Chapter One

Memphis, Egypt 2181 B.C.

Would I have done things differently if I had known on that first day of the season of Peret, as I stood destined to become a divinity—the earthly embodiment of the god Horus—that millennia would pass before I would wear the double crown? It is a question lost to the ages.

The Nile had receded well that day, leaving the floodplains sun-drenched and rich with fertile soil. Farmers had laid down tiny plants and seeds in neat rows, their hearts filled with infectious hope that spread across the kingdom.

I had just turned twenty, yet my life had long been written in stone. I would be crowned co-regent and, for a time, reign at my father’s side. If I proved capable, the steady hand guiding Egypt could finally rest, peaceful in the knowledge that I would not only continue his legacy but would also safeguard the Line of Kings with my womb. After more than seventy years on the throne, Father had surely earned this.

Walking the palace halls, I knew nothing but encouragement and supplication. I should have returned their glances with squared shoulders and a regal nod, crossed my arms over my chest, even returned the servants’ joyful glances—but I could not.

Instead, I watched the ant-like procession of slaves making their way to the banquet hall, bent under the jugs of wine they carried. The raucous din of the crowd below mixed with the honking of geese and the occasional harp as the royal musicians practiced a song to commemorate Egypt’s first woman pharaoh, all of which left me cold and hollow. Try as I might, I simply could not rise above it.

A glorious destiny awaited me, and I—I wished Menefra, my twin, and I, could spend one last afternoon sitting by the garden pond, wiggling our toes in the Nile’s mud, exchanging secrets as we had always done.

I clung fiercely to my nostalgia, those carefree days before duty had set upon my shoulders. And yet, I had to tell myself, as I inhaled the sweet perfume of thousands of lotus blossoms woven into garlands and hung at all the palace entrances, that my own misgivings were nothing compared to the future of the greatest civilization in the world.

My sister would make it better. She always did.

Where are you?

I used the silent voice that only Menefra—with her wild beauty, those bright green eyes against smooth olive skin—could hear.

She did not answer. Lately, she was often missing. When pressed for an explanation, she would wave me off with one of her flashing smiles and a flick of her delicate wrist. “It does not matter where I am,” she would say, “or what I am doing, since all eyes are on you. Khara the dutiful. Khara the perfect daughter. And soon, Egypt’s first queen.”

How different my life would have been if she had been born first!

Months of ceaseless preparation had put the entire palace in a foul mood. Even Nandor, our guardian since birth, whose smile could light a dark room, had spent the last few days grim-faced and chanting, pacing up and down the palace halls. Only Father, who boasted enough strength for a whole kingdom, greeted each day with a smile. When I thought of Menefra’s words, I felt a rush of nausea.

Lightheaded, I hurried to the chambers we would no longer share after this day. I drew the drapes and crawled underneath the smooth linen sheets and velvet coverlet until my tangled nerves unraveled. Only then did it occur to me why these feelings had come over me with such force. I had forgotten my prayers.

Inside the cabinet of cedarwood and gilded ebony stood the statue of Isis, spreading her protective winged arms. I prayed earnestly, with a fervor equal to the monumental task I was about to undertake. Finally, I looked upon the goddess and, with reverent desperation, pleaded:

 

Daughter of the earth and sky, your servant is willing, but am I truly ready? You know my heart. If I find satisfaction in your eyes, give me the conviction of those who stood at the Great Balcony before me. Let the light of Egypt shine forever.

 

Touching my nose to the winged goddess’s feet, I returned her to darkness.

And still, I felt restless.

Outside the wing of family residences, I turned right. Ahead, Father and Nandor walked at a leisurely pace as they made their way down the airy vestibule that ran between the palace’s buildings. Nandor’s colossal shoulders towered high above the head of any Egyptian, and in contrast to Father’s crisp, precisely tucked white linen robe, he wore a shendyt, a kilt-like garment around his waist, a golden cuff at his ankle, and across one shoulder, the leopard skin he was never without.

The ceremony was about to begin, and still, there was no sign of my sister. None of your tricks today, Mennie. You promised. I paused to rest my throbbing forehead against a cool limestone wall.

Where was she? Last week, Menefra had slighted the Assyrian king, her intended husband, with her absence from his welcoming feast. She had taken to disappearing for long periods of time without any explanation. But it was her recent drinking that worried me most. Our father’s patience was wearing thin.

Piri, the old housemaid who had taken care of us since our mother bled to death bringing us into the world, had always insisted that we two shared a single soul, which allowed us to speak without words. When we were little, we sent only feelings or images to each other, but as we grew, we could converse by simply joining our minds. Those days always brought some mischief, and we were scarcely ever an arm’s distance apart.

But on the day I needed her most, my sister was nowhere to be found.

A polished bone clasp, fastened at my thigh, kept my sheath tight, allowing only the smallest, most dignified steps, which, in my preoccupation, I took without hurry. To better present the image of pharaoh and receive the double crown, my waist-length hair was braided in no less than fourteen rows, seven on each side of my head. These were but a few of the countless ceremonial details woven into my appearance that day. We Egyptians are nothing without our ceremonies and rituals. Soon the coronation ceremony would begin, and still, Menefra was worryingly silent. My forehead and upper lip grew damp with sweat.

Then, out of nowhere, she materialized, dressed in flowing hues of shadowy green. Her long black hair was loosely tied back, emphasizing the sharp curve of her cheekbones and elegant forehead. All my worries evaporated at the sight of her fierce beauty.

“Why didn’t you answer?” I asked, not as kindly as I could have. “And where have you been all day?”

Smiling, my sister pulled the ribbon from her hair, as long and thick as a horse’s tail. “Here, I’ve brought your favorite,” she said, holding out a plump persimmon. “To help settle your belly.”

I could scarcely even look at it without my stomach tightening into a knot. “I can’t,” I said, pushing the fruit away.

Menefra threw her arm around my shoulders. “You always worry too much.” After pulling me to the vestibule’s railing, she kissed me hard on the cheek. Her breath carried the strong, yeasty smell of beer. “At least take a bite or two. You’ve scarcely eaten all day. You don’t want to faint during the ceremony, do you?”

I bit into the fruit’s soft, sweet flesh while my sister leaned carelessly over the ledge, sweeping the air in a grand gesture. “See how they all rejoice in your honor!”

If she loved one thing, it was danger. Unlike me, she had no fear of heights or speeding chariots or fast-moving water. She was wild and fearless, and I—I was the dutiful, dependable one. What would it be like to change places with her and not always think of consequences first? I could not imagine.

Pulling her from the ledge, I grasped her hand and kissed it. “I cannot bear the thought of Father sending you to Assyria,” I told her. “I will find a way to discourage this marriage.”

“Father’s plans no longer interest me,” Mene said in a flat, dull voice. No one else would have noticed, but I, who knew her better than anyone in the world, could feel her pain.

She made a fist and crossed her left arm over her chest. The greeting of a queen. “After today, this is how you will address me.”

I did not recognize the expression that clouded her lovely face then. Perhaps I should have, but the preparations for this day had required us to spend so much time apart, and my mind was on other things.

“Stop acting like a child,” I huffed. “You and I will be as we have always been. Come, we must hurry.”

“Mark my words, sister,” Menefra said, grabbing the persimmon out of my hand and hurling it with deliberation into the crowd below. “Very soon, everything will change.”

I gave her my best long-suffering look, and we continued in silence.

The delegation for the coronation comprised seven, the number most associated with good fortune. Seven planets, seven steps of the Pyramid of Meidum, seven stars of the Big Dipper. A row of seven braids on either side of my head. The list was endless.

I was in strong need of good fortune. The Great Council had disputed my claim to the throne, insisting women were to keep the bloodlines pure and nothing else. Education was wasted on girls. My sister and I were born to make good marriages, and that was all.

But Father was immune to this or any challenge. As the living god, his wishes were not to be questioned, and this was what he wanted.

Soon enough, his divinity would also belong to me, and what had I done in my short life to deserve such supremacy? I simply could not grasp it.

Egypt’s most venerated advisors approached from separate hallways that came together at the Great Balcony. Following centuries of tradition, my sister and I took our places with the others in two rows, shielded from view by a heavy gauze curtain that would be pulled back to start the ceremony.

Splendid in layers of gold, with carnelian and blue lapis jewelry over his simple white robe, Pharaoh Pepy II took his place at the center of the first row. My heart brimmed with pride at the rare sight of my father this way. A nemes completed his regalia, the two hanging sides of his striped headdress framing cheekbones that had grown even more prominent with age. In his arms, he carried folds of gold-encrusted fabric.

“The people of Egypt send you this gift.” He dropped the golden folds to reveal a magnificent cape made from beads of hammered gold. When he fastened the velvety leather strap beneath my chin, my knees buckled slightly under its weight. I ran my tongue over my damp upper lip, hoping deep breaths would ease my unease.

“Where is Unam?” Father asked impatiently of the empty spot on his left.

In place of the High Priest was a lesser one I did not know. Middle-aged, his shaved head as pale and round as the moon, he wrung his soft hands before falling prostrate on the floor. “A thousand apologies, my Lord! The High Priest remains deep in prayer, ensuring abundant blessings for this day. He has sent me in his place.”

The anxious cleric covered his head as if to protect himself. True, Father did not look pleased, but I had never seen him strike anyone. Thinking of the many times when Menefra and I had surely deserved it, I smiled.

Father nodded for him to rise, affirming that the great honor of standing on Pharaoh’s left would be his. Behind me, Menefra snickered while Nandor muttered in his Nubian tongue.

With his long, pointed ears and uncompromising eyes, the vizier, Abasi, second only to the Pharaoh in power, had a rather jackal-like presence. Dressed in a black robe, he seemed to float to his position at the far right. Next to him, feet planted like a tree, arms crossed as he stood behind my father, was Nandor, Royal Guardian of the House of Pharaoh. The line continued with Menefra. Always restless, she could not stop fidgeting.

The last person to join was Egypt’s highest-ranking officer, General Sobo. A short, angry man, he had painted the Eye of Horus on the leather patch covering the eye he lost in battle. As if this were not garish enough, he always painted the other one to match. Once, I overheard a fresh-faced scribe, new to the palace, laughing as he described how frightfully wrong Sobo’s pathetic attempt to mask his injury was. I never saw that scribe again.

Sobo had always opposed my rule. After today, he would do everything in his power to see me fail. When he saw me looking at him, his lips parted in a thick, fleshy line, exposing the long yellow teeth of a crocodile.

“This is no occasion for weapons,” the general growled at the ominous sickle-shaped sword fastened to Nandor’s broad belt. Its gilded hilt shone bright in the late afternoon. Sobo’s smile tightened with condemnation. “Always challenging our traditions…”

Father turned to Sobo with visible exasperation. “Let it go.” He shook his head and leaned in close. “See what you’ll have to put up with?” He kissed my cheek and, too quietly for others to hear, said, “Soon you will be one with the gods; are you ready?” Then, peering through the curtain at the happy faces below, patient as they waited for a glimpse of their god-king, his voice rang out, “Today, my daughter makes history!”

My mind whirled. Was he referring to me or someone else? A cleverer, more prepared daughter of Pharaoh, one who embraced her future?

Ever equal in his affections, Father stepped away to find Menefra while I stared at the crowd through the gauzy curtain, my heart racing.

A moment later, a cry of sheer agony split the air. I spun around to see Menefra clutching a bloody knife, the strangest half-smile on her face.

Now what? Just another of her theatrical distractions, I thought. She was well known for lying in wait and scaring servants half to death, or dotting blood on her leg and pretending she’d been bitten by an asp.

But…no. Something was wrong. Something terrible had happened to Father, but I could not make sense of what it was.

I tried moving toward him, but my legs would not move. My hand rose instinctively to cover my mouth. Very quickly, thread by thread, I watched my life unravel.

“My own daught—” Father gasped, his brow lifted in surprise as he stumbled backward. There was a sharp metallic sound when his gold belt and jeweled armbands struck the floor.

My eyes fixed in horror as the bloodstain widened from a thin line and spread across his tunic. There was a grotesque gurgling sound as air left his body. Staring stupidly, my mind refused to make sense of it.

“The one you never notice is here, Father,” Menefra said in a voice so sweet it raised the hairs on my forearm. Then she held her arms open, fists high in the air, and shrieked, “You would marry me off and never think of me again!”

It was as if she were someone else.

“While her…” my sister said, turning her green eyes on me, “you would make Pharaoh. One twin, the living god; the other, nothing but the plaything of a decrepit old man!” She spat on the floor near our father. “Surely you knew that your corruption of our traditions would carry a price. But it will be I, not Khara, who will put Egypt’s future right.”

I could not move, or speak, or even breathe. My sister had never looked at me like that before. Who was this screaming, wild-eyed lunatic?

This could not be happening.

I felt myself floating. I blinked, realizing it was Nandor, who had plucked me from where I stood to tuck me safely away from the others. More than once, I thought he would run to my dying, gasping father, but something held him back.

As strength returned to my legs, I would have knelt at Father’s side, but the slight shake of Nandor’s head held me back. Then, facing the others, he took a warrior’s stance and drew his huge sickle-shaped sword.

Menefra dropped the brass knife and stared at her bloody palms. It made a hollow clinking sound as it struck the limestone floor. Still, I would not, could not believe what she had done. Backing away from Father’s body, she looked dazed. Bewildered. Someone had made her do this, I thought.

Dread bubbled up in my chest as Nandor took a wide stance, setting his jaw hard. There was a dark, terrifying calm in his eyes, like the sky before a storm. “Whatever happens,” he said to me, “stay behind me.”

“Wait!” the vizier pleaded, stepping forward, his long black robe tangling about his feet, his face as powdery and gray as ash. “She has the support of the Great Council!”

“You—knew?” It was the most surprise I ever saw Nandor show.

But of course, Abasi knew. He had to. Menefra could not have managed this otherwise.

Nandor’s face fell, and his voice took on a low, menacing quality. “You betrayed him for what, the promises of a jealous child? Or,” he said, looking into the depths of Abasi’s eyes, “were the promises yours?”

My teeth chattered at his words. A dead silence engulfed the balcony before Nandor lunged with a low, feral growl, sword held high. His movements as he pivoted were so fluid, so quick, I scarcely saw the graceful swing of his blade as he slashed the vizier’s torso in a great spray of blood.

The luckless priest screamed and fell to the floor. How quickly Nandor relieved him of his round head, which went careening across the room before thudding against the wall in an ugly dark smear. I watched it all like a nightmare.

Sobo’s eyes turned to Nandor’s. “You won’t outlive me by long, Nubian,” he said, grinning hatefully. “The palace guards are on the way. No matter what you do to me, a far worse fate awaits you.” He snorted and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I’ve always seen you for the heretical brute you are.” Sneering at Nandor’s sword, he muttered, “It’s easy to defeat unarmed men—”

Nandor set his sword down with a sound like a knife sharpening. I tried vainly to close my eyes against what was happening.

Even without his youth, the general was a formidable man. He lunged forward, flinging his arms around Nandor and pounding his lower back and face. Sobo’s arms were still flailing when Nandor took hold of his face, lifting him up and up from the floor. I heard a sound like the breaking of a clay jar just before the general’s body fell into a useless mound of legs and arms. Only his eye patch held its place.

Agile as a cat, Menefra leapt out of reach and scooped up the knife she’d dropped. “You cannot save her,” she said softly, her eyes gleaming bright at the sight of Abasi’s oozing entrails. Her words were a dagger to my heart. “If I fail, there are others…” she said, moving toward Nandor with astonishing deliberation.

“My sword,” he said over his shoulder.

“No,” I said.

Standing between my twin and me, Nandor looked over his shoulder. “Khara! Give me my sword.”

His voice woke me from my trance, my mind still clouded as I slid the sword toward him with my foot. He took it up and straightened, drawing it in a wide arc before bringing it to rest before Menefra.

My sister hesitated, her eyes fixed not on the weapon but on me. Seemingly unafraid, she continued, waving the knife still wet with our father’s blood.

“What have you done?” I cried out, searching desperately for the confidante I had always known. But the expression in her eyes belonged to a stranger.

She answered simply, “You must die, sister.”

I held her spiteful gaze and, without words, called to her: Just this morning we were laughing together, painting thick lines of kohl across our eyelids. What evil has possessed you?

My last hope was to use my denial and outrage, the frenzy of my emotions, and send them to Menefra. For an instant, her dancing knife froze.

It was the opportunity Nandor needed. He grabbed a worn leather pouch from around his waist and, moving closer, shook its silvery contents into her face.

She thrust her knife viciously, even as the blinding powder took effect. After struggling to free the blade from Nandor’s flesh, she struck again. “You will not save her!” she shrieked. “You will not save her!”

Nandor moved behind her, wrapping his great black arm around her neck as she fought in vain, not releasing her until her body went limp. He laid her down gently, away from the blood spreading across the stone floor.

“How did I not see this?” he muttered, shaking his head. The rage faded from his face, replaced by a look that tore through my heart. “Forgive me, Princess Khara. Even now I cannot harm her.”

His eyes cleared, and he rose, taking me into his arms. My nose filled with the smell of blood. The edges of my sight grew jagged, fractured. In that moment just before everything went dark, I remembered.

The persimmon.