Then Herihor, the ram-headed priest, stepped forward and raised his arms to the sky. The people fell silent.

“Praise to Amun, King of the Air, Mysterious of Form, God of All That Is Seen and Unseen. Today we rejoice in the ascension of your humble servant and messenger to the throne of Khetara.”

Meryamun stepped forward, chin high, his body glistening with sacred oils.

“I name you,” said the falcon-masked priest, “Horus of Gold, Divine of Appearance, Lord of the Two Lands.” He handed him the crook.

“I name you,” said the ibis-masked priest, “Mighty Bull, Arising in Thonis, He of the Two Ladies, Enduring in Kingship.” He handed him the flail.

Neff had been watching this exchange when she was distracted by a flicker of light in the crowd, just below the platform. Three women stood together, three very strange women. They were dressed in ornate, extravagant gowns, one in white, one in black, and one in green. The woman in white was sand-skinned and pale eyed, and when she saw Neff look at her, she bowed her head. The woman in black was a somber reflection of the first woman, with eyes like deep pools and hair black as midnight. When she saw Neff’s eyes meet hers, she put a finger to her lips. Both women’s hair was dyed deep blue. The one in green was a mottled, stout old woman who gave Neff a too-wide smile and a knowing wink.

Are they performers? Dancers? If so, why aren’t they up on the platform with the others?

She’d never seen the three women before, and yet something about them felt familiar. Neff felt her mind drift to that middle place between heaven and earth, to the center of the flame where her visions were born.

Her mind swimming, as if in a waking dream, she turned back to the coronation ritual, which was nearly complete.

“I name you,” declared the ram-masked priest, who loomed larger than before, “Meryamun, Son of Amun, He Whose Face Is the Sun.”

At this, the prince dipped his head, and the priest placed the double crown on his brow.

Neff watched the face of the priest change from a painted mask to a real ram’s head, with long twisting horns and strange, horizontal eyes. Amun—or was it Khnum? They were both rams, after all. Perhaps one had led to the other, or perhaps they were one and the same: gods hidden within gods, streams all flowing to the same river.

Much is hidden.

“Arise, King of Khetara,” boomed the priest.

But much will be revealed.

King Meryamun stepped up to her. Still in that surreal dreaming place, Neff flinched. The king blazed so brightly that her eyes hurt to look at him.

The sun shines , said a voice within her, but it also burns.

Had she heard that voice before? Those words? She couldn’t be sure.

Meryamun took the ceremonial mace from her hands and turned to Kenna, who had advanced to the middle of the platform. Despite the brightness of the day, he stood in shadow. His was a soft inner glow, like moonlight. Two brothers—one dazzlingly bright, the other shrouded in darkness. They were incomplete, Neff realized. Without the princess, they were out of balance.

Where is she ? Neff wondered, her mind drifting to the oracle. Where is Sitamun?

“As is tradition,” Herihor announced, “the king and his brother will now conduct the unification ceremony. With this ritual, we honor our ancestors with a reenactment of the creation of our kingdom, when the first great pharaoh smote his enemy and united our two lands. With this ritual, may Khetara be victorious over her enemies forevermore!”

Kenna came forward and knelt before the new king. He placed his hands behind his back, like a prisoner awaiting execution. With relish, Meryamun took a handful of his brother’s hair in his hand and pulled, forcing Kenna to look up at him. Then he raised the heavy mace above his head.

Kenna closed his eyes as if in prayer.

Neff’s heart began to race. It’s pretend , she told herself. He won’t hurt him.

But she saw the pleasure in Meryamun’s face, and she was afraid, and nearly cried out as the mace crashed down—

Before it could crush Kenna’s skull, the mace stilled, harmlessly touching the top of Kenna’s head like a kiss.

Meryamun released his grip on his brother’s hair, and Kenna’s head dropped in a pretense of death.

The crowd roared with approval.

Neff slumped with relief.

Meryamun set down the mace and took up his crook and flail. He raised his arms to the masses, drinking up their adulation. When he lowered them, the people quieted.

“People of Khetara,” Meryamun boomed. “I come to you today not only as Pharaoh, but as a bearer of the truth. Beware! The truth has long been a stranger to this land, so your ears may not be accustomed to hearing it. But I believe in you. I believe you are strong enough to be tempered, not destroyed, in the heat of the truth. Am I correct, Khetara? Are you strong enough to hear my words?”

The people cheered.

Neff leaned forward, wondering what it was the king was about to say.

“Then here it is. Here is the truth,” Meryamun said dramatically. “My father, may he live forever in the West, was a good man, and I feel his loss keenly. But people of Khetara, a good man does not always make a good king!”

A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd.

“He was, as I am now, a holy vessel,” Meryamun went on. “However, I believe that in his later years, he turned a deaf ear to the word of the gods. Ruled by weakness and sloth, he allowed this once great kingdom to run fallow. Why do you think the land does not grow as it once did? Why does the river not flow as swiftly as it has in the past? Why do you suffer where once you thrived?

“Because when you offer nothing to the gods, you receive nothing in return. We have forgotten that only through strength and sacrifice can this kingdom reach its potential. Khetara has suffered in this drought for too long. But tomorrow, that drought will be over. Tomorrow, the season of inundation begins.”

Neff felt that strange, otherworldly feeling intensify. Suddenly she was back in Bubas, standing before Bast’s palanquin, visions of blood saturating her mind’s eye.

Beware, for soon the Great River of Khetara will turn to blood.

“Tomorrow, the forgotten floodgates of power will be thrown wide, so the true might of this kingdom will once again flow free!”

The crowd cheered once more.

“Tomorrow, whosoever dares to oppose our great purpose will drown in the currents of war!”

Over the thundering masses, Neff heard the doleful words of the lamb.

Where once there was order, chaos will reign.

“Tomorrow,” Mery thundered, “is the birth of a new Khetara!”

Neff staggered, feeling as if she were back in her vision, drowning in words and in blood.

Take heed, Thonis, Great House of Amun!

Take heed, Sakesh, Great House of Ra!

Beware! Sorrow and ruin to the Children of the Two Lands!

Neff gasped, and the dream shattered. She blinked, overwhelmed by noise and color and motion. The crowd was beginning to disperse. She looked to where the three strange women had been standing, but they were gone.

The coronation was over.

Meryamun turned to her, laying a bejeweled hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right, Nefermaat? You look pale.”

She nodded. “Just overheated, my king.”

“Too long in the sun?” Meryamun said, his radiance blinding.

“I think so.”

“Then come. There is much still to do.” He gestured for her to walk with the others back into the temple. “Feasts and celebrations long into the night, food like you’ve never eaten before, dance, music…”

Neff followed his lead, dazed and frightened. Already the people of Khetara, desperate for salvation, adored their brilliant young king. The truth of his wickedness sat heavy in her heart, like a stone she was meant to throw.

She thought about what he might mean when he spoke of sacrifice—and she shivered.

“We must have our fun now, little seer,” Meryamun whispered in her ear. “In the morning, the work begins.”

Neff squeezed her eyes shut and held fast to the truth. For it was not only a weapon—it was an anchor.

Yes, my king , Neff thought grimly, in the morning the work begins.