She was as indecisive as he was. The timing wasn’t right and no matter how he looked at it, someone was playing with him. A game he could win if he wanted to. The stone slab reminded him of this, and whoever was doing this strange dance with him knew how to drive things to a dead end. Anyone with even half a bit of courage could get hold of a piece of papyrus and a rush in the palace. The supplies were only guarded sporadically, and the guards often fell asleep. Once or twice, learned slaves had been caught writing messages to others to make themselves look better than they were and each time Assou had turned a blind eye and let them off with light punishments.

But this time was different.

They were using the palace’s resources to turn on him and make fun of him in the same way. There weren’t many people who could read and write. If he had to guess, they could be counted on both hands. The queens knew how to read, but not how to write. A few slaves could do both. The messengers knew nothing. That made the circle of suspects manageable, but he would still have to gather information to find the one person responsible for all this.

With a sigh, the Tjati shook his head and let the thought go. In those moments, Fatrada took priority. Her words mattered. He could take everything else to heart when he got back.

“I can only assure you once more,” the vizier continued. “This message is not mine.”

“But then, what does this message mean?” Finally, Fatrada lowered the papyrus in her hands and looked at him as if only he would have an answer to all this, even though he didn’t know more than she did. “Do you think there is someone waiting for me in my home?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “But if it makes you feel better, we could see.”

She hesitated. There was suspicion in her eyes, sizing him up. Uncertainty that watched him because they weren’t of the same calibre. In the end, there was no trust between them. They barely knew each other, didn’t know how to judge the other, and although Assou believed that there was no evil in her, she was unsure about him.

But her options were limited. Nagib was working in the field, which meant that no one in her home could look after her. No one could save her if someone chose to harm her. Assou was the only hope, he knew, and with a wry smile, he endeavoured to make it a little easier for her.

“We could also let Nagib know, of course. He could accompany us. As a vizier, I can give him that freedom,” he suggested. A bitter offer that stuck to his tongue like honey and yet somehow slipped past his lips.

“That is very generous of you, Vizier Assou.” She glanced over her shoulder, thinking, lost in thought for an eternity, before turning to him. “I don’t want to attract any more attention. People will whisper if you let my husband leave work and he won’t make himself very popular with the other workers if he’s allowed to leave the craft early. It’s easier if I go with you and we see who’s playing a joke.”

She was probably right. In the end, he didn’t understand how the common people functioned. They worked, and they had their unspoken views on things that only applied to each other. It had nothing to do with the upper class and yet it was probably a little contempt that resonated with some.

It didn’t matter. It was the one thing Assou was sure of, and it was the one little thing that gave him a confident stride as he followed Fatrada. She was the one who knew her way around the chaos of the alleyways well enough to find her way back, and she didn’t let anything distract her. In contrast to his gaze, her attention didn’t wander over the buildings and surroundings in the hope something would stick.

Only when they arrived back in the crowd selling familiar goods did the Tjati try to keep in step. Walking alongside Fatrada had more charm than following her all day long while the sun sank further and further into the abyss and darkness took over.

The sky turned a dark blue as they both arrived in front of the wheat seller’s house and gazed into the darkness. No light penetrated outside, not a single candle was burning and although a strange chill settled on Assou’s skin, there was no one to be seen far and wide who wasn’t setting up their stall or getting the last few things for dinner. They were all just passers-by. Random figures who couldn’t be categorised.

“We should go inside,” Fatrada revealed barely a moment later. Her gaze had also followed the last people on the paths. They had to look, had to find out why this atmosphere hung like stone between them. And they also had to understand why someone had written this message.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Assou cautiously took the initiative and pushed past Fatrada to the door, to which he first put his ear. But all that met him was silence. He couldn’t hear anyone breathing, couldn’t sense any presence, only the shiver on his back that smiled at him. So he pushed open the barrier.

With hasty steps, he entered to take a potential attacker by surprise, but was met only with emptiness, which faded as his gaze fixed on the ground and his feet paused on damp soil. Smacking noises came from beneath his soles. Blackness caressed the interior and only the faint light of the outside world cast a dim glow inside. He held his breath.

Fatrada stepped in behind him and although he should have held her back, not a muscle in him stirred. He knew the strong features that gazed rigidly at the ceiling. They had once regarded him with a humble and curious gaze. All that remained now was temporary silence, which lifted when Fatrada realised the circumstances. The scream that escaped her throat moments later was like a wounded animal before she staggered past him and fell to her knees. Her kalasiris would stain at the knees, soiling herself with blood that still seeped wetly into the ground.

Nagib was dead.

It was hard to realise. His clothes were soaked with blood and yet the Tjati believed it must have come from a chest injury. Eyes wide and mouth agape, Nagib looked like a victim of a long struggle he must have fought with fervour; and even if the sight of him broke Fatrada’s heart, there was little more than coldness in Assou. Somewhere between the fronts lay indifference. Emptiness that lulled him and pushed him in a different direction.

Someone had killed Nagib and whoever it was had their eye on Fatrada. It was probably the same person who had given him the stone slab and who saw all this as a simple, stupid game. Taking a life was punishable by death. They didn’t dwell in a world where the life of an individual was unnecessary – if one wasn’t considered a slave.

Fatrada’s tearing howl tore Assou from his thoughts. His senses returned to reality, clinging to the woman his heart desired with all its might and who, bent over her husband, begged the gods to forgive him – whatever he had done. She pleaded for him to be brought back. Prayers that made Assou clench his hands into fists in a silent wish that the gods would ignore her pleas. Just this once.

Pressing his lips together, he swallowed the abhorrent thought. It was bubbling up again. The ugly side. The irrepressible feeling of being swallowed up by a single emotion. But there were more important things than his own feelings. Someone had been killed and the woman of his heart was crying. Her red, swollen, beautiful eyes were shrouded in dark clouds as she looked at him, not knowing what to say. They both knew no one in this room could help these circumstances and yet every wrongdoing seemed to be in his hands. He needed to offer her something. Promise her safety and order the culprit to be found. But his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and his throat was so dry that not a single word slipped past his chapped lips.

“Vizier!” The sudden exclamation of a guard who appeared behind him as if he had crawled out of the shadows sent Assou whirling. Armed with a spear and three other men, that man entered the doorway. “I suppose you heard it too.”

Assou raised his brows, shook his head and was about to ask, but the guard pushed his way inside and stood protectively in front of him. His upright posture looked more dangerous than the corpse in the room. The small stone lamp in his hand, which carried the candlelight inside, conjured up ghostly shadows.

“Who would have believed a mere woman of such petite stature could kill a man of this size?” the guard continued. Words that prompted Assou to protest when a hand settled on his shoulder at the same moment.

“What horror. You too must have arrived too late, honoured Vizier.” The voices of these men were poison in the face of the evening. Each of them was certain what they were doing was right. All it took in those breaths was someone to tell them the truth.

A truth that lingered in the tjati as one of the other guards beat him to it, curiosity getting the better of him. If he listened carefully, he might find out who had set this trap for them.

“That woman there was reported by her neighbour. It was assumed she was up to something,” a guard continued. “It is no secret to the people of this market that there is no understanding between these two and also that this man has taken her against her will. A burden she should have borne.” The man shook his narrow head, causing his chin-length hair to flutter. “Instead, she killed him.”

Assou’s breath caught in his throat. The questions he wanted to ask were endless, and yet he couldn’t think of a single word to break the slowly rising silence. Instead, one man grabbed Fatrada by the arm and her sobs turned into a desperate howl that rang in Assou’s ears.

“Imagine the shock when her husband had to leave the field because his wife ordered him home. Allegedly because she is seriously ill. But look at her. In perfect health.” The man who had seized her snorted as he forced her to stand halfway upright. “What could tempt a woman to act so much against her nature?”

Assou gathered his courage and took a breath. He had to intervene, had to prevent Fatrada from being hurt any further. He had to embrace her and show her she was safe by his side, but he didn’t get the chance to express his thoughts.

“And rightly so,” a high, soft voice answered the guard’s question and simultaneously forced the entire room, apart from Fatrada, into a noble stance.

When she entered, it was the marvellous dress adorned with gemstones that first caught Assou’s eye. Carried by striking curves and long legs, his gaze travelled up to the penetrating gaze of Maathorneferure, whose long, dark hair fell like silk over her chest. The smile on her lips was all his, and the words he had wanted to say earlier sank inside him.

He had lost.