King Amunmose shook his head and chuckled. “How much of it is memory, I wonder, and how much is simply the story we’ve always told ourselves? Maybe it doesn’t matter. We say something often enough, it eventually becomes the truth.” He paused, contemplative. “It reminds me of something that happened many years ago, just after you were born. A desert priest requested an audience with me. He went on and on about some ancient oracle, and how it was related to your birth. None of the priests of Amun had ever heard of him or his family name, just some pretender looking for an avenue to power. We threw him out, of course. But he didn’t stop raving about death and destruction until he was outside the palace gates. He really believed that nonsense.” The king leaned down from his palanquin and grabbed Sita by the shoulder, pulling her close. The smell of his breath made her nose wrinkle. It was heavy with wine, and something else. Sherecognized it from when one of the lesser wives had died in her quarters overnight, only to be discovered, stiff and cold, the next morning. It was a sour smell, the smell of rot.
“Those are the most dangerous sorts of people, Sitamun. Remember that. The people whose belief is so great that it blocks their mind from reason.” He pulled one of the amulets from his neck and pushed it into her palm. “Here, take this,” he said. “You need it more than I do.”
Sita looked at the carved piece of malachite in her hand. It was a scarab beetle, no different than the thousands she’d seen people wearing all her life. Why was he giving this to her now?
“Do you know what the scarab means, daughter?” he asked.
Sita thought back to what she’d learned from her tutor, who had spent years teaching her how to read and write the gods’ words, about Khetaran history and its stories and gods. Memorizing kings’ names and coronation dates bored her to tears, but she enjoyed the rest, even if her mother thought her mind was better filled with other things.
“It’s a symbol of transformation and rebirth,” she said. “The scarab beetle rolls her ball of dung and lays her eggs within, just as Khepra rolls the morning sun across the horizon, creating life anew each day.”
The king wagged his head, as if he was only partially satisfied with this answer. “Yes, yes, that is true. But what I want you to remember about the beetle is this: When you’re inreallydeep shit, you must seek something unexpected inside you. Only there will you find an answer.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you understand me, Sitamun?”
Sita could feel her eyebrows arching. “Um…”
Her father’s solemn face broke into a grin. He laughed until he was seized with a coughing fit, and sat back in his throne, taking a long drink from the cup of wine at his side. “Did you like that,Tabu? ‘Deep shit.’ Pharaoh is a man of a thousand talents, is he not?”
“Talents immeasurable, my king,” Tabu agreed.
Queen Bintanath squinted at the angle of sun outside the windows and tapped her foot on the ground. “I’m sure Sitamun appreciates your gifts of wisdom, imi-ib,” she said. “But she really must get dressed for the festival.”
Ignoring this, the king craned his neck as a pretty little girl ran through the hall with a young woman at her heels.
“Is that Maet?” he called. “Is that my little plum?”
The little girl squealed and dashed toward the palanquin, her sidelock bouncing. She was quickly scooped up by one of the litter bearers and placed on the king’s lap. Maet was the daughter of one of his lesser wives, and a personal favorite.
Sita tried not to be jealous. After all, Maet was only six.
Maet took the king’s face into her tiny hands and stared at him very seriously. “You look funny, Yati,” she pronounced.
The king stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes. Maet giggled. “Come now, kitten,” he said. “Let’s find something delicious to eat, shall we?” He turned back to Sita. “Enjoy the festival tonight, Sitamun,” he said, then spared a glance for his wife. “Binta,” he said, and then promptly gestured for his servants to proceed.
Sita watched as her father’s palanquin continued its slow journey through the hall, feeling slightly disquieted by his ramblings.He’s ill and probably drunk, she reasoned.What kind of medicines were the priests giving him, anyway? Were they to credit for his strange talk?
“Come along now,” Queen Bintanath said, pulling her away. “We’ve wasted too much time already.”
***
“Sita? Sitamun!”
Sita sat up abruptly, sloshing floral-scented bathwater over the edge of the alabaster basin. “What?”
Her middle-aged attendant sat by the edge of the water, wearing an indulgent smile. “If you’re finished, you should get out. The water is getting cold.”
“Oh. Yes. Sorry, Nebet.” Sita rose from the water, her copper skin coated with a glossy sheen of olive oil.
“Careful now.” Nebet offered her hand to help her out of the bath, taking care that Sita didn’t slip on the tiled floor.
The woman’s hand was strong and familiar, more so even than her own mother’s. Nebet had been with Sita—nursing her, watching over her, and tucking her into bed—ever since she was born. Her once dark hair had turned gray, and no matter how many times Sita said she could dye it brown again with juniper berries, Nebet always refused. For all the time and effort Nebet spent on Sita’s appearance, she spent none on her own. Whenever Sita brought up the topic, Nebet liked to pronounce that she had “earned” her gray hairs, and no one was going to take them from her.
Nebet picked up a soft linen cloth from the stool where she’d been sitting and used it to pat Sita’s body dry. “Daydreaming about tonight?” she asked.
“I was,” she said, though exactly what she was imagining was far too embarrassing to admit to Nebet. It involved Femi, and activities similar to the ones she’d witnessed in the pleasure garden.
After calling the other attendants to clean up the bath and prepare Sita’s attire, Nebet sat the girl down in front of a brass mirror that hung on the wall of her chambers. In its reflection, Sita watched Nebet begin to weave her wet hair into plaits, lacing thin golden cylinders onto each one.
“You should enjoy yourself at the festival,” Nebet said after a while, her voice thoughtful. “But don’t forget its true purpose, for it is not for your pleasure alone.”
