Reflections in the Nile (19 page)

The thought of Cheftu with another woman made her even crankier.

She was seated in her cool room when Cheftu entered. She handed him her brief note describing Thut's request.

“My lady has received a royal invitation,” he said. “Do you have second thoughts about accepting?”

Chloe stared at him, frustrated with her inability to communicate. Could she be overreacting to Thut's stares and invitation? Cheftu watched her through narrowed eyes. Slowly she shook her head. Somehow she would be fine.

“Does my lady feel, um, unsafe with Horus-in-the-Nest?” he asked gravely.

She shrugged, uncertain and embarrassed. Cheftu considered for a moment, his long-lashed gaze never leaving her face. “I shall send a guard with you.” He paused; for a moment an expression of very human confusion crossed his face, then he spoke, cold as ever. “I confess I do not understand your concerns, RaEm. Thutmosis has been your goal for years, so why the facade of fear? This is the opportunity you have lusted after; or are you playing the reluctant maiden for my benefit? I assure you, it is unnecessary.” Chloe averted her face. His words and manner were offensive. RaEm may have been free and easy, but she, Chloe, had a different standard.

Kissing strangers in the bulrushes and enemies on pyramids notwithstanding.

Cheftu grabbed her and pulled her close to his side, wrenching her arm cruelly. His eyes were no longer opaque, and with blazing revulsion they raked her face, yet his touch warmed her. Once more gaining his precious control, he thrust her away and walked rapidly from the room.

“Get over it!” she wanted to scream. His sniping, his barbed comments … in the other facets of his life he seemed to be reasonable and rational, but not with RaEm. Basha jolted into the room. “My lady,” she said, anguished, her gaze open, “how are we to prepare you in such a short time?” Chloe entered the bath and saw fresh water. Apparently Thut's Apiru had quite a lot of power. She allowed Basha to undress her and climbed gratefully into the inlaid pool, bracing herself for hours of pampering and toilette.

The moon had already risen when she was ushered into Thut's private apartments. Torches flickered across the beaten-gold walls, portraying the triumphs of Hatshepsut.

Thut stood in the corner, his wrestler's body draped in gold-fringed linen. A red leather collar spanned his wide shoulders, matching the gold-and-red
henhet
crown, the cobra and vulture standing out in solid gold. He stepped toward her, his hands extended.

Although Chloe stood almost a foot taller, the power of his body was overwhelming. She began to wonder if her hooded guard, tall and muscular though he was, would be any help if Thut decided he wanted more than just companionship.

“Come forward, Lady of Silver. I see you have dressed according to your name.” Chloe grasped his warm, meaty paw as he scanned her. A filmy veil of silver cloth encased her body, her only jewelry a filigree silver collar and a white flower in her hair. Though her eyes were ringed with black, she had worn no other makeup or fragrance, despite Basha's obvious attempts to make her as alluring as possible.

Since her own hair made her resemble someone in the latter stages of mange, Basha had covered it with a white-and-silver headcloth. A wig was out. The “other” said that wearing a wig to a private dinner was parallel to offering a date a selection of condoms when he came to pick her up. Not a signal Chloe was interested in sending.

She looked around the room, avoiding Thut's murky gaze. A curtained room stood off to the side, a low rumbling coming from it. She looked at the prince; what was the noise?

He dropped his gaze and called for wine, seeming suddenly nervous. The noise stopped and something heavy fell. A human groan. Was someone hurt? Immediately she was standing in the doorway, the curtain over her shoulder.

It was a studio. A potter's studio. Chloe blinked and turned to Thut. He drew himself up, refusing to look at her. “It is my hobby,” he said stiffly.

She walked in. He was a craftsman? The room's simple whitewashed walls had been used as drawing boards. Imperfect ideas were sketched out and polished in the same hand. A high shelf was lined with bowls, statuettes, and molds. Two large pots were spattered with liquid plaster, and at one table were works in progress.

Picking up a double-handed jug, Chloe turned to Thutmosis. He took it from her grasp, explaining the handles were still wet. Chloe looked at her hands, slightly smudged with paint from the detailed artwork of ram's horns she had held. Beside a bar was a high stool, an unfinished sculpture before it. Bast?

She looked at his paints and a literal, physical yearning gripped her. With a shaking finger she touched his palette. It was rectangular, carved of ivory, the wells for color inscribed with etched hieroglyphs. Ocher, lapis, cadmium, white, malachite, gold, and black. She rubbed the paint between her fingers, gauging the consistency. A little more liquid and it would be perfect for papyrus. Oh! Paint! To be able to create in color!

Thut coughed and Chloe realized she'd wandered through his personal chambers with the disregard of a three-year-old. She felt herself blush and turned, expecting a reprimand. Thut fixed his gaze to the left of her nose. “The projects in the kiln are complete, if you would like … ?”

Chloe smiled, the first genuine smile in what seemed like days. They walked to the back, where the air grew hotter and heavier. Through waves of heat she saw large jars, the same double-handled design, and flat plates with painted centers. She leaned down over one to get a better look.

“My lady …”

Chloe turned on her heel and walked swiftly through the studio, absently noting the throwing wheel. It felt as if her whole body were red with embarrassment. Pornographic pottery! The picture she'd bent down to see was difficult to comprehend … because of the … gymnastics the couple were involved in. She slammed a glass of wine.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the guard. He stood erect, his tanned skin sheened with sweat in the torchlight, his face hidden by a leather mask. She saw that his biceps were pale … almost as if he wore armbands, something only not wore.

Thut touched her back and she spun, stepping away.

“Does it surprise you that a prince would do something besides rule and conquer?” His nostrils were flared, and Chloe realized he was offended. She shook her head.

“In your understanding of men, Lady of Silver, do we all seek nothing except destruction? To maim? To kill? Do you think conflict is all we live for? Do you think the beauty of life, a child's smile, a beautiful wall painting, a poem of longing … that these things are beyond us?”

She backed up.

“A man can be both a conqueror and appreciate the creating arts.” He reached for his belt, unlatching it so that the gold-and-leather strip dropped to the ground with a soft thud. “Although I would hate for you to doubt my word.” He lunged for her and Chloe ran, dodging the columns and skittering on the mats. He grabbed her wrist, his hand a vise, and twisted it behind her, kissing her with the fury of an outraged ego.

His tongue pressed against her teeth as she turned and twisted. She had height, but he was strong—and angry. He squeezed her breast painfully, and Chloe kneed him. Growling with anger, he threw her away, blinking rapidly. “How dare you refuse my royal attentions!” he said through gritted teeth.

“How dare you defile a priestess of HatHor!” she retorted. “Your manhood is not in question, Horus, your manners are!”

Chloe couldn't tell who was more surprised to hear her speak.

Thut stared with dropped jaw, and the guard stumbled after taking a step toward her. Was she speaking this strange language in her own voice? She pressed a hand to her throat. Thut took a step back, and she ran out of the golden chamber, her guard trailing. Elated, she turned to him. “Where is Lord Cheftu? I must speak with him tonight!”

He shook his head vigorously and in a somewhat choked voice said, “I will tell him my lady's good fortune after I see you safely to your apartments.”

Chloe shrugged. He left her at her door and she entered the chamber, whistling. Basha came running out of her adjoining room.

“My lady?”

“Basha, I can speak! I can speak! My voice has been returned to me!” Chloe clapped her hands in delight, grabbed Basha, and began waltzing around the room, stepping all over the girl in the process. “I can talk, I can sing, I can chatter, I can yap—” She looked up and saw Cheftu staring at her from the doorway. He looked stunned, and his body was glazed in perspiration. Chloe stopped and thrust Basha away from her.

“My voice has returned, Lord Cheftu.”

She saw his pulse jump as he smiled a wide, courtly smile. “You must be so pleased, Lady RaEm. His Majesty's kisses must carry the healing powers of Thoth himself.”

Chloe's face froze. “So the guard was also a spy?”

“Horus-in-the-Nest has presented you with this gift, my lady,” Cheftu said. “The slave was instructed to pass on His Majesty's gratitude and pleasure.” He stabbed her with a wrapped parcel, a narrow box tied hastily with ribbon.

“I did not—”

Grabbing her arm, he said loudly, “Let us go to the garden, my lady.” When they stood beside the fountain in the center of the lotus garden, Cheftu turned to her. “You endanger the lives of us all, RaEm! Your careless behavior is even now in the ears of priests from here to Waset! The Great House will not be pleased. Now your unborn child can be said to be either the incarnation of Amun or the son of Horus-in-the-Nest! Your ability to speak after ‘seeing’ Thut will read like treason to the Great House. These are uncertain times. You will be in danger. You had best pray Thut is generous with you!”

Chloe pulled her arm out of his grasp. She recognized now what the pain had been when they'd first arrived. It had felt like a zillion fire ants camping out in her throat and chest— the same burning itching that had presaged gaining feeling back in other parts of her body after she'd arrived in ancient Egypt. So she had had the ability to speak for several days but had never tried.
Haii-aiii!
However, her anger toward herself was quite different from her anger toward this uppity man who was always unhappy with her, no matter what.

She said sarcastically, “I ask your great mercy for my voice having returned at an unfortunate time. I have done nothing wrong. Now I may return to the Great House in complete safety, able to explain my actions and assume my responsibilities. Why do you care, anyway? I'm just another notch on your Thoth-headed stick! Your position is secure. I am healed and I am safe!”

Cheftu's face was shaded in the moonlight, but his hard grip around her waist and his long-fingered hand pressing on her tight belly communicated clearly. “Safe, my lady? When even now proof of your broken vows grows within you? When your betrothed, Nesbek, your former lover Pakab, or the soldier Phaemon is the father and could betray you at any moment? Or is it another of your other debauched Egyptian nobles?” He shook her slightly. “Are you mad?”

Chloe's thoughts raced. For the briefest second a man's face flashed before her; his mouth was open, and his eyes were round with disbelief. Before the image faded, she saw blood gush from his mouth. A pair of hands, woman's hands, were covered in his blood. She damned RaEm to a personal hell for not cataloging her memories. Who was that? Why had she seen him?

Cheftu had terrifyingly good points about a father. She placed her hands on his. “If there is a child, it shall not suffer due to my shortcomings.”

“Then you'd best proclaim it to be the offspring of Amun-Ra, priestess. Say it is a man-child to marry the princess Neferurra and help her rule over Egypt. Then, though Pharaoh herself will hate you, you will have the nominal protection of Hapuseneb. Or rid yourself of it. Herbs grow here along the Nile—”

She cut him off. “Nay. This is a life. I will find a way to protect it.” It's not even my own, she thought dazedly. If it
is
at all.

“Meanwhile you also need protection from—” Cheftu's grip lost its intensity but gained in familiarity.

“From Thut,” she interrupted. “He would have bedded me tonight had I not shocked him so.”

“Maybe from Thut, but also from me,” he murmured as he lowered his lips to hers. His kiss was as different from the bestial grunting of Thut as the sun from mud. Chloe's head swam as she leaned into him, feeling the hard heat of his body as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing him closer, inhaling his intoxicating scent. She opened her mouth and felt electricity flow between them at contact. When he pulled away his breath was rasping, his eyes gleaming in the dark like a wild animal's.

“What is this enchantment, RaEm?” He lifted a shaking hand and drew it down the side of her face, tracing her lips with the slightest touch. “Why do I desire you and despise you in the same breath? You are no mystery to me, yet I long to know more. Have you cast a spell on me?” He dropped his hand at Chloe's silence and bowed abruptly. “I bid you good evening, my lady,” he said, and vanished into the darkness of the garden.

Chloe stood there, trying to catch her breath, to forget the feel of his demanding body, blocking out every other thought on this incredible night.

She still held the gift from Thutmosis. Slowly she unwrapped it.

It fit in her hand. The colors were still wet from Horus’ use, the delicate brushes now tucked in the carved pocket beneath the cartouche-embossed lid. His artist's palette.

CHAPTER 7

T
he morning sun was already creeping across the painted floor when Chloe jerked awake. Soon Basha would be in with the Perfuming of the Mouth. Thank the gods it was only fruit and milk, because even the memory of scrambled eggs, bacon, and coffee sent her out of bed in search of her chamber pot.

A few minutes later, face cool with perspiration, she leaned against the whitewashed wall. She'd ignored the signs long enough. All the wishing in the world would not change what was now a fact.

Apparently she was pregnant, and if this being sick and feeling tired all of the time was pregnancy, then pregnancy
sucked,
Chloe doubted she had slept this much in her entire life. Who was the father? As her mother had always said, “It takes two to tango.”