I wished there were a way I could let him know how much I regretted my snappishness, but how? We had promised to keep our distance, for Thutmose’s sake: no meetings, however secret; no notes, however carefully passed along; not one thing that his ailing mind could pounce on as “proof.”
I suppose I could ask Sitamun to tell Amenophis that I’m sorry. Just one whisper and after that, nothing more. She wouldn’t even have to bring me back an answer. O Isis, I miss him!
I made my request the next time we shared a lesson with Henenu. Sitamun looked very doubtful, but I coaxed and wheedled until she agreed. “You could wait until my parents return from Dendera,” she said primly. “They won’t be gone forever, and Amenophis has probably forgotten all about the way you scolded him.”
“But I remember it,” I said.
“Remember what, Nefertiti?” Thutmose’s smiling face popped into sight. He reached the topmost step and joined us on the rooftop. Henenu and Nava fell to their hands and knees. He accepted their display of respect as his due, but when Sitamun and I bowed to him he said, “Please, this isn’t the royal court. We’re all family here. That’s not necessary.” He looked so relaxed and spoke so amiably that it was startling.
“Really, brother?” Sitamun arched one brow. “You had a different attitude when we bid farewell to Mother and Father. From the look on your face then, I think you would’ve ordered your guards to arrest any of us who broke ranks and left before you dismissed us.”
“That was days ago, with the priests and nobles watching. They had to see evidence that I was going to be a strong ruler in Father’s absence. If I couldn’t get them to take me seriously, I’d be betraying the trust Father placed in me by making me regent in his absence.” His smile never wavered. “I apologize if I was rough with you, and I intend to atone for it. Tonight we’ll have a special dinner, just the family. Will you come?” He was looking at me.
An invitation or a command in disguise? Whichever it was, I wasn’t about to test it. I remembered my promise to Amenophis. Thutmose looks genuinely happy. He has what he’s always wanted, even if it’s only temporary. If he’s found serenity, ruling in his father’s place, I’ll do all I can to keep him content—
I recalled the sharp pain of his fingers digging into my arm that day on the dock and the intense, intimidating way he’d demanded “respect.”
—but I don’t trust him.
Thutmose’s family dinner lacked nothing. The eight of us shared one of the finest banquets that Pharaoh’s cooks could produce. As we entered the room where oil lamps leaped and flickered, Thutmose himself placed flower garlands around our necks and set cones of perfumed wax on top of our heads. As the evening wore on, the wax melted and the room filled with the dizzying scent of blossoms and spices.
Amenophis chose a seat as far from his brother as possible, and equally far from me. That didn’t last long. Thutmose was in high spirits, laughing and joking with his sisters. When he noticed where his brother had placed himself, he made a great show of indignation.
“Amenophis, why are you all the way over there? Did I forget to bathe or is it you? Come on, sit here, beside me. We’ve had our quarrels, but I want tonight to be a gateway to better times.” He wouldn’t let it go until Amenophis, with much reluctance, took the chair at Thutmose’s right side.
Sitamun was seated to her oldest brother’s left, and I had the stool next to hers. While Thutmose heaped Amenophis’s plate with the best portions from every platter on the table, I was able to whisper to my friend, “Do you believe this?”
Sitamun shrugged and whispered back, “I want to.”
As the meal progressed, Thutmose’s unusual good humor was contagious. I think that all of his family felt the same way as Sitamun—they wanted to believe that their Father’s decision to hand over part of his authority to Thutmose—even for a little while—had had a magical effect on their normally cold and distrustful brother. Smiles and laughter were everywhere, all formality and reserve vanished, helped into oblivion by the never-ending streams of wine that poured into our cups.
While we ate and drank, a group of musicians struck up one merry tune after another for our entertainment. Professional dancers leaped, spun, kicked, even did handsprings, their tattooed arms and legs flashing in the lamplight, their belts tinkling. We soon joined the sound of our hands clapping to the crisp beat of the tambourines, the clack of castanets, and the jangle of the sistrums.
At a sign from Thutmose, one of the dancers holding a sistrum adorned with Hathor’s face thrust that ankh-shaped rattle into my hands and encouraged me to play along. Others were urging the rest of the royal princesses to accept their instruments, too. The music wrapped itself around us, the rhythm flooded our bodies, the wine made our heads reel. Before I knew it, I was whirling across the floor with Sitamun and her sisters. The dance’s captivating spell possessed me and I came within a breath of stripping away my pleated linen gown because it held me back from matching the dancers’ most spectacular steps. Because I was the only one who’d chosen not to wear a wig, my hair came undone from the long plait down my back. Joyously I tossed my sistrum to Amenophis, who was closest, reached up, and unbraided my hair completely until it was spinning around me like a cloak. We finished our improvised dance amid cheers and much applause from everyone—Thutmose, Amenophis, the hired dancers, the musicians, even the servants. I returned to my seat flushed and tired but feeling as if I’d just been given a priceless gift from the gods.