“Food,” I answered honestly.
“That’s what’s on your mind? Not your life, not your fate, but food?”
“You’ve made it quite clear to me that my life is over and my fate’s decided,” I replied evenly. “Why shouldn’t I think about food? I’m hungry.”
He snorted. “Leave it to Amenophis to carry you off in a grand, romantic escape and never think about providing for you. Did he think you could feast on love?”
“He brought food,” I said. “We lost everything in an accident on the river.”
Thutmose sauntered over to the little table, set down the lamp, and gathered up the remains of his meal. He was probably going to toss them at me as if I were a begging dog, but some remnant of kindness in him made him reconsider. Instead, he opened one of the small boxes and took out a stack of flat, heavy breads. “Here.” He let them tumble into my lap. “You probably would have eaten the honey instead of bringing it to my brother.”
He crossed to the big chest and took out the casket he’d mentioned. I stuffed pieces of bread into my mouth as I watched him kneel beside me to unpack rolled strips of linen bandages, tweezers, and a flint-bladed knife. There was also an assortment of stoppered clay jars and flasks, their contents marked in the wax sealing them. He picked up the one labeled honey and held it out to me. “You might as well,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” I looked at him suspiciously.
“You might as well eat it. Go on. It won’t turn that bread into honey cake, but it’s still good.”
“Is there more?” I eyed the now-empty casket and scanned the clay containers, but their markings showed that they held other remedies—coriander, paste made from willow bark to ease pain, henna, poppy juice to bring sleep, several flasks of the same castor-bean oil that was now burning in the clay lamp. “You’re making fun of me, Thutmose. We need this honey for Amenophis.”
“No, we don’t.” Thutmose’s face was unreadable. “I’ve been thinking things over, Nefertiti. What good will it do to bring my brother back to Thebes? He rebelled against the lawful decision of Pharaoh’s justice. All your fault, of course, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a traitor.”
“For what? For helping me live long enough to prove my innocence?” I lunged forward so suddenly that Thutmose jerked back. My hands hit the ground painfully hard, one worse than the other. The fat handle of the small flint knife made a hard lump under my palm. “Your parents won’t stay in Dendera forever, Thutmose.”
“They won’t need to,” he shot back, struggling to recover his dignity. “You’ll prove nothing to anyone. The river will have you before my boat reaches Thebes, and the underworld will have my brother. A shame that my men and I won’t be able to find him.” He smiled at the evil lie.
“You said you didn’t want his death!”
“I don’t. My heart is pure, free of his blood. I won’t touch him.”
“No, but you’ll leave him to die in pain, from fever and infection.”
Thutmose was unmoved. “Better that than to die a traitor’s death. You see how much I care about my brother? I’m only doing this to spare him.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off Thutmose’s face. There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in his voice or his features. He believes what he’s saying, I thought, aghast. He believes it. His mind’s become as twisted as a knot of serpents. Lady Isis have mercy on him!
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll tell the soldiers where to find their prince?” I asked in a low voice.
“Their prince is here,” he said haughtily. “And if you say one word to them about Amenophis, you’ll regret it.”
“I can’t be condemned to two deaths.” I defied him to argue with that.
“One for you.” He drew out the words, savoring them. “One for your family.”
My hand curved protectively around the flint knife. It was so small, so very small, a blade meant for delicate work to save a man’s life. Yet it was also big enough to end one.
Could I do it? I thought. Could I use this knife against this twisted, miserable boy, spill his blood, kill him? He’s wanted to kill me for a long time. He’d kill my family without a second thought. He talks so casually about leaving his brother to die! No. I can’t do it. It would make me as bad as he is. Worse than he is: My mind is clear and sound. I wouldn’t even have the excuse of madness.
But I must do something, or his madness will become a wildfire that consumes all that I love.
“You win, Thutmose,” I said. “I won’t tell your men about Amenophis. If the gods are kind, he’ll recover from his fever and return to Thebes on his own. I’m only sorry I won’t be able to see your face on the day he comes back to court and tells Pharaoh everything.”
“Pfff! Everything? Nothing. Without proof, his words will be no more than the rantings of a lunatic. His actions will only confirm that. Running away with you—”
I grabbed one of the flasks of castor-bean oil and smashed the clay neck with the hilt of the flint knife. With one smooth motion, I cast the contents over Thutmose, and before he could react, I did the same with a second marked flask. He was gaping as I dashed past him, but he still retained enough presence of mind to try to stop me. I jabbed his hand with the knife. The wound would be small but enough to keep him at bay until I reached my goal.
“Look at me, Thutmose,” I said grimly, holding the burning oil lamp in front of me. “I want you to look into my eyes so that you know I’m not afraid of you.”
“You’re not afraid; you’re crazy,” he said with disgust, cradling his bleeding hand. “My men will—”