His legs carried him mindlessly through the corridors, straight back to the messengers, who were still playing their game and praying to the gods in the hope the outcome would come true. Whichever of them hoped for the glorious world beyond, they were prepared to pay the price - if only in a game.
For a moment, Assou leaned into the frame of the entrance and watched them. Sticks were thrown, figures advanced and sporadic chuckles flitted around the room as one mocked the other’s negative lot. It was peace that had once been part of the palace. Since Maathorneferure had lived within these walls, however, it seemed to have retreated into this room. Completely rejected by the whispering of the corridors.
Crossing his arms in front of his chest, the tjati’s thoughts remained empty. He didn’t know why his legs had carried him back to this place, and yet he could feel it. If this little messenger, if Maged, had indeed been imaginary, then he had sent no one to Maathorneferure’s homeland. Pharaoh would have him executed if he reported an unknown boy who was nothing more than a delusion, and the messengers would certainly not help him. They loved their silent lives too much for that. So Assou straightened his shoulders and bridged the distance to the table to attract the men’s attention. In fact, all four of them raised their eyes and scrutinised him as if he, too, was nothing more than a ghost they had long since become accustomed to.
“I have a mission for one of you,” Assou began slowly. “I need a messenger who can walk very long distances and has no problem leaving this land for a short while.”
Instantly, a man jumped to his feet. His muscular legs spoke of stamina, while his otherwise unfittingly thin body swayed slightly back and forth. Still, the tjati gave him a nod and grabbed a piece of papyrus from the rack to write a message for Maathorneferure’s parents. The scribbled hieroglyphs were no beauty, but the papyrus eagerly absorbed each one, so he only had to wave his hand briefly before he could bind his message into a small scroll.
Then he turned to his royal messenger and pressed the few lines into his hands. “Go and take this message to the king of the kingdom Ḫakmiš, Ḫattušili III. Try to arrive as quickly as possible so they can arrive on time for the festival.” He hastily pressed a few gold coins into the messenger’s hand. “Take good care of yourself and keep up your strength. I’m counting on your service.”
The messenger’s chest swelled as he stretched his head and wordlessly emphasised that he was the right man for the job. Barely a moment later, he turned away and hurried off. Nothing held him, no questions lingered, and though Assou wanted to believe in him, he felt the tightness in his stomach. Treacherous unease that kept him trapped in his seat longer than necessary.
Only when he was sure the messenger must have already bound two guards to him, who would take him out of the city, did Assou begin his retreat. Every step that took him further away from the messengers carried him towards the exit. Away from his study and the whispers he could find in the corridors if he was lucky. The heaviness on his shoulders hadn’t lessened for a moment and it was only in the few seconds that the heat of the land hit him he realised how dry his eyes were. It felt as if he had washed them with sand. Not even repeated blinking could calm the fire of his perception, so he ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath.
The city floating so peacefully before him, slightly at his feet and yet not far enough below him, gave him an inviting smile he couldn’t resist. This time, if he were to look for a place among merchants and customers, there would be no wheat stall behind which a beautiful woman waited for his excuses. Fatrada was no longer there. She was no longer the loving creature under the sun. Instead, she suffered as a slave in the palace where he lived. She was dying before his eyes.
Sighing, he sat down on a step. Just for a few breaths, he wanted to let the emptiness win and feel the pressure fall away. He wanted a change, something to lighten his steps and push the sadness far away.
How had he ever believed Fatrada would fit into this palace?
Lost in thought, his gaze fixed on his hands. On the fingers that wanted to touch her, to feel her skin and recognise her life as his. The hands that wanted to possess her more than anything because she belonged to him. It had never been different, and yet there was that hint of innocent love. From the very first feeling that had caught up with him, long before his behaviour had taken on the air of obsession.
But was he really obsessed? Wasn’t love always a game between desire and action?
He had acted, had tried to find a way to let this love blossom without hurting anyone, and had failed miserably. Thanks only to Maathorneferure. The woman he wanted to kill, even if there was no urge in him. There was something about this Great Royal Queen that tasted strangely hypocritical. The way she had behaved when he cornered her - as if her world was drowning in worry. As if he really was nothing more than a problem she didn’t want and yet had conjured.
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A soundless laugh escaped his lips. Maathorneferure wasn’t a stupid girl. She knew exactly what she was doing and presumably she also knew how to pretend to be innocent. It couldn’t be different. She wasn’t stupid enough to weave a rope for herself, even if it would have made the circumstances easier.
He turned his gaze to the city again. The hustle and bustle still beckoned him, tempting him, so he finally stood up and made his way between the goods and offers. It wasn’t long before he reached the first stall and inspected the goods. Rich merchants were buying new wares, nobles were looking at a range of different gemstones, jewellery was being passed around, cloth was being negotiated, food was passed from one stall to the next and the sweet smell of fruit hung in the air. Assou followed the scent until he stopped in front of a vendor.
Next to the dates and figs were lemons and plump pomegranates, which a female slave, whom Assou only recognised at a second glance, was reaching for. Her black hair shone and when she turned to him, it was a faint smile on brittle lips answering him. Dinem looked out of place. Her skin had lost colour, her eyes had no sparkle, and the lead that was supposed to highlight her was smudged at one corner.
“What are you doing here?” Raising his brows, the tjati studied her closely. He had never seen her so tired. “Shopping is a kitchen task.”
“Maathorneferure wants pomegranates and because she doesn’t trust anyone at the moment, she sent me,” Dinem replied flatly. “She’s restless.”
“I’ve heard about that. But it won’t ease her restlessness if you collapse under her orders.”
“Do I hear concern, my Vizier?” She smirked at his words. “Or is that just a reflex on your part?”
It was probably both. She was the only ally in his abundant chaos.
“Would it be disappointing if I said it was a mixture?” With a sigh, he staggered back before crossing his arms in front of his chest and tilting his head.
“On the contrary.” Dinem’s smile grew more genuine. “It’s more than I expected.” Almost casually, she paid for the basket of pomegranates. “Were you looking for me?”
“No.” Assou’s attention wandered through the crowd, where interested glances repeatedly brushed his figure. “I was looking for something to distract me.”
“Too many questions you can’t answer?”
“You could say that.”
As if she understood him, Dinem nodded. “Can I answer any of them for you, or are they too complex for a slave like me?”
His gaze wandered back to her. The paleness of her skin had faded and the interest that found a stubborn glint in her eyes invited him to try. An offer he couldn’t refuse.
“Have you ever heard of a messenger named Maged?” His shoulders tightened at the memory of how he had been looked at by glittering brown eyes, as if magic had only just arrived in Egypt. “One of the royal messengers told me he showed up once before and made conversation with a slave girl. I thought maybe someone knows something, but no one talks about it. You’re not keeping a secret at the pharaoh’s court, are you?”
Dinem’s brows lifted. Silence sprouted between them for a second, tension the tjati couldn’t shake off but which simply fell away when his counterpart sighed. “If there is a secret to be kept, then I have not been let in on it. Are you sure there was a messenger with that name?”
“At least that’s what I’ve seen.”
Dinem’s lips twisted instantly. Her eyelids drooped, her entire expression changing from curiosity to distaste. It was probably her way of commenting on his imagination, and if it hadn’t been so real in the face of his duties, he might have laughed at it. But the seconds brought neither joy nor amusement. Instead, his arms tightened and his disapproval of her attitude reached her as well.
“Vizier ... it isn’t as if I doubt your words. But I would also like to think that perhaps you are a little overworked and worrying too much. A messenger everyone claims to have seen and yet no one knows?”
“I wasn’t the only one who reported it. As I said, the royal messengers also know about it,” he replied, this time more brashly than intended. It was enough to make Dinem flinch. Nothing he had control over. And yet the apology rolled off his lips as if it were nothing more than a phrase.
“Sorry, I can’t help you any further.” In the end, Dinem discarded the subject and looked for an escape route, which Assou held open for her as he nodded his head and gestured for them to return to the palace together. She hesitantly accepted and followed a little behind him - for the sake of etiquette.
Still, Assou walked slower to keep her within reach. No one could blame him if it was he who stood next to a slave girl. Another act Dinem accepted without lowering her head. Instead, she gave him a smile, narrow and vague, yet existent.
“Have you been able to find a way to free Fatrada from the clutches of Maathorneferure?” As if out of nowhere, Dinem turned her attention to the second part of the problems that wouldn’t let go of the tjati. Another obstacle for which he had no solution and which made his journey much more difficult.
“No,” he confessed. He could do that in front of her. She was the right person for it. “What can I do to make Fatrada my slave so she can escape Maathorneferure? What does this beast want?”
“I can’t tell you.” Half in thought, his companion put a finger to her chin. “However, I’m spending a lot of time with the Third Great Royal Queen at the moment. If I play it right, I’m sure I can find out what she craves and what you can do to free Fatrada.”
“You would do that?”
“Didn’t I tell you I’m on your side? All you have to do is ask me for something and I’ll see what I can do. What you give me in return is quite enough. Have you forgotten already?” Her smile became clearer, making her more beautiful than most women who were within reach. “Just your kindness in walking beside a simple slave and showing the people I have some importance to you is good enough for now.”
She was probably the first woman to settle for the smallest things. She didn’t want his gold, nothing of his status. It seemed his mere existence was enough, and even if it was hard to believe, he wanted to trust her words.