He bent his head over me, and I felt his breath on my hair. “I can’t walk fast or far until my foot has healed. It will be my fault if Thutmose catches up to us and we lose Ta-Miu. Won’t that be the true waste of the gods’ kindness? Are you so sure this gift is meant for us, Nefertiti?”
“Amenophis …” I turned my head so that there was only a fingertip’s breadth between our faces. “Amenophis, I—I feel—” Why couldn’t I tell him the words that had come to my lips so readily when I spoke to Thutmose? I love Amenophis. With all my heart, I do. He had been the awkward one when we’d first met, but now it was my turn to be gawky, clumsy, tripping over my words the way he used to trip over his own feet. He’s grown up since those days, I thought. He’s more sure of himself, less timid, more—more of a prince. And I’m the timid one. Dear Isis, why is it so hard to say such simple words as I love you? If Amenophis has found the way to be bolder, why can’t I?
But all that I could manage to do was turn my head away from him again and say, “If it was meant for me, it’s meant for us. I won’t accept it any other way. If you can’t travel fast or far, then we’ll have to choose a path that offers us plenty of places to hide from Thutmose until you’re fully healed. Then we’ll race to plead my case before your father.”
He rubbed his chin. “Places to hide … I might have an idea about that.” He sounded confident, but his expression was uncertain. “Not even my brother would imagine us taking refuge there. You’re right: The important thing is that we keep Ta-Miu with us.”
I clasped his hand. “The important thing is that we stay together.”
6
THE SERVANTS OF BAST
This is not a tomb, I told myself as I sat with my back to the cool stone wall and looked out over the deserted, moonlit landscape. It’s not. It’s a cave, an ordinary cave, not something made by human hands, not a sacred place, not consecrated to the dead.
It was the same recitation I made to myself every night since we’d come here, to a place so close to the great valley of tombs that it might as well have been a part of that august royal burial ground. I don’t know why I felt the need to go through such a ritual. There was no need to convince myself that we’d taken refuge in a cave and not … elsewhere. We were in a cave—that was Ma’at’s own truth. We would never have committed the sin of trespassing on a tomb, even if it was one that was still under construction or, worse, one that had been despoiled by thieves.
But the place of the royal tombs cast a long, invisible shadow. It was impossible to turn my eyes in that direction and not picture what lay hidden there. The dry riverbed valley where so many of Amenophis’s ancestors were at rest drew my imagination with its mysteries and made my heart tremble in awe. The steep, rocky paths that climbed its cliffs wound their way past an unknown number of hidden burials. The bodies of kings, princes, men of power, and their families were preserved for eternity in carved stone rooms piled high with all the luxuries and treasures they would need to enjoy the afterlife. Their safety had been guaranteed by generation after generation of priests who sealed those tombs with potent spells and curses on anyone impious enough to break those seals and take those treasures. The whole valley seemed to echo with all of the threats and warnings that had followed the royal dead into the heart of the mountains.
This is not a tomb, I repeated over and over again in my mind. Isis, shining goddess, you are my witness: We’ve done no wrong in coming here. We’ll be gone as soon as Amenophis is well enough to travel again.
But when would that be? We’d reached this cave two days ago, after a fear-driven march. None of us had slept well on the road. Amenophis pushed himself too much, trying to get us away from the flat land surrounding the abandoned house, away from the possibility of Thutmose’s guardsmen spotting us too easily. A healthy man would have found the pace tiring, and Amenophis was still sicker than he’d admit. He didn’t speak up when his wounded foot began hurting more and more. He wouldn’t let me touch him, not even to hold his hand, for fear that if his fever had come back, I’d discover it. Now he lay stretched out on the floor at the back of our cave, drained to the bone. I heard him toss and turn, groaning in his sleep, and covered my face with my hands, feeling helpless.
“Nefertiti, are you crying?” Nava squatted in front of me and leaned against my updrawn knees.
“No, dearest,” I said, looking up. “I’m just tired. See? No tears.”
She glanced back into the cave. “I think he’s getting better. His foot’s not swollen anymore, and it’s the right color.” She looked at me. “So why won’t he get up?”
“I don’t know. It could be that he just needs to rest more. He needs to rebuild his strength.” I remembered the scrawny boy I’d met in the royal palace. Amenophis had the look of someone who’d been battered by childhood illnesses. He’d already shown that he could be as strong and commanding a presence as his brother, but the ghost of past ailments lingered near him.