He wasn’t in the mood for humor. “I have something important to say to you, Nefertiti. I—I’m afraid to, but if I don’t say it now … We can’t see or write to each other again until Father and Mother come back. You know that, don’t you?”
“I know that Thutmose is going to be worse than ever, now that Pharaoh’s left him in charge,” I said. “But surely a message or two—it wouldn’t have to be in writing. If we asked Sitamun to carry word …”
“No. Nothing. We shouldn’t even be meeting now, but I don’t know how long Father and Mother will be away and I couldn’t let there be a long, unexplained silence between us, especially when I—”
“Why must there be any silence?” My fierce whisper cut off his words. “Thutmose is frightening, and I’m not looking forward to living under his rule, but I refuse to be afraid of him. He spends so much time with the Amun priests, but he lives as if he’s given himself to Set, body and spirit. What is wrong with him?”
“What would you do, Nefertiti, if all your life you’d been told that there was only one prize you had to win? And I mean that you had to, because if you didn’t, you’d benothing. Less than nothing! How would you feel if every day you were told how wonderful your life was going to be when you finally reached that goal but no one ever asked you if it was what you wanted?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I know that feeling,” I said dryly. “Why do you keep making excuses for him? He’s hurt you more than once, and it’s obvious that he scorns you. Why do you stand for that? Wait, don’t answer.” I held up one hand. “You’re going to say ‘Because he’s my brother,’ aren’t you?”
“No, Nefertiti,” Amenophis replied softly. “Because my brother is afraid of me and it breaks my heart. He can’t even look at me without believing that my only desire is to take everything away from him. His fear and bitterness and jealousy are a sickness that’s eating away at him. When we die, we all must face Ammut, the Devourer of Souls, but Thutmose fights her every day of his life and I—I’m scared he’s losing the battle. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to see him well again. I want my brother to be my brother, and to love me as I love him.”
Amenophis’s words touched me deeply. His love and compassion for Thutmose were sincere. I would feel the same way if it were Bit-Bit who treated me like Thutmose treats him, I thought. It is a sickness. I couldn’t hate her for that.
I gave Amenophis a quick, strong hug. “All right,” I said. “Let’s stay apart. We won’t do or say anything to feed Thutmose’s fears. Because it means so much to you, I promise that I’ll do everything I can to reassure him that he has nothing to fear from you. Don’t worry, I won’t say it that way.” I smiled. “It would be wonderful if the two of us could soothe his mind. And who knows? Maybe there’s a different person under all that jealousy, someone I could like enough to marry.”
“You would—you would want to marry him?” Amenophis’s voice in the shadows was troubled.
“After all I’ve seen of him, I doubt I could ever want to marry him, but since I’ll have to, someday, I’m going to try to become more like you and hope for the best.”
“That’s not what I’d call—” The rest was lost. When I asked him to repeat what he’d just said, he was his cheerful self when he replied: “Perhaps you ought to marry Thutmose right away. Once he’s certain that no one else can have you, he won’t be so touchy about our friendship and we’ll be able to see each other freely.” He must have seen the look of alarm on my face, despite how dark it was under the tumbled canopy, because he swiftly said, “I’m joking, I’m joking!”
“Sweet Isis, it’s a joke I’m sick of,” I said. “I’ve had my fill of people who see me as nothing more than a marriage waiting to happen. And what a marriage! Never a single word said about love, only power, and never any power of my own. The high priest of Isis in Akhmin, your mother, your brother, they’re all alike, all wanting me to marry so that they can get what they desire. I’m tired of being the paddle that the baker uses to pull hot bread out of the oven. When do I get to taste the bread? If it were up to me, I’d steal your chariot and drive it so far from here that no one would know me. Then maybe I could make something worthwhile of my life, whether I married or not!”
“Nefertiti, your life here is already—” Amenophis began, but his speech was interrupted when the edge of our makeshift refuge was thrown aside. Sitamun stood over us.
“You have to leave, Amenophis,” she ordered, face and body taut with anxiety. “You told me that you only wanted to say a few words of farewell to Nefertiti. I wouldn’t have arranged this if I knew you’d take this long or make so much noise about it.” She stared at me meaningfully. “Now go!”
He unfolded his long legs and left without another word. I was still so angry that I wasn’t even sorry to see him leave me. With Sitamun’s help I reattached the canopy, dropped cross-legged to the floor, and turned my thoughts away from everything except my writing. When Henenu at last called an end to our session, he remarked at how much progress I’d made.
“Let’s see if you can be as industrious next time I see you, without raising a storm first.” He spoke playfully and nodded toward the rehung sunshade. “We thought it was in danger of filling like a sail and blowing away.”
I blushed. “I thought I was whispering.”
“You whisper loudly, but not loudly enough to carry beyond this rooftop, thank the gods,” Sitamun said.
Days passed and I regretted that Amenophis and I had parted so unpleasantly. If I’m unhappy about my future, I should put my mind to changing it, not complaining about it, I thought. I lashed out at the best friend I have.