“Then why haven’t you said anything? I just said that tomorrow we are going to see the temple and you…” She sucked in her breath. “You were thinking of the general,” she accused. “I saw you come into the Great Hall with him last night!”
I turned away so she wouldn’t see my blush.
“Well, put him out of your mind,” she snapped. “He’s not a favorite with Amunhotep and you won’t be seen with him.”
“I won’t?” I stood up, suddenly angry. “I’m thirteen years old. What gives you the right to tell me who to see?”
We stared at each other and the lines grew tight around her mouth. “I am Queen of Egypt. This is not like in Akhmim when we were just girls. I am the ruler of the wealthiest kingdom in the world and you will not be responsible for bringing me down!”
I gathered my courage and shook my head fiercely. “Then leave me out of it.” I moved toward the door, but she barred my exit.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to my courtyard.”
“You can’t!” she exclaimed.
I laughed. “So, what? You’re going to stand here all night?”
“Yes.”
We stared at each other, then the tears welled in her eyes. I reached out my hand, but she waved it away. She walked over to the bed and threw herself down on it. “You want me to be by myself? Is that it?”
I went and sat down next to her. “Nefertiti, you have Amunhotep. You have Father—”
“Father. Father loves me because I am the daughter with ambition and cunning. It’s you he respects. It’s you he talks to.”
“He talks to me because I listen.”
“And so do I!”
“No. You don’t listen. You wait until someone says what you want to hear and then you pay attention. And you don’t take Father’s advice. You don’t take anyone’s advice.”
“Why should I? Why should I be a sheep?”
I sat silently. “You have Amunhotep,” I pointed out again.
“Amunhotep,” she repeated. “Amunhotep is an ambitious dreamer. And tonight he’ll be with Kiya, whose vision doesn’t extend beyond the end of her crooked nose!”
I laughed because it was true, and she reached out her hand to touch my knee.
“Stay with me, Mutny.”
“I’ll stay for tonight.”
“Don’t do me any favors!”
“I’m not. I don’t want you to be alone,” I said earnestly.
She smiled smugly and poured two cups of wine. I ignored her self-satisfied expression and sat next to her at the brazier, drawing a blanket over both of our knees.
“Why doesn’t Amunhotep like the general?” I asked her.
Nefertiti knew immediately which general I meant. “He chose to stay in Thebes rather than come to Memphis.” The fire from the brazier cast golden shadows on her face. She was beautiful even without her jewels and crown.
I protested. “But not every general could come to Memphis with us.”
“Well, Amunhotep distrusts him.” She swirled the wine in her cup. “And for that reason you can’t be seen with him. Those who were loyal came with him to Memphis.”
“But what happens if the Elder dies? Won’t the army join together again in Thebes?”
She shook her head. “I doubt we’ll be going back to Thebes.”
I nearly dropped my cup. “What do you mean? Someday the Elder will die,” I exclaimed. “Perhaps not soon, but someday—”
“And when he does, Amunhotep will not return.”
“Has he said this? Have you told Father?”
“No, he hasn’t said this. But I’ve come to know him.” She looked into the flames. “He will want his own city. One outside of Memphis that will stand as a testament to our reign.” She couldn’t stop herself from smiling.
“But don’t you want to return to Thebes?” I asked her. “It’s the center of Egypt. It’s the center of everything.”
Nefertiti’s smile widened. “No, Mutny. We’re the center of everything. Once the Elder dies, wherever we are the court will follow.”
“But Thebes—”
“Is just a city. Imagine if Amunhotep could build an even bigger capital.” Her eyes widened. “He would be the greatest builder in the history of Egypt. We could inscribe our names on every doorpost. Every temple, every shrine, every library, even the art would be testaments to our lives. Yours, too.” Her black hair shone in the firelight. “You could have your own building, immortalize your name, and the gods would never forget you.”
I heard Nakhtmin’s voice in my mind, that to be forgotten was the greatest gift that history could give. But that couldn’t be true. How would the gods know what you had done? We