Chapter 16
Rae
Rae lay on her woven mat in the servants’ quarters, surrounded by soft, sleeping bodies.
“Are you awake?” a voice asked.
Rae turned on her side. Tamerit lay next to her, her dark eyes luminous in the moonlight.
“I’m awake,” Rae replied.
Silence stretched between them. They’d hardly spoken since the king’s party the night before, since Rae defied Tam’s wishes and blundered into a situation she wasn’t prepared for. The experience left Rae feeling violated—her deepest desires exposed and exploited for the pleasure of that snake.
Rae had spent the morning working, still muddleheaded from the blue lotus wine. Then came the midday meal, and the news that changed everything.
And what of the Low Khetaran dogs?
They too must be prepared for the ritual.
They’re the main event.
The exchange between the king and the high priest had given her confirmation that her father was alive.
It also told her that his time was running out.
Worse still, the king wasn’t planning an execution, but a sacrifice. One that would curse all his enemies—including Rae.
As soon as the meal was over, Rae had pulled Tam aside and told her what she’d learned. The chill between them melted in the heat of urgency.
Tam had said, “Go to your father tonight. Tell him we’re here and working on a plan. I’ll cover for you in case you’re missed. A little drink from the kitchens should keep the girls asleep in their beds.”
They’d agreed and parted, only seeing each other again that night after their palace work was complete.
Rae had sat by the window staring out into the city, while Tam delighted the other maidservants with the stolen wine, passing it around until the jar was empty.
It wasn’t long before the girls were all asleep.
Rae had lain on her sleeping mat next to Tam for hours, waiting for the right moment to steal away. She thought Tam had fallen asleep too until she’d spoken up.
Rae looked at the weaver, the gentle curve of her body aglow in the moonlight. A wave of remorse overwhelmed her.
“I’m sorry about last night,” Rae whispered, her voice quavering. “I should have trusted you.”
Tam reached for her hand and brought it to her lips, kissing Rae’s calloused knuckles. “You’re forgiven. But don’t do it again.”
“I won’t.”
Tam glanced out the window at the position of the moon.
Time to go, Rae thought.
Tam squeezed her hand. “We’re going to save him,” she said, the words a blessing.
Rae nodded, tucked a stray lock of Tam’s curly hair behind her ear, and rose to her feet.
She slipped out of the servants’ chambers and through the quiet palace, until she reached her hiding spot behind the column.
Peering out, she looked to the stairwell leading down to the subterranean passage and was dismayed to see a different man standing guard.
He was bigger than his predecessor, and he looked infuriatingly alert.
If he didn’t fall asleep or go off to make water, how was she going to get past him?
Rae watched and waited. Movement flashed on the other side of the wide hall, where the room opened to a series of windows that faced an interior courtyard, the sills decorated with fine objects—small statues and painted vases and such things. A cat had leaped onto one of the sills.
Nefermaat’s cat.
The cat must have sensed Rae’s presence, because she stopped and looked straight at her. Her tail flicked.
Stay away! Rae mouthed, as if the cat could understand. All she needed was a purring cat dancing around her ankles to attract the guard’s attention. From behind the column, Rae waved off the cat with her hands. Go on! she gestured. Go home!
The guard burped.
Rae nearly jumped out of her skin at the noise.
The cat watched her with detached interest, her head tilted slightly. Then she turned to the ceramic vase next to her and delicately patted it with her paw.
Stop! Leave it! Rae whisper-shouted.
The cat looked at her once more, her gold eyes unblinking, and pushed the vase off the windowsill. Rae clapped a hand over her mouth as the vase shattered on the stone floor below with a resounding crash.
The guard’s response was immediate. Hand on the khopesh at his belt, he muttered, “What in Amun’s name was that?” and stormed off to find the source of the disturbance.
Leaving the stairwell totally unguarded.
Astounded, Rae looked back at the cat, who—her random act of destruction enjoyed and then forgotten—was licking her paw.
“Thank you,” Rae whispered, before racing through the dark portal and down the stone steps.
The dank, airless corridor below was lit by a few oil lamps. To the left, the corridor ended at a chamber covered by a red linen curtain.
That can’t be it, Rae thought. Besides, something about the room made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. To the right, she saw another corridor with several doors. Moving stealthily, she crept up to the first door and took a quick peek inside.
Closest to her was a table covered in a variety of implements: a leather flail, a jug of water, and a small bloody knife. A tall wooden post stood in the middle of the room, and a length of rope hung from a ring at the top. The stone floor around it was spattered with dark red stains.
Rae noted that the ends of the rope were frayed, as if sawed through. What wickedness went on in here? she wondered. Hopefully nothing to do with her father. She couldn’t bear to think of the guards torturing him.
She grabbed the jug of water. Someone might need it.
Rae continued down the corridor, stopping in front of a heavy wooden door locked with a sliding bolt. There was a hole in the middle of the door, but nothing larger than a cat could have used it to get in or out. The window allowed a little light in, but even so, it was too dark to see inside.
Still, she recognized it for what it was. A cage.
Rae lifted one of the clay oil lamps from the wall in the hallway. Then, taking care not to make any noise, she slid the bolt free and pulled the door open just enough for her to slip inside.
The smell hit her first. The stink of unwashed bodies, of excrement, of despair. It was so potent it nearly made her gag. She raised the oil lamp in front of her as she crept into the room, the small globe of light illuminating the prisoners in bits and pieces.
A skeletal woman curled into a corner, her feet in wooden fetters, shielding her eyes from the sudden glare. It was difficult to tell whether she was young or old.
A man lay on his side next to her, either sleeping or unconscious, his face lumpy with bruises, his wrists bound behind his back.
Another woman began to cry when Rae approached. Her feet were also in fetters, and she raised her hands in surrender. “Please don’t hurt me,” she moaned, her voice a dry rasp. “Please, please…”
The words transported Rae back to Sakesh, to the moments after she stabbed the traitorous brewer and watched him die, to the look of fear on his daughter’s face when she saw Rae standing there, covered in blood—
Please don’t hurt me, she’d said.
Rae gasped and dragged herself back into the present. She’d broken into a cold sweat. Not now! she told herself, shoving away the memory.
“I’m not your enemy,” she whispered to the woman, and held out the jug of water.
The woman took it in disbelief, tears rolling down her dirt-stained face. “Oh!” she cried. “Bless you! Bless you!”
Rae nodded. “Drink, then share it with the others. I’m sorry I don’t have more, but—”
“Raetawy?”
The voice came from the shadows. Heart in her throat, Rae carried the oil lamp toward the weak, familiar voice.
“Father?” Rae barely got out the word before emotion overwhelmed her. “Father?”
The light struck him, and he squinted into it. She watched his pupils constrict. His dry, peeling lips opened and closed, until finally he said, “Is this a dream?”
Rae found his hand and pressed his work-roughened palm to her face. “It’s not a dream, Yati,” she replied. “I’m here.”
Ankhu stared at her for several seconds, his pale, withered face a mask of shock. Then, it crumpled. With surprising strength, he pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her.
“I can’t believe it,” he murmured, his voice thick.
“My girl. My beautiful girl. Thanks be to Ra. I thought I would never see you again. I thought…I thought…” He held her tightly, rocking back and forth on the filthy stone floor.
Rae leaned into his embrace. In all her life, she had never seen her father cry.
“Did they hurt you?” Rae asked when he released her.
Ankhu sniffed and wiped his face, seemingly eager to put the uncharacteristic display of emotion behind him. “They only beat those who resisted,” he said. “Besides that, they’ve simply left us in this chamber to starve.”
“No one has interrogated you?”
Ankhu shook his head.
Rae’s brow furrowed. Even if Meryamun planned to use the prisoners for his cursing ritual, why not question them? Why miss the opportunity to gather information about the southern rebellion straight from the source?
Rae went cold.
Back at the farm, when pestilence overtook a portion of the wheat, she and her father were forced to set fire to the entire area to ensure the disease wouldn’t be passed on to the next crop.
Why bother rooting out the pest if you plan on burning the whole field?
“Sakesh…” she whispered.
“I don’t understand how you got inside,” Ankhu said, not privy to the workings of her mind. “This is the belly of the king’s palace! There are gates and guards and—”
“Tamerit the weaver and I posed as High Khetaran commoners and were chosen to join the king’s staff,” Rae explained. “Omari and two others from Sakesh have made camp by the riverside and are using pigeons to send messages to the rebels back home. They’re awaiting word on an escape plan.”
Suddenly, the idea of leaving her father in that wretched place, of walking out that door without him, became unbearable.