sick with wine.” The servants looked between the Elder and his son. “Take him now!” Amunhotep shouted.
The servants rushed to do as they were bid. They carried Pharaoh toward the door. But the Elder broke free and rushed the dais violently.
Amunhotep reached for his short sword and my heart raced in my chest. “Nefertiti!” I cried.
Guards rushed to restrain the king, and the Elder shouted, “No prince who writes poems instead of fighting on the battlefield will control my kingdom! Do you hear? Tuthmosis was the chosen Prince of Egypt!” The guards hustled him toward the doors and he shouted violently, “The chosen prince!” The doors swung shut and suddenly there was silence. The diners in the Great Hall looked to Amunhotep, who sheathed his sword and flung his cup against the tiles. When it shattered into pieces, he held out his hand for Nefertiti. “Come.”
Dinner in the Great Hall was over.
Inside the antechamber to our rooms, Amunhotep’s mood was dark. “He’s like a pig, stuffing himself with food and women. I will never be like him!” he shouted. “He was more interested in the serving girl than he was in me. If Tuthmosis was alive, he would have begged him to tell his stories. What did you shoot today?” he mimicked. “A boar? No! You wrestled a crocodile?” Amunhotep’s pacing grew more fervent. Between the two of them, they would wear the polish off these tiles. “Why is Tuthmosis the chosen one?” he thundered. “Because I don’t go off and shoot things like he did?”
“No one cares whether or not you hunt,” Nefertiti said. She caressed his cheek, moving her hand through his tumble of curls. “Leave it,” she suggested. “Tomorrow we begin preparing for our departure, and you will be a true Pharaoh and beholden to no one.”
Chapter Eight
twenty-seventh of Pharmuthi
THE FOLLOWING DAY brought frenzied preparations to the palace. My parents were arranging litters and donkeys, and Nefertiti hollered into my chamber only when she wanted something from me. Should she bring her wigs or get new ones made? What should she wear on her progression to Memphis, and would Ipu and Merit be coming with us? No one was standing still in the palace. Even the army was in disarray, with the Elder choosing which men would stay with him and which ones would go. The generals were to decide for themselves.
I went out to the palace gardens, where there wasn’t any commotion, and walked down the avenue of sycamore trees, their bright foliage shading the cobbled road. I wandered off the path, stopping to admire the flowering myrtles that clustered near the olive groves, their thick white blossoms used to treat coughs, bad breath, and colds. All around the palace grew plants with properties to cure or hurt. I wondered if the Royal Gardener knew that jasmine was good for exhaustion, and whether he’d planted the vines near the yellow and white chamomile flowers by accident, or if he’d known that chamomile was also used by the court physicians to ease tension.
I could sit in the gardens all day and no one would notice until Nefertiti wanted something. I picked up a pebble and tossed it into the water, and as the splash resounded I heard a high-pitched mewl. First one, then another kitten darted out of the brush, startled by the noise the pebble had made. One of the palace felines had just produced a litter and the kittens bounded after their sleek black mother, nipping at each other’s tails and tumbling in the grass. I called one of them over to me, a green-eyed bundle who looked like her sire, and she curled up in my lap, mewling for food.
“I’ll bet you like it here in these gardens,” I said wistfully, chucking the kitten beneath the chin. “No one to bother you or ask you what kilt they should wear.” The kitten ignored me and climbed up my shirt, nestling its tiny head in my neck. I laughed and pried it away. “Come here.” It held out its tiny arms and claws, searching for something stable. “There.” I tucked the kitten into the crook of my arm and she sat there, watching the dragonflies, fascinated by them.
“Mutny?” Nefertiti called from across the garden. As always, her voice was filled with urgency. “Mutny, where are you?” She appeared through the trees, walking the perimeter of the lotus pond to get to me. Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she wasn’t crying. She never cried.