The steady order kept him chained to one point. His senses were stuck. He hadn’t been able to see Fatrada for fourteen endless days, and he avoided Dinem as much as Maathorneferure. The papyrus scrolls smothered his study, and the messengers came and went daily.

Negative news cluttered his senses and while Ramesses only listened, Assou was left with finding solutions. Most of it he got right. The storm on one front had died down, the slaves were working again and although an entire week had passed since the execution of the rebels, the demands weren’t lessening.

Propping himself up backwards with his hands, he allowed a brief pause in which an air pocket finally appeared. In those seconds, there was nothing urging him. No records to keep up with and no messengers nipping at his heels. It was peace he could savour and yet restlessness that didn’t give him much time.

Outside, among the people and offers, between the crowd they were looking out for, Fatrada was waiting for him. At least she knew he existed, knew he desired her and also knew he wouldn’t admit defeat. Ramesses certainly still had a lot of work to do. The matter of the slaves needed to be watched, and perhaps it would even be beneficial if he took the time to see to it. Experiencing the circumstances could grant a new perspective.

Barely noticeably, he shook his head. The slaves didn’t matter. They were as unimportant as Maathorneferure, whose poisonous gaze would eventually wither the rare plants she had brought from her land. Her beauty was nothing more than a facade that stood protectively in front of her ugly character.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Assou shooed the thought away and slowly picked himself up to his feet. As long as no new tasks came crashing down on him, he could spend the brief moments of peace with Fatrada; with her smile and gentle features. His shuffling steps took him straight to the adjoining corridor of his room. Only the whisper of a few slaves seemed to echo along the walls. It pierced the silence and yet remained only a simple background murmur that deserved no further attention.

Assou turned away, following the floor tiles to the exit, where the sun blazed and the ground burned beneath his bare feet. It wasn’t a day to agonise over shoes, no special occasion. He was just a man going to see a woman. A man on his way to buy wheat.

Still, the heat nestled uncomfortably against his soles and the sweat that formed under his robes clung the fabrics to his skin. No matter how long one lived under this sun, some days would never become the norm. The tingling on his skin turned to a slight itch on his legs as dust and sand stuck to him. But instead of stopping, Assou pushed the feeling to the back of his mind.

Straight through the crowds, followed by watchful eyes that recognised him and took a step to the side, Assou pushed his way to the wheat stand, but there was no one waiting. The emptiness greeted him with a silent smile and the heaviness that made his shoulders slump bore a resemblance to lack of sleep and working too hard without getting something in return. She wasn’t there. Her soft voice held no greeting for him. Only the wheat stared at him.

Without further ado, Assou looked around. Leaving the sacks standing around unguarded invited theft, and a simple woman couldn’t stop a full-grown man from running off. Most people kept a low profile and there was always a helping hand. But if one didn’t guard their goods, the blame didn’t necessarily lie with the thief. Unattended goods remained tempting. A sack of wheat could be used for many things.

Carefully, Assou’s eyes settled back on the goods. Perhaps if he simply took a sack, he would find Fatrada. Maybe she would then emerge from the crowd and speak to him in a reproving voice, while he left her a compliment with a smile. But when he raised his hand to put his fingers to the old linen, it was the heavy paw of a man that made him stop. His body flinched. His attention tore away from the wheat to glance backwards – straight into the soft brown eyes of a man who towered over him by two heads.

His mouth opened as his gaze slid along Assou’s figure, and at the same moment, he let go and took a step back. With a curt bow, his words weren’t what Assou had imagined in his dreams. Neither were they reproving, nor from Fatrada.

“Vizier, forgive me for not recognising you.” He bowed a little lower. “Take what you wish.”

Defensively, Assou raised his hands. Sometimes the post of vizier was anything but a blessing. “I actually wanted to buy a sack. But the stall was unattended. So I thought I’d lay hands on it, hoping someone might come,” he replied slowly before lowering his palms. “I am surprised. Usually, a woman sells her wares in this place.”

“You must be talking about my wife, Fatrada,” the stranger replied before lifting his gaze. Assou took the moment to gesture for him to stand, and his counterpart gave him a thin smile as he complied with the request. “My work in the field is cancelled today. There is a boy learning the craft in my place and he is of hardworking nature. So I took the work from my wife for her to enjoy the day differently.”

“I see...” It was hard to take the eyes off this man.

He was a person of simple nature. Thin yet visibly accustomed to hard work, his naked torso was so darkly tanned that he stood out among his countrymen. His skin must have felt like leather and his short black hair was not clean. Sand had caught in tangled strands, dirt stuck to his fingers and reached under his nails. Even his clothes looked worn and tattered. He was a man of the field through and through, who only got clean late at night to look exactly the same again the next day.

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But he didn’t seem to mind. This stranger had accepted his life, and the gleam in his eyes expressed a kind of joy that most people in the upper ranks lacked. This man had found happiness, and Assou didn’t doubt for a moment that this happiness was called Fatrada.

“What is your name?” Distracted by his own thoughts, the tjati searched for answers that would fill in at least a small part of the gaps in his mind. He had to feel his way in. Slowly and carefully, to find out who this person really was. Even if he had to relearn the knowledge he had already gained.

“Nagib, my lord.” Much too slowly, he moved to stand by his wheat.

“Now then, Nagib, would you sell me a sack of wheat?” He didn’t have to ask. Of course, he would be sold this silly sack. But it made the circumstances friendlier and though Assou wanted to curse every breath in this man’s presence, he remained civilised.

“Of course!” Nagib’s glare seemed to make the sun shine a little brighter and as he picked out the best sack, he looked like a happy child who had finally achieved something in his life.

He differed completely from Assou. He possessed the same endearing nature that Fatrada had about her. That was probably why they were together. Perhaps that made Nagib an excellent man for her.

The saliva in Assou’s throat tasted bland all at once. Something seemed to twist behind his chest and for a moment, he couldn’t help wrinkling his nose. But he caught himself quickly – long before Nagib turned around and handed him a sack, which Assou accepted with a false smile.

He couldn’t let himself be fooled. Just because this man had a friendly facade and seemed a little like Fatrada, it didn’t make him a good person. On top, it was almost reprehensible that a woman like Fatrada had chosen a man who had nothing more to offer than his dirty self and a bright smile. She deserved better. More.

With difficulty, Assou swallowed his displeasure. He knew he shouldn’t react this way. He was a vizier – always thoughtful and capable of doing his duties well. Jealousy was the last thing that qualified as a part of him. In the end, it would only make him as ugly as Maathorneferure’s spitting words. As long as he knew nothing about Nagib, the only thing he could do was show kindness.

But his hands trembled as he accepted the wheat and his smile crumbled barely a moment later. What remained was the rigid grimace that had been carved in stone once before as a memento.

“I thank you,” was all he could bring himself to say before he turned away and sought the distance. Everything in him wanted to get away from that stall, away from that man who was twisting his insides and making his stomach bubble like someone was drowning in there. All this left no room for clear thoughts that threatened to slide off the cliff into ugliness.

His feet only carried him a few houses before he turned and leaned against a wall. The wheat sack fell to the floor as he took a breath, sweat soaking into the dusty ground in dark drops. Nausea twisted his senses. It was the first time something had so bitterly squeezed his throat and also forced him into a position of always having to think of something else without finding satisfaction. The heat of the country had probably driven him mad. But the pain in his stomach area hinted at spoiled food.

When was the last time he had eaten?

No thought was good enough, and the discontent grew. The hunger that welled up inside him all at once made every blink more exhausting and the restlessness in his limbs greater. Behind it lurked ideas he couldn’t control. Imaginations that grew with every breath. Images in which he envisioned how easy it would be to get rid of Nagib. Throwing him off a cliff had charm. Exploiting his power as vizier, however, didn’t.

He was a righteous man, just like Nagib. Fatrada had chosen the man she knew made her happy. Nothing about all this was wrong. It was perfectly normal, and yet-

Again, he shook his head and swallowed the pain in his chest. Oxygen hung heavy on his thin lips and the urge to move didn’t allow him a steady breath. He didn’t know how to stand. The floor seemed unbearably hot and the clothes on his body itched to the depths of his nerves. Tingling and suffocating, as if he would burn up if he didn’t rip the fabrics from his body to let fresh air reach the sore spots that didn’t exist. It burned. Throbbed. Reached from his shoulders to his ankles, forcing Assou to slap his hands to his face.

The sound at least awakened some of his senses, and the pain on his cheeks eclipsed the rest a little. He had to take a breath. Catch himself and let the feeling in his guts that ran like ants over his senses fade.

Then a shiver came over him. In the middle of this heat, it was so refreshingly cold that Assou shivered before letting his gaze wander and linger on the bag of wheat. On him and on Amenti. Her green eyes were glued to him, mute and judgmental, as if she knew exactly what was going on inside him. It drove a wry smile onto his features before he went to his knees and gingerly reached out to her. Her black fur nuzzled his hands barely a moment later, and the audible mewl left her tiny muzzle comfortingly.

“How can I be so pathetic, huh?” Carefully, he stroked the animal’s fur. “I’m a vizier. The right hand of the pharaoh. And yet I’m not in control of my head or my heart. That’s unusual.” He snorted. “What’s the matter with me?”

Once more, Amenti mewed before she withdrew from his touch and leapt from the sack. Her absence left a sharp pain in Assou’s fingers, so he hastily withdrew his hand. She had cut his index finger. Somehow, with shining beauty and lack of weapons.

Her tiny paws gave her a few steps’ head start before she sat down again and looked at him. Her expression still pierced him and she waited for him. But it was only when he could break away from the blood on his finger and give her some of his attention again that the picture became clearer.

Amenti motioned him to follow her.

Slowly, Assou gathered up the bag of wheat, giving in to her will. As he approached her, Amenti jumped to her paws again. She let him run after her, and it was hard not to be grateful to her. With her, it was easier to stride through the crowds and forget Nagib. Her shiny black fur captivated him. It enveloped his senses in metres of fabric. Everything in him wanted to follow her wherever her path led.