The days interwove with the nights, bathed in light and shadow whenever Assou dared to look outside. He hadn’t seen Fatrada since the incident with Meritamen. She was neither to be found in the corridors nor among the statues. His preparations and work had prevented a thorough search and Dinem had disappeared from the face of the earth. What he was left with were sporadic visits from Amenti, which were a sporadic balm over the course of three days.
His desk was the only thing providing familiar security and keeping him calm in those moments when all he had to do was breathe. By the end of the day, the festival for which he had assigned countless tasks would begin. The new statue of Meritamen stood in front of the palace, beautifully displayed and adorned with unique flowers. The food was prepared, tables and elevations, even chairs and ornaments made of colourful stones were placed.
Maathorneferure’s parents occasionally strolled through the palace – at least according to some slaves – and Ramesses had welcomed them with warm greetings and open arms. The Third Great Queen, however, remained in the shadows. She neither greeted her parents nor turned to anyone. She only paid attention to Meritamen, and although she didn’t fit in there, it was a strange kindness a few slaves noticed within the royal chambers.
Some stories he picked up in the corridors he dismissed as fairy tales. Maathorneferure was too vicious for most good deeds. And when he thought of how readily she gave up Fatrada, there had to be much more to her behaviour. Whatever her motivation was, Assou could only hope her interest didn’t turn in his direction.
With a sigh on his lips, he propped himself up on his hands and leant back. Looking up at the unadorned ceiling, he squared his shoulders. Not much longer and he would meet Fatrada at the feast. Everyone would be there. No one would have the chance to hide in their rooms. It was the best chance to see her again and tell her the good news that she was free – from Maathorneferure. He would finally have time to talk to her at length, take away her fear and sadness, and give her clothes that flattered her. She would be happy – with him.
Assou couldn’t remember when he had become fixated on Fatrada, but her beauty was still worthy of his appreciation. It was the only thing that felt like it belonged to him, while all the other feelings came flooding in whenever he wasn’t paying attention. It was nice to enjoy the normal moments with her. But the quiet urge in the background, the desire to possess her, wove thin threads between them.
He snorted. Part of him forced himself to his feet. He had to do something, shake off his thoughts somehow. Even if he just strolled through the palace looking for Fatrada, it would be better than withering away behind this table.
The tugging in his legs made the first few steps numb before a dull tingling ran through his senses, forcing him to stop and massage his thighs even before he reached the door. Only when the tension eased and his muscles felt stronger did he move forwards. The corridors greeted him with hurried slaves, their hands balancing food and wine. Judging by the haste, the pharaoh once again stayed with Maathorneferue’s parents to listen to stories, and the thought of them understanding each other made it difficult to believe he would ever be able to cast this woman into Ramesses’ disfavour.
Groaning, he pushed the thought away. Where he had wanted to kill her before, it no longer mattered. She was no longer seen as a danger in the face of all the problems he had to face for pleasure. If she held back, the hatred in him lost its meaning. He didn’t have the capacity to carry the same draining feeling of loathing every day. Instead, he had to help Fatrada and achieve a happy ending. Something that outweighed this chaos.
His eyes glided over the murals. Since the last time he had seen them, new drawings had been added. Stories that spread and that the pharaoh collected to entertain himself. If the gods didn’t have any exciting dreams in store, the stories of others had to be used and all too often Ramesses was caught demanding stories instead of payment. Perhaps because they didn’t need any more gold than they already possessed, but it still cast a strangely confusing light on the head of the country, who ruled peace like no one had ever done before.
Passing strong pillars and countless slaves who polished the palace to a shine before nightfall, Assou headed out. There, where no one was waiting, because they were all putting the finishing touches on the fire. No matter how deep the grief and worry was for some, they would all come to celebrate. To drink and dance, to sing and eat, because it was the only thing that made them forget. It seemed bitter that he himself found no peace in all this. Peace in his soul meant tranquillity; the ability to breathe and know that no one was waiting for him. Freedom to go wherever he wanted, free from the intrigues of others and the documents that would haunt him until the end.
His shoulders slumped. The sight of the city within his grasp robbed him of the desire to search. Finding Fatrada was still important, but in these moments, he had nothing to offer her. She had disappeared while he had been looking after Meritamen. A reminder that she needed time, far away from anyone she couldn’t judge.
The emptiness surrounding him wrapped its arms tightly around his mind. For a second, there was no strength left to go on. He didn’t want to talk, to devote himself to any tasks; just to stand there and wait – to watch the world fall into darkness and the torches bring light and warmth.
For a few breaths, he simply let everyone be. All that mattered to him was peace, the certainty of being able to stand in this place and not be in anyone’s way. It was only when he recognised the small, dark shape of a cat from a distance that his senses ventured back into his body. Every muscle movement became present and when the slender body of Amenti reached him, the weight had returned with all its tasks.
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“I see you’re coming to the feast, too.” His arms crossed in front of his chest, his attention followed her movements. Amenti only gave him a silent mew, passing him by as if he wasn’t even there. She was probably at least as tired as he was.
The cat settled down in front of him, her eyes fixed on the city, which was following its own hustle and bustle. Assou took it as an invitation to sit down next to her in the sand. The breath on his lips remained heavy and looking at the facades of the houses gave him back a piece of his childhood. Days when he had secretly sat in the shadows of his house to watch the goings-on of the people. Those had been carefree eternities for which he had never been reprimanded. And yet, he had grown up. Obligations clung to him and, though he wanted to forget, Fatrada came back to his mind.
“I hope she manages.” The image in front of him mesmerised him. “Not long now and she’ll be free and hopefully happy.”
Amenti’s head nestled almost unnoticeably against his thigh. Simultaneously, his thoughts clung to Fatrada’s existence as a slave. Even if she was freed by Maathorneferure, she would still be in another captivity. Only when she was able to leave this palace and build a new life for herself would she no longer be a slave for others. But letting Fatrada go was out of the question. Although she was still young, she wasn’t a woman who could be easily conquered. On top of that, she had no way of surviving alone in this society, which meant she would be going home. Far away from him and all the ideas that flitted through his head. She would return to her house in disgrace. And all because of him.
Without further ado, he lowered his eyelids and took a deep breath. Amenti’s head nestled a little closer to him and the loneliness faded. Instead, a whisper spread through his ears. A murmur he didn’t understand, and yet it captivated him. It lured him, dragged his thoughts in another direction, far away from Fatrada; and all the problems that lurked behind it.
The hairs on his arms stood on end as a shiver swept down his spine and he opened his eyes. Nothing showed signs of change. At least not until a strange heat came close to his body and breathed shallow words into his senses long before he could turn round.
“Fatrada. Just who is this woman to take over all your senses?”
Assou turned round hastily, heard his back crack and spotted Maged a few steps away. The twinkle in his dark eyes possessed mischief that challenged him.
“What are you doing here?” The pounding in his chest took on warning intensity.
“Keeping myself busy, enjoying the time, looking for entertainment before everything ends.” Maged shrugged his shoulders. “Shouldn’t you be attending to your work or even looking out for this Fatrada?”
“I should rather find out who you are...” Slowly, Assou struggled to his feet. “What I need are answers, nothing else.”
“Nothing else, is that right?” The boy tilted his head in amusement. “That sounds terribly simple.”
“Is it?”
Without further ado, Maged clasped his hands behind his back and took in his surroundings. “I’m a child of the gods. That remains unchanged.”
“It’s hard to believe,” Assou replied. “And yet it’s hard to think of anything else when I see how you cover distances in such a short time.”
“I’m an excellent runner.”
“And that’s all there is to it?”
“It is.” Maged’s shrug moved the conversation aside before turning his attention back to his former interest. “Will you tell me about your Fatrada? I prefer to know the people who will one day become part of the big picture.”
Maged was probably thinking of the world of the gods. Of the life that followed once they renounced their own and left their mortal bodies. If he was indeed a child of the gods, then he knew the process. Both sides lay at his feet, and though his form seemed insignificant against the sunset – the jewellery brought only a hint of nobility – Assou believed his words a little more.
“She was a wheat seller,” the vizier continued. “Married to a man who was her only option. Yet she is beautiful.” He bowed his head. “Now she’s a slave in the palace.”
“But who is she?” Maged slowly stepped closer. “I know what she’s done and what she’s doing now, but that doesn’t tell me who she is.”
Without further ado, Assou looked at him. Putting Fatrada into words was difficult. So he closed his eyes and went through the moments with her. He remembered her smile; her raised eyebrows and all the amazement. Her calm words and the rigid refusal.
“Fatrada is a righteous woman,” Assou dared once more. “She’s loyal and honest and she doesn’t care much about other people’s status because we’re all only human. She’s also stubborn and strong-willed. And she’s clever. Smart and sarcastic. She rarely takes me seriously.”
“And I bet she can get awfully angry,” Maged added.
The nod of his head was stiff. “But she’s also fragile. She has a soft core that despairs when she has to fight the entire world alone. At least that’s how it feels.”
Looking at Fatrada from these angles harboured something he had almost forgotten. Before this strange, absurd obsession had taken over his every thought, there had been affection. He had watched her, gazed at her and sometimes dared to walk past her stall. It had been a cautious love that had turned into something dark and unyielding. He had wanted Fatrada for himself and whenever he had faced her, met her or hadn’t thought about her for too long, the addiction had flared up. A feeling that made his love for her ugly.
Assou’s eyelids slowly opened again. The calm inside him brought clarity he knew would soon pass. Not in those seconds, just before the party, right in front of a boy who placed his hand on his upper arm. His patting motion throbbed through Assou’s body.
“You are a good man, I believe. But luck isn’t in your hands. Not when the gods have plans of their own.” Maged’s hand loosened. “Maybe that just makes you foolish, too.”
“What do you mean?” The pulsing in Assou’s body subsided, giving way to tense shoulders and shaky nerves. “What are the gods planning? You, as a child of their side, should know.”
“I truly do. But you will soon understand for yourself if you keep a clear head in the face of your journey.”
Maged gave nothing away. His slender body took a few steps back. It was distance lurking between them like a chasm, preventing Assou from following. He could only stay in place and watch. Perplexed and full of questions, the answers to which he had to find out all by himself.
“Let me just tell you,” the boy continued, “that not every ending comes as expected. It’s up to you how you deal with it and whether you find out how to go down that path.”
More tangled words, which Assou accepted despite everything, in the faint hope that Maged was right. Meanwhile, he watched as the boy turned away and made his way straight into the palace. No one stopped him. It made him somehow divine. Unlike others who submitted to the limits and also unlike Assou, whose mortality in the face of the city mocked his ears.