Happy 2020 everyone! I hope you had a good start to the new year. There are two new chapters today, one of which is a glossary for the Egyptian words and explanations that I will update regularly.

~References~

-Ta-seti: Nubia, a region in central Sudan. The literal translation of Ta-seti is 'Land of the bow'

-Electrum: An alloy of gold and silver.

-Upet: Headdress

Also, fun fact: Egyptians actually did paint their nails with henna (if they could afford it).

"Ahkmenrah, I am proud of you," Merenkahre said smiling, a very rare occurrence these days. Despite his best efforts however, the prince wasn't able to reciprocate the smile. All he did manage was not to scowl. He had aspired his father's approval for as long as he could remember and, in fact, had never lacked it, but after Henet-Seteps revelation he couldn't conceive joy at the praise. It was as if he were being fed cakes that crumbled to dust in his mouth.

"I do my best," he heard his insubstantial voice echo through the dining hall. His mother raised a hand to his chin, and from the corners of his eyes he could see her painted nails.

"And the work on the temple is progressing excellently."

She sounded so happy he felt even more terrible for avoiding her gaze. It was exactly one week ago that he and Bek had overheard the doctor's conversation in the gardens. A week in which he had been strangely numb. Still, he figured the numbness was better than constantly fighting tears, so he wouldn't complain. As for Nefari, he hadn't seen her in all that time, and while he did believe that his chest ached at the notion, the prick of sensation was not sharp enough to pierce the heaviness that had weighed him down. He quietly picked a grape from his plate and put it in his mouth, fervently hoping the topic of conversation would be directed toward something other than himself.

"I, today pried a confession out of the thieves who broke into the granaries," Kahmunrah rose to speak, much to Ahkmen's relief. A grin pulled at the corners of the crown prince's mouth as he stared his brother down triumphantly. Isetamun, who had been unusually quiet all evening, put a hand on his shoulder.

"How wonderful."

The younger man gently blew air out of his nose. Iset's affectation regarding Kah was as dispensable as the ignition of a lamp in broad daylight. They had no other female relatives in their family. It had stood firm for years that the two would be married once Kah became Pharaoh... No one could dispute her position as Queen.

"This is wonderful news," Shepseheret affirmed, giving her eldest son an endorsing look.

"Indeed."

Their father didn't sound as enthusiastic as his wife, but Kahmunrah still squared his shoulders, determined to bask in any compliment he could get.

"How did you judge them?" Iset asked far too cheerfully, causing Ahkmenrah to quickly swallow. He was certain Kah's answer involved violence and blood and he knew he couldn't force anymore food past the disgust he already felt.

"I ordered their noses and ears cut off, then I had them buried alive and their families sent to the gold mines of Ta-seti."

Their cousin clapped her hands in delight, while the young prince saw their parents share a look he couldn't quite interpret. He turned his attention back to his plate. A harsh punishment for a few sacks of grain, but Ahkmen wasn't in the mood to philosophize about it now. Two seats away from him, the King, yet again, began coughing slightly until he had to fight a full-blown fit. Ahkmenrah gritted his teeth but dared not look at him.

It was only when wet pulp squeezed through his fingers that he realized he had crushed some of the grapes in his tension. No one had observed his little mishap; the whole room was far too busy with trying, unsuccessfully, to glance at his father unnoticed. Even the servants next to the pillars around them couldn't avert their gazes.

"Maybe you should go take an airing," Shepseheret muttered calmly. The Pharaoh turned his reddened face to her, his teary eyes narrowed. She, on the other hand, met his look even more urgently, which eventually led him to exhale and nod. Her persuasiveness was remarkable, frightening almost. Merenkahre braced himself against the table and clambered out of the seat, succeeding only with great difficulty. Two of his bodyguards approached to quietly offer him support, but he ignored their attempts to help, even shoving his wife's hand away.

"Ahkmenrah," he panted instead. The prince flinched as if struck across the face and turned to his father timidly. "Come, join me."

Motionless he regarded the king's empty, gilded chair, and then him who stood beside it. He couldn't be alone with his father. All those walls he had erected around him over the past week would collapse. But Merenkahre's gaze was firmly fixed on him. Ahkmen swallowed and rose too, his chair scraping quietly over the smooth limestone floor. Unsure whether the Pharaoh required his assistance, he remained inactive at first, though it quickly became clear that he did not need any help. Overall the only thing that still testified to his illness was his heavy breathing.

They moved away from the table and headed for the side of the room that opened into the gardens. Kahmunrah watched them leave, his mouth a grim line. Silent, even steps behind them revealed at least three following guards. Ahkmenrah had always been intimidated by these sekets, especially as a child. Since he had never seen them laugh that probably wasn't a surprise either. Well, at least they kept their distance.

As they reached the stairs, the young man heard his mother reprimand the servants who apparently had 'forgotten their tasks through all the gaping'. The evening air was clear and fresh, and Merenkahre took a deep breath. His son feared it would throw him into another coughing, but nothing happened. Ahkmen turned his gaze off his father and instead surveyed the haze that rose from the lush vegetation at their feet. In the last rays of the sun, it looked as if golden beings saw off the day with a slow dance. Descending the steps, the boy kept an eye on Merenkahre in case he had to lean onto him.

"I would appreciate it if you could refrain from looking at me like that," the King declared, his voice still raucous. Ahkmenrah's eyes shot straight back ahead while he tried to sound casual.

"How do I look at you?"

"As if you feared I could drop dead at any moment."

The boy remained silent and watched his counterpart's eyes grow larger before a wrinkle appeared between his brows.

"So you do know."

Ahkmenrah was nothing if not a rational thinking person. For him, there hadn't been any doubt that the physician was wrong with his diagnosis of the disease. Subconsciously, he had probably already suspected it when he'd discovered the first blood stain on the napkin all those weeks ago. However, when his father did not deny the thesis, he understood how much he had secretly and contrary to logic hoped that it was a huge error.

"…Only if it is true."

Instead of answering, the king looked at him silently, and it was this silence that finally swept the stupor off Ahkmen's body. What followed, however, was a much more horrible ordeal. A knife stabbed through the heart couldn't hurt any worse. The prince wanted to say something, but not one word came out of his constricted throat. His eyes began to burn suspiciously and he kept his gaze on the ships that were sailing in the distance to distract himself.

"How do you know?"

It took a moment before he trusted his voice again.

"I heard the physician talk about it."

"Did you tell anyone?" the older man wanted to know, his attitude, as always, more pharaonic than paternal. His son shook his head before recalling the events of that fateful evening.

"But Bek was there with me."

Too late came to his mind that he might have just put his friend into a situation that could potentially end in high treason. The King, however, nodded in acceptance. He apparently had a trust in the soldier that was based on his own collaboration with his father.

"Does mother know?"

A sad smile tugged at Merenkahre's lips.

"She was the first to suspect it."

Ahkmenrah found it increasingly difficult to withstand the pressure behind his eyes.

"Father, I-"

But before he could finish speaking he was pulled into a determined embrace. In an embrace that he had experienced five, maybe six times over the course of his life. Without him being able to do anything about it, the tears began to run down his cheeks.

Of course, it was Ahkmenrah who accompanied their father on a walk through the gardens. The favorite son. The prodigy. Who else? He, who excelled so enormously in his academic work. He, who spoke six foreign languages. He, whose skill with bow and arrow was second to none, probably even without hands. He had been gifted a team with the finest horses before he could even walk properly. The palace was bursting with murals that testified to his exploits.

You couldn't turn anywhere without seeing his precious little face! In the chapel that the King had added to the temple grounds, Ahkmenrah's statue even was as tall as his brother's. Whether foreign and domestic, he solved all political problems presented to him in the blink of an eye. And on top of that it was his golden tablet which was to outwit death and give eternal life! Of course, it had to be crafted after his birth, no one should ever have to live without him again!

Please just don't mind Kahmunrah, he is only the crown prince! The heir to the throne. The future Pharaoh. You can overlook him! Oh no, that's fine. Who could spot him in the shadow cast by Ahkmenrah's enormous head, anyway?

Granted, maybe he shouldn't have tried to put the scorpion in the baby's bed at the time... But desperate times called for desperate measures and that had been the best idea his nine-year-old mind could come up with. He just shouldn't have get caught by the wet-nurse. Once again, he wondered where he would stand today, had his little sister Tasherit not died in the cot. Had the three brothers before Ahkmenrah not been stillbirths. Would he now be treated with the respect that was due to him? Yes, he was sure. The golden son was just a trial of the gods to see how much humiliation Kahmunrah could bear.

The elder prince stomped furiously through the corridors after his mother had more or less disbanded dinner. His appearance was obviously so frightening that the servants literally fled from him. The misfortunates who didn't manage in time ducked their heads and tried to look as small as possible. When he arrived at his chambers, the guards were already holding the doors for him and he rushed straight inside.

In his fury, he thrust his foot into one of the high-legged incense bowls next to the entrance and, with grim satisfaction, heard it go down with a brazen clank. The smoldering resin scattered over a considerable area, and it wasn't until he let his gaze wander over the chaos that he realized he had company. In the middle of the room, next to the table, stood his little spy. Her eyes were screwed shut and her lips pressed together, as if she was expecting him to storm over and tear off her limbs.

The prince regained his composure, squared his shoulders and brushed over his tunic before moderately approaching her. She flinched subconsciously the closer he got. How adorable.

"I hope you are bringing me good news. For your sake."

The servant nodded, barely visible, as he came to a halt in front of her and opened her eyes, only to look down to her bare feet.

"And what is it? Out with it, I am not in the mood for games!"

Kahmunrah would have never expected what happened next. Instead of answering, the girl jutted out her chin and looked firmly into his eyes.

"I-I'd like to see my sister first."

Well, some might have seen unspeakable courage in this rebellion, the prince didn't though. In his opinion, it was a mixture of massive stupidity and suicidal tendencies that had led her to open her mouth. The man's initial disbelief quickly subsided, leaving the field for a grin. At that moment, she seemed to become aware of her mistake.

"Tani. I am afraid you are misunderstanding the arrangement we are in here. Let me make it clear to you." He went over to the impressive arsenal of weapons mounted on the wall. With one practiced grip, he took a khopesh of electrum and twirled the hilt in his hand. The sunlight falling over the balcony was reflected by the sharp blade like a warning as he pointed it at himself. Tapping its tip against his chest, he strolled back to her.

"I am the crown prince. This means -let me explain it to you- that one day I will become Pharaoh. If you now take my father's advanced age and rapidly deteriorating health into account, we can expect this event in the coming decade." He reached her and placed the blade under her chin to lift it. "You are a little girl whose neck will not withstand a sword blow better than that of any other. I chose you to aid me because you serve my brother, but he has a dozen more of your kind. That is why you are replaceable."

When she began to tremble uncontrollably, he took the sword from her throat and let his fingers wander over the hieroglyphics engraved in the metal, promising the bearer of the weapon a thousand victories.

"Unless the weight of your head is too heavy for you and you want me to fix the problem, I suggest from now we both do what I say. Surely your sister would also welcome it if I did not have to hold her liable for your missteps."

Tani nodded so violently that she risked a concussion and Kahmunrah knew she would never raise the bothersome subject again.

"Good. Now tell me what I want to hear."

"It's a girl," she whispered, before figuring out he barely understood her and hurrying to continue louder. "He's meeting a girl. In the city."

At first, the prince thought he had misheard her words. A girl. A girl in the city. This behavior did not sound like his brother at all. Until... Yes, until he deepened the image. Ahkmenrah skipping his lessons to be with his beloved. Ahkmenrah in a worn-out shendyt, making excuses. Ahkmenrah feigning illness. The sneer on the man's face became more gleeful.

So, the prince of hearts had found a little peasant princess. Wasn't that touching? In his head was just blossoming the right idea as to how he could use this knowledge for himself. It was time to make some changes in their parents' relations to their favorite and his brother dear would be able to play an active part in it.

"What is her name?"

The servant swallowed.

"N-Nefari."

Telling Ranheb of the wrecked cart and the missing donkey had not been easy. He did not openly admit he blamed her for the mess, but he didn't have to. She knew exactly what he was thinking: if she hadn't insisted on fetching the clay herself... if she hadn't wanted to prove something, none of this would have happened. Of course, the siblings had searched the surrounding area for Pepy the next morning, but he seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth. They hadn't even been able to retrieve the cart. All parts that were big enough for reuse had already been taken by someone else.

Huya hadn't shown his face either. He'd left immediately after delivering her to the pottery shop. They hadn't said one word about what had happened between them and Nefari had never before been so confused. Was she in love with him? Love was a strong term. She knew she liked him… very much so… and with them nearly kissing it was clear that he felt the same way about her. At least she thought he did. But then she got the impression that he regretted the matter. The fact that he hadn't visited her again after the ordeal only reinforced her suspicion.

The girl shook her head. It had been stupid to get involved with him anyway. She had no time for such an affair at all. A jab went through her chest at the thought, but she decided it was better not to think about it further. At least not now. Now she had to grind flour, then go to the market, then bake bread, then clean the house... And she had to deal with it all before her brother came back with the few blocks of clay he could carry in his basket so she could start cooking. Perhaps it would always stay like this. Perhaps she would never get married. Perhaps Tiwa was right...

Perhaps you should stop whining and just press the stone harder!

She grimly followed her own advice and scraped over the grains as hard as she could. Sweat dripped from her face and she wiped her forehead, groaning and glaring up to the roofing that did such a miserable job. Ra's hands stole past the sparsely laid palm fronds on the frame much too easily. She had to re-cover the canopy as soon as possible.

The squeaking of the court gate resounded a short time later and she whipped her head around. She couldn't calm her heart fast enough; it leapt at the idea of it being Huya who had come back. Scrambling to her feet, she rushed to the edge of the roof, only to see it was her brother who stood in the yard. Her shoulders drooped, but when she noticed how strangely he was carrying his basket she furrowed her brow.

"Why are you back already?" she called down to him. The blood in her veins ran cold when he raised his gaze and stared her dead serious in the eye.

"The pit is empty. There is no clay left."

Please, no! One couldn't have that much misfortune! Horrified, she lifted her dress from her feet and walked down the stairs. She came to stand before Ranheb, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Tell me it's not true."

He shook his head, removed himself from her grip and lowered the basket, so that she could see inside. There were only four puny blocks of clay in it. She raked her fingers through her hair, pulling at the roots while looking at the clay.

"What do we do now?" Nefari asked, after just standing there for a while. Her brother shrugged his shoulders, put the basket away and dropped in the shadow of the house wall, exhausted. With his eyes closed, he leaned his head against the bricks. He was at his wit's end.

With a terrible pressure on her heart, she crouched down next to him, stretched out her legs and rested her head on his upper arm. Then silence enclosed the siblings. The girl let her gaze wander around the yard. Without the cart that had always stood beside the gate, it seemed far too large to her. The same was true for the donkey's shed. She sighed deeply and heard her brother follow suit.

Yes, what would they do now? The basis of their life had virtually crumbled underneath them. It was hard for her not to give in to the desperate thoughts that, like demons, crawled forth from the darkest corner of her mind, encircling her, ready to swallow her whole. After a long time, she felt Ranheb raising himself up a bit.

"Maybe... Maybe we can work in a temple pottery," he muttered, gazing down at her. The young woman lifted her head and pondered. It wasn't a bad idea in general. Temple potteries had their clay delivered; no one there had to worry about transport. And there was a fixed pay, regardless of the quantity of production.

"Do you really think that could work?" she inquired tentatively.

"Why not? We are pretty good after all. And we'll learn what we don't know." Enthusiasm bled into his voice the longer he thought about it. "I'll take a few jars to Ipet-Sut so that someone can have a look at them." With one bound he was on his feet and stretched out his arms. "Everything will get better, Nefari, you'll see."

Joyful, he pushed the curtain in the door aside and disappeared into the house, where she heard him quietly muttering for a while. He had come across a good solution to their problems. Why was her stomach still feeling so queasy? Shaking her head, she climbed back onto the roof and darted towards the grinding stone when she saw a few birds feasting on the grain. Flailing her arms wildly, she drove away the squawking troublemakers.

Ranheb set off shortly afterwards with a basket of their most beautiful bowls, intent on making everything to the better. She, on the other hand, remembered one of the stories Tiwa had once entertained her with while washing clothes. About craftsmen in the workshop of a large estate outside the city who were not paid.

About foreman flogging the soles of their feet with sticks if they did not finish enough pieces. Could the same happen in the temple workshops? The thought made her terribly sick. It would be a change to work for someone other than themselves. Having to answer to someone else. Would Ranhebs stubborn head be able to obey?

Much more importantly, would her own stubborn head be?

Lost in thought she began to sieve the grist. A small smile flashed over her features as she recalled Huya's contorted face when he'd first tried her bread. Frankly, it was hard for her to imagine that a family of boat builders could afford a higher-quality sieve, but who knew how they'd set their priorities? Although, when she thought of the expensive sandals the boy had sacrificed for her and Ranheb on New Year's Day, her intestines seemed to knot together…

A few hours had passed when she poured some of the flour into a small bag, took her basket out of the pantry, and headed to the market. She had almost reached the yard gate when someone behind it desperately called her name, hammering fiercely against the wood. Startled, she ran the last steps and pulled the door open.

It revealed Ineni's face, absolutely distraught. Her eye make-up ran down to her cheeks in black streaks where the tears had apparently been hastily wiped away. On her hip sat an equally crying Nikhem, who she tried to calm down with erratic rocking. Ramose stood behind her, clinging to her skirt, while Cheperankh detached herself from exactly there to sobbingly crash into Nefari's legs. Her little fingers feverishly clutched the straw doll she kept at her side at all times. Instinctively, the potter put a hand on the four-year-old's head.

"What happened?" she asked in alarm.

"Heru, he... There was an accident... In the ropeyard. They have- his arm... His arm was jammed. He's... I have to... Can- can you take the children?"

She sounded so frightened Nefari might reject her request, it stung the younger woman's heart. The potter felt herself nodding, a little surprised at first, then, as she processed the extent of what had been said, more emphatically.

"Of course!"

Immediately, she put her shopping basket on the floor and reached her free arm out to the youngest son, whom Ineni handed over to her. Not, however, without first taking her friend's hand and pressing it against her trembling lips.

"Thank you ..." she whispered, and new tears began to fall. "Thank you!"

"Mama," Ramose said in a chocked voice, and the older woman remembered his presence. She crouched in front of him and put her hands on his little shoulders.

"I have to go, ibib. Be good and watch out for your siblings. Can you do that for me?"

He wiped his eyes and nodded. His mother pressed a kiss to his forehead and got up.

"Such a sweet boy." She forced herself to smile and petted his shaved head. Then, she thanked Nefari again, promised to be back as soon as possible and ran down the street as fast as her legs could carry her. The potter looked after her anxiously, slightly bobbing up and down when Nikhem began to cry louder.

It took her a lot of time, patience and three small figures formed from one of the last clay blocks to calm the children down. And it was difficult for her, too, seeing she herself was horribly worried about Heru. How could she lead them to believe everything was fine after her mother suffered half a mental breakdown right before their eyes?

But eventually they became quieter and the girl dared to take them to the market with her. In hindsight, this wasn't her best idea, but she and Ranheb had to make ends meet themselves and if you didn't go shopping you had no food on the table at the end of the day.

"Hungry," complained Nikhem while they were inspecting the turnips at the vegetable stand. She shifted his weight on her hip and caressed his cheek with her finger.

"I'll cook something delicious once we get home," she comforted.

"Can we go to the temple?" Cheperankh asked again, tugging at Nefari's dress. The potter didn't know why, but the little girl had been asking for it all morning. Something about the concept fascinated her tremendously.

"Not today, Tjuy", she repeated for the ten thousandth time and ignored the following whining. Ramose was the calmest out of all three, dwelling on his own thoughts and only occasionally sharing them. It was understandable. He was the eldest, almost seven years of age now. He had a better understanding of the circumstances than his siblings.

"Will he get well again?" he suddenly asked, watching the young woman with sad eyes. Nefari's brows knitted together but she forced the corners of her mouth upwards.

"A lot of people do everything they can to help him," she assured and tightened her grip on his brother when he started fidgeting.

"Eat," he complained, pointing at a bunch of leeks.

"Later," she reminded.

"Now!"

"Can we go to the temple?"

Nefari sighed deeply.

"No, Cheperankh, we aren't going to the temple today."

"And if he doesn't get well?" Ramose interjected. When the young woman looked down on him, she saw fresh tears glistening in his eyes. She crouched down, as his mother had done.

"Your father is strong, isn't he?"

The little one nodded, a bit unsure.

"He can carry five coils of rope at once," he mused.

"See? He will use all his strength to recover."

The child stared at her in surprise and then let his gaze fall to the ground, his forehead in wrinkles. He looked like he was solving a complicated puzzle.

"That is a lot of strength..." he agreed, immediately making a more relieved impression. She smiled and then just in time noticed Nikhem fishing around in the bowl of peapods he now had in front of his nose. Groaning, she pulled his hand out of the pods, at which he started wailing.

"At home."

"Hey, girl! Do you want vegetables or not? I have eight sons and when they come home, they are as hungry as twenty!" shouted an old woman. The potter turned around and found that a considerable line had formed behind her. No one standing there looked at her with particular kindness.

"I'm almost done," she called back irritated, and had her basket filled with a bit of everything. She didn't care what it was as long as she could just finish here. His crying intensifying, Nikhem began hitting her with his little fists and struggled to get out of her arms.

"Stop it, or you won't be getting anything at all!" she warned, catching his hands.

"Come on, hurry up!" someone from behind barked again, obviously referring to the basket the vegetable merchant held out to her with a pitying look. The girl was quite tempted to turn around and give these old hags a piece of her mind, but she held back. Instead, she took the basket, exposing herself to Nikhem's tantrum. A relief beyond words washed over her when Ramose stretched out his hands and divested her of the wickerwork.

"Why do people bring children into the world if they can't raise them properly?" another woman ranted when Nefari walked past her with her charges. The fine clothes, the ship's load of jewelry she was wearing, and the two slaves by her side disclosed that she certainly hadn't brought up her children herself. "I already would have-"

"Show me," the girl chipped in furiously, turning around. The woman wrinkled her nose, apparently not very taken with the fact that she was addressed by the potter.

"What?"

"Show me the people who care."

Without waiting for an answer but rather satisfied with herself, she and the children left the stand behind. Nikhem eventually calmed down and put his head on her shoulder, where she could feel tears and mucus soak into her dress. She twisted her mouth. What a joy. Ramose almost burst with pride because he could carry the large basket all by himself, and Cheperankh had finally stopped asking about the templ-

Nefari came to an abrupt halt, eyes blown wide. She looked to her side, but found only the boy present.

"Where's your sister?"

He whipped around, his gaze also worried as he shook his head.

"She was right here."

"Cheperankh?"

Ridden by angst, the young woman scanned their surroundings, but didn't spot the girl with the straw doll. Her heart dropped. Where was the child? In her utter desperation, she stopped a few people and asked for the little one but to no avail. She grabbed her forehead. There were thousands of children littering Waset's streets and Cheperankh did not differ from them at all. How was she supposed to find her?

Alright, now was no time to panic. Maybe she had gone home? A wave of nausea crashed over Nefari. Ineni's house was too far from here for her to find her way there with her four years alone. Perhaps it was time to panic. Her roaming eyes got caught by a building at the end of the street which stood out from the surrounding area due to its dilapidated condition. Of course, how hadn't she thought of that before? She took a deep breath and faced Ramose.

"I think I know where she's gone. Come on."

She placed her free hand between the boy's shoulder blades so that she wouldn't lose him too and hurriedly navigated him through the hustle and bustle to the Temple of Isis. A huge mass of people romped about at the foot of the staircase that led up to the sanctuary. The potter had to raise herself on tiptoes to overlook the countless heads.

Amidst the crowd flashed a red and white upet and she moved up to the guard who owned it, somewhat relieved. It was only relatively late that she realized it was the task of said guard to keep people away from the temple grounds, but since she had already made it this far, she still wanted to ask for Cheperankh.

"Excuse me!" she shouted through the many excited voices. "I'm sorry, Neb!"

The man's eyes, busily slipping over the people, briefly turned to her before he stared straight ahead again.

"Get along with you, there's nothing to see here."

"What? No, I'm looking for a little girl. Have you-"

She froze when he grabbed her shoulder to shove her away.

"I said get lost!" he snarled, hand on the baton that was hanging at his belt.

"Neb, please-"

"Nefari!" Ramose excitedly pulled at her dress. The potter bent her head and watched him come to his feet. He apparently had squatted down to see through the legs of those standing around. Now he pointed feverishly to the temple's stairhead. She craned her neck and almost fainted when she discovered what he meant. Behind the first Isis statue in the colonnade sat a child, arms wrapped around its legs, face buried at its knees, and a small doll in hand.

Oh, thank the gods!

"Ramose", she pulled him out of the mob, lifted the sleepy Nikhem off her arm and gave him over to the boy. "Watch your brother. Don't move. I'll be right back."

He seemed to feel her tension, as he reached out for the little one and nodded perplexed. She lifted her hands from the dusty road and got up, eyebrows narrowed in determination. Inconspicuously, she let her gaze wander and noticed that there were fewer guards positioned on the other side of the stairs. Quickly walking around the throng, she slipped through the blockade close to the temple wall. Five whole steps she managed before she was spotted and had to turn tail and run.

"Halt! Halt right there!"

She sprinted up the weathered stairs, their varying heights almost breaking her feet. After she had made half the way, in addition to her sense of balance, she also had to struggle for breath.

"Stop! Now!" the angry voice rang out again. Upon hearing how close the guard was, Nefari forced herself forward even faster. Finally at the top, she dove behind the statue of the goddess, bashing open her knees in the process. Though, all that greeted her there was cold, colorless sandstone. She struggled back to her feet and looked around frantically. Where had the girl gone?

"Cheperankh?" she shouted desperately and began to move again. Over the heavy trampling of the leather sandals tracing her, she almost failed to hear the high-pitched laughter from inside the temple. Almost. Headless, she followed the sound and ran down the colonnade. After that, she rounded a corner and was about to yelp loudly at what she saw. The little troublemaker stood proudly in front of a group of men and held out her straw doll towards them.

"Cheperankh!"

Before she could even think of doing something else, she rushed forward and locked the child in her arms.

"Never, ever, do something like that again, you hear?" she reprimanded, taking the girl's face into her hands to look at her sternly. Stunned, she stared back and then nodded. Nefari took another deep breath, pressed the girl even more firmly to her chest and finally let go to stand up with a sigh. She inclined her head to the man closest to her, who had watched her outburst without comment.

"Neb, I'm so sorry. She ran away. I know I shouldn't have come here, but the guard at the entrance wouldn't-"

The young woman interrupted herself, completely taken by surprise. She knew the pale green eyes that were staring at her in horror. Just as well as she knew the dark brows that had furrowed so many times because auf her. The pronounced chin. And, perhaps best of all, the fuller upper than lower lip.

Huya.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered, and only now came to take in his strange appearance. His blue tunic, with finely embroidered fish swimming around the hem, was held together by a belt with tightly lined beads in various shades of green. Around his neck hung a colorful wesekh that ended in a golden falcon head on both sides of his chest. As she turned her eyes to his feet, she discovered leather sandals instead of her brother's shoes with the loose thong.

"What-?"

"Got you!" someone said right next to her ear and before she could turn around, fingers clawed into her hair, pushing her head down further. A large hand grabbed her forearm and twisted it so high up her back that it brought tears to her eyes. The guard that had caught her bowed to the men, forcing Nefari to do the same.

"My prince, please forgive the disruption. We will take care of her."

She couldn't possibly process what she heard. Her heart felt as if it was already deep in Ammit's maw and she needed all the strength she had to fight against the guard's grip and raise her head. Nothing was right. Her burning gaze struck Huya's and then that of the man standing beside him. She knew his face. It was the drunk whom they had encountered during the Heriu-Renpet on the festival grounds. The one who had addressed Huya with this wrong name. His blurred voice echoed through her head.

'Ahkmen!'

And then Nefari felt the sharp blade of realization pierce her stomach, and she could hardly hold back tears.

'Ahkmen' was not his wrong name at all...